#was just reading a fic where the author was like 'i thought about having wild die but i don't like mcd so he lives'

[bloomingbluebell]

characters who are saved by "this could have been worse but i don't like writing that kind of angst"

[forwhomthewordsflow]

Stars In My Eyes

(a part two to this fic!)

modern music teacher!eddie munson x art teacher fem!reader

18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

warnings: fluff, so fluffy, first dates, first kisses, some anxiety/stress, a little dash of coach!steve harrington, suggestiveness

author's note: i feel like this took me ages to write! so sorry for the wait...i do sort of love how this turned out :) writing a first kiss scene is hard!!!

please let me know what your thoughts are on this series!

word count: 7.7k

Eddie Munson couldn’t believe his luck.

Like, sure he’s gotten lucky a few times before.  There was that one time an officer let him off with a warning after he rolled through a stop sign, he’d played the “I’m a teacher during finals week” card and it had seemed to work out pretty well for him.  There were also a few times when a stranger in front of him at the Starbucks drive thru had paid for his morning coffee, only for him to turn around and see there was no one behind him to pay it forward to.  

And then, there was that time back during his final senior year where Stacy Cowell was going through a “rebel phase” and decided to give Eddie a string of random blowjobs over the course of a week and a half to make herself feel like she was living on “the wild side.”  She quickly transitioned out of that phase when Eddie had asked her out on a date, he figured they should probably make an effort to learn a little about each other if she was going to be deepthroating him in the back of his van every other day after school.  She turned him down with a disgusted sneer, leaving Eddie a little heartbroken by the fact that a girl could be so offended at the idea of a date with him.  

But none of that even mattered to Eddie anymore.  All of those situations touched by a bit of luck have been reduced down to mere coincidences now that he has you in his life.  Even though it was only one IKEA date trip that the two of you went on last weekend, Eddie couldn’t stop himself from imagining a long, happy future with you because of how fucking perfect it all went.

- 

You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervously giddy over anything in your entire life.  There had never really been any boys that you were crazy for when you were younger.  Sure, you’d been in love a couple times before, but nothing was ever…”wow.” 

 You’d never felt any real sparks, never met anyone truly special enough to change your life like all of the women you’d seen in movies or read about in books.  

But Eddie…he was very much wow.

After you’d worked out the details for your IKEA trip that afternoon in your classroom, you found it hard to stop blushing for the remainder of the week.  The both of you decided that you’d go on Saturday morning, and Eddie had insisted on picking you up and driving there together.  He bowed his head and lightly pressed his lips to your hand in a dramatic and silly fashion before leaving your classroom.  Your knees felt weak and a bright red blush bloomed on your face as Eddie stood back up to his full height to face you. 

“You know,” he started, still holding your hand, "you're really cute when you blush like that.”

A tiny squeak is all that comes out of your mouth when you open it to respond.  

You struggle to put together a coherent sentence and settle for the smile and girlish giggle that bubbled its way out of your chest.  

“I’ll see you later.”

Eddie started to walk backwards, keeping your hand in his grasp until he was too far away and then turning around to exit your classroom.  There wasn’t much else you could do except stare at the hand that had just been held by him, while holding your other over your mouth in shock.  

Eddie waited the appropriate five seconds after being out of your line of sight before erupting into a silent “fist-punching-head-banging-fuck yeah!” celebration in the hallway.  He couldn’t believe he kissed your hand.  The thought to kiss your hand had barely graced his mind before his body had made the decision to go through with it.  Eddie was terrified that his nerdy qualities would cause you to run for the hills, or that you’d think he was weird or stupid.

But instead, you’d blushed bright red and blessed his ears with a giggle, and all of Eddie’s worries and fears were banished from his mind at the sound of it.  

Eddie decided he was going to really enjoy taking every opportunity to make you blush.  

-

There were only two days until your IKEA trip with Eddie, and somehow you kept missing each other in the hallways at school.  On the rare occasion that Eddie had a spare moment, you were at some kind of art teacher workshop.  Whenever you could pull yourself away from decorating your classroom and lesson-planning, Eddie was leaving early for the day to go look at different types of Tubano drums for his classroom.  

There were a couple of staff meetings that everyone had to attend, but the two of you never ended up sitting next to each other.  Instead, you would indulge in a game of eye tag, making yourself feel like you were in high school all over again with a big fat crush.  

While you were really looking forward to your day out with Eddie, a tiny part of you was glad that you weren’t running into him constantly.  You found yourself overpouring your coffee in the morning because of the way the deep brown shade of the coffee matched the color of Eddie’s eyes.  You accidentally took a sip out of your paint water cup instead of your drinking cup because you were staring off at the lamps in your room, wondering which one had been Eddie’s favorite.  Two days was just what you needed to collect yourself enough to act like a normal human being before you saw Eddie again.  You weren’t even allowing yourself the time to think about being in a car with him for the hour that it took to get to IKEA.  All of the workshops, lesson plans and other preparation for the start of school kept you calm and collected.

Eddie, on the other hand, was reduced to a pile of chunky silver rings and nerves.  He couldn’t stop thinking about everything he had to get done before your trip…date?  Was it a date?  Did you say the word date when you asked him?  Is it even a date when the girl asks the guy-

Eddie’s frantic pacing is interrupted by a shark knock on his propped open classroom door.

“Yo, Munson.  How’s the…” Steve trailed off as he took in Eddie’s disheveled state.  “Dude.”

“I know, I know, man.” Eddie responds, plopping down in a chair that was meant for one of his students.  He puts his head in his hands, tugging on the roots to try and get a grip.

“What’s goin’ on, Ed?  I haven’t seen you this distraught since One Direction broke up.”  Steve sits on top of a desk next to Eddie, jabbing him softly in the shoulder after his lame attempt at getting a smile out of Eddie.  

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head at the stupid joke.  He looks up at Steve with a deep sigh, then stands up and grabs him by the shoulders.

“If I tell you, it stays between us.”  Eddie fixes Steve with a hard look and raised eyebrows, not any different from the look he gives his students when they’re getting up to no good.  “I’m so dead serious.”

Steve’s eyes widen at the sudden seriousness, making a cross over his chest with his finger.  “Yeah man, cross my heart and all that.”

Eddie lets go of Steve, slumping back into the chair with a huff.  

“How do you know that a date is a date, and not just a friend thing?”

Steve smiles cockily and leans forward, always interested in Eddie’s love life…or lack thereof.

“Well, I don’t know…I think I might have to hear a little more about this special lady in order for me to provide some of my good ol’ Harrington Love Advice.”  Steve wiggles his eyebrows at Eddie, throwing in a wink for the sake of being annoying.

Eddie rolls his eyes, he knew it was a mistake to bring up girls around this guy.  Steve was always giving Eddie pointers on how to get chicks the way he did, but Eddie was in no way similar to Steve when it came to relationships.  Steve never had nothing to do on the weekends, always with a new girl, sometimes even the single moms at school.  He’d meet them out at a bar, woo them, take them to dinner and then even sometimes back to his place.  Despite his fuck-boy tendencies, Eddie knows it’s never that meaningful for either party.  Steve’s been pining after one of the English teachers for years, and these flings are only serving as a way to satiate his intensely flirtatious side.  

As annoying as he may be, it would be nice to rant about all of his pent up loverboy feelings for you to Steve.  Eddie knows he’s just giving him a hard time, it’s one of the many love languages they share as best friends.

“I-it’s just…she’s so beautiful man, like…holy fuck.”  Eddie shakes his head in disbelief, looking off into the distance as he rambles on about you.  “I mean just…she looks like some kind of Elven princess-angel-goddess-fairy–”

“Dude, Ed.  None of that nerd shit please, say it to me in English.”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head with a sigh.  

“Okay.  I really like her.  I haven’t felt this way in years, maybe ever.  We met officially yesterday and just…clicked.”

Steve smiles at Eddie as he talks about you, happy to see his friend so excited about someone.

“We made plans to go to IKEA this weekend, but I don’t know what to make of it?  Is it a date?  Should I bring her flowers?  What if I do bring her flowers and she gets weirded out because it was actually never a date at all?”

Steve holds his hands up like he’s trying to calm down an animal.  

“Woah there, buddy.  No need to get all freaked out about it.”  Steve can’t help but to laugh a little at the helpless look on his friend’s face.  “Let’s just start with the details, okay?  Who asked who?”

“She asked me.  I said I liked her lamps and then she said she got them at IKEA and then I said that I needed some for my room and then she said that we should go to IKEAandshopforsometogether-”

“Okay, okay man.  Take a deep breath.”  Steve motions for Eddie to inhale for a couple seconds.  

“Then let it all out.”  Eddie expels the breath from his lips in a hard huff, looking a little calmer.  “Alright.  So, she asked you?”

Eddie nods.

“That’s good, it means she’s interested!  Not a lot of women are making the first move these days, it means that she definitely wants a slice of Munson.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at Steve, but still waits for him to go on.

“Are you picking her up for the trip to IKEA?”

“Yeah, I offered to pick her up and drive us both there since it’s about an hour away.”

Steve scratches his five o’clock stubble.

“Hmm…okay.  Did she like…jump at the chance for you to drive her or was there some hesitation before she agreed?”

Eddie thinks back to that moment.  How the two of you were standing slightly too close for new friends, the way your eyes seemed to sparkle as you looked up at him, how he was surprised you couldn’t hear his heart beating out of his chest.  

He remembers offering to drive the both of you to the store, surprising himself by saying it way calmer than he was feeling.  Your face lit up a little, like you were shocked that he’d even offer to pick you up and drive you there.  You smiled and nodded your head sweetly before agreeing out loud.

Eddie feels himself smiling at the tiny memory.

“It wasn’t like she immediately answered…but she definitely was smiling when she agreed.  She didn’t seem nervous about it or anything, it was more like she was excited or something.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up as a smirk emerges on his face.

“So let me see if I’m getting this straight.  She asked you to go to IKEA, probably knowing it was a long drive, and then she happily agreed to let you pick her up and drive the two of you there?  For a whole two hours there and back?”

Eddie nods, anxiously awaiting Steve’s opinion on all of this.

“I mean, it’ll probably be a good four or five hours that you spend together driving and shopping.”

Steve fixes Eddie with a look that says ‘c’mon man, it’s obvious.’

Eddie’s had enough of his edging.  “Will you just get to the fucking point please for the love of god?”

Steve sighs and claps a hand on Eddie's shoulder. 

“Ed, it’s a date.”

Eddie barks out a triumphant laugh and Steve does the same.  The two men high five and Steve wraps a beefy arm around Eddie’s shoulder to pat him on the chest.  Eddie can’t help but to let out a big sigh of relief now that he can stop worrying about how to act on this trip date.

-

On Friday, you could’ve sworn you went slightly neurotic.  

Since Tuesday you’d been considering your day with Eddie as a date, but it suddenly hit you that maybe he didn’t feel the same way.  What if you’d been doing all this worrying and freaking out for no reason?  What if he ends up calling you ‘dude’ the entire day?  What if he has a girlfriend already, and he just agreed to take you to IKEA so that you wouldn’t get your feelings hurt?

You’d been running circles in your head trying to prepare yourself for any and all possible outcomes that Saturday could hold for you, but none of it seemed to be doing you any good.

So, you did what you always did whenever you found yourself flipping out over something new.

You made a to-do list. 

Pick out an outfit.  Dress! too fancy…jeans?  Dress, definitely dress. not too fancy though…

Drink wine 

Watch movie

Clean house…again

Drink more wine

Possibly reconsider outfit…

After all was said and done, you plopped down on your worn-in couch, sufficiently drunk with a clean house and an outfit neatly hung up outside of your closet.  You decide to pour your third and final glass of wine for the evening, and to surrender your anxiety to the gods of love.  You hope and pray that they like you enough to let you have this one. 

-

It was finally Saturday.  Eddie stands in front of his closet furiously, wondering why in the fuck he can’t find a single thing to wear for his date with you today.  He’s got enough clothes to fill his entire closet, dresser, and a $20 clothing rack he picked up at Target years ago.  Steve said to just go with what felt the most like ‘Eddie’, but he’s suddenly unable to remember what his style even looks like.  

He wants to punch himself in the nuts for not taking the time last night to plan this all out like a normal person.  

He ends up settling for a fitted white tee, a pair of trusty black jeans, and black boots.  On a FaceTime call with Steve (so he could approve Eddie’s choice), Steve mentioned that the outfit was casual, but still fairly nice, and that the white shirt showed off his tattoos and muscles.

“Chicks dig the muscles and white tee combo, man.  Trust.”

Eddie chuckles at his friend’s ‘frat boy’ lingo, but the comment makes him feel better about his appearance anyways.  Last year, Steve had managed to convince Eddie to start going to the gym with him after school during the week, and it pains him to admit that he sort of really likes it now.  He likes how much stronger he feels, he likes sweating out all of his frustrations, and most of all he likes the way he fills out his t-shirts now.

After hanging up the call with Steve, Eddie flexes a little in his mirror before leaving to go pick you up.  He decides to do a few last minute push ups and to moisturize the tattoos on his arms so that he looks extra good for you.

-

Perhaps being slightly neurotic about this date was a good idea.

Thanks to all of your meticulous planning, you managed to get completely ready with a half hour to spare.  You decided against sitting on your couch until Eddie arrived since the nervous butterflies in your stomach made you want to throw up, so you opted to wander around your house for the remainder of the time.

You pass by your mirror, doing a final check and making sure your outfit and makeup are up to par.  You’d decided on a simple white dress, with a denim button up thrown over it and your pair of black chelsea boots that had yet to let you down.  You smile at your reflection, happy that you’d managed to choose a comfy and cute outfit that felt like you.

There’d been too many dates before this one where you’d gone out and spent insane amounts of money on brand new outfits that you weren’t even sure you really liked, all in the name of impressing your date and hoping he likes you enough to ask you out on a second one.  When prepping for those dates, you spent hours upon hours running around like a mad woman.  Shaving, plucking, tweezing, waxing.  Making sure your hair curled just right and that your eyeliner was sexy, but not slutty.

You couldn’t figure out why Eddie felt so different to you.  Even though the nerves of a first date had really freaked you out the night before, this morning was fairly calm.  Sure, you took plenty of time in the shower and doing your hair and makeup, but it didn’t feel like you were trying to morph into a different version of yourself to please a man. 

It felt more like you were trying your best to look like your favorite version of yourself. 

You want Eddie to know who you are inside and outside of work, and you really hope that he likes what he finds. 

-

Eddie stays parked outside of your house for a minute or two to try and settle his nerves.  

You lived in a small, red brick house in a family neighborhood.  There were flowers planted in the beds under your windows, and your front door was painted a deep turquoise color.  Eddie sucks in a breath when he sees your figure moving around through the gauzy white curtains covering your windows.  

How can a hazy silhouette still be so beautiful?

Looking into his rearview mirror, Eddie takes a deep breath.

“You got this man.  Be cool.”

He turns his car off and makes his way to your front door, knocking three times and then taking a step back to wait for you.

It takes all of two seconds for your front door to swing open, revealing you on the other side.

Eddie immediately feels weak in the knees.  You looked so cute in your little boots, and he couldn’t help but to let his eyes trail up the smooth skin of your legs.  He gulped a bit at the short hem of your dress, and then realized he should probably say something.

“Hey you.”

“Hi,” You smile up at him bashfully as he looks you up and down.  You take the opportunity to look him over as well, and damn.  You already knew he was sexy, but his tight tee shirt and pulled back hair made you want to drag him into your house and do things to him…

You only notice that he’s been holding a hand behind his back when he brings it out in front of him, revealing a beautiful bouquet of flowers.  

“These are for you.  I didn’t know which was your favorite, so I just asked the lady to throw together a bunch of different kinds and to make it look pretty.”  Eddie holds the colorful bouquet out to you and smiles sheepishly.  

Your mouth hangs open as you reach out to take them, being so careful for no real reason.  You look up at Eddie with those big, sparkling eyes.

“Thank you so much, Eddie.  These are so incredibly beautiful,” he watches you looking down at the flowers, gently brushing your fingers against their petals.  “Let me run inside and find a vase for them real quick.  Come on in!”

You wave him in behind you and hurry inside.

Eddie tries to suppress the excitement he feels at being invited into your home.  He felt like he already got a good glimpse at who you are and how you express yourself when he was inside your classroom, but he’s now getting to see where you spend the majority of your time, where you live.  As he steps over the threshold and into your house, he readies his brain to take mental pictures of everything he sets his eyes on, just in case he never sees it again.

Instantly, he’s hit with a sense of “home.”  The inside of your house is the perfect temperature and it smells so good and womanly, like your perfume and also like you’ve been baking something but somehow also like flowers…Eddie loves it already.

You scurry off into the kitchen, trying not to think about the fact that Eddie Munson is looking around your house right now.

Where in the hell have all of your vases run off to?

Eddie walks around cooly with his hands clasped behind his back, taking in everything about your space.  Much like your classroom, Eddie is able to spot at least four different sized lamps and light fixtures placed around your entryway and living room.  There were warm white Christmas lights hung up along the ceiling, multiple green-leaved plants in different corners, and Eddie even thinks he spotted a black cat sprinting under your soft looking white sectional.

Overall, he’d give your interior design skills an 11/10. 

He’s just starting to miss you a little when you come out from your kitchen holding your flowers in a sparkly glass vase.  

It’s an odd feeling, seeing Eddie in your house.  His ‘edgier’ look seems like it wouldn’t fit with your overall aesthetic, but to your surprise he looks like he belongs here.  You walk up to him almost in a daze, admiring the silver hoop earrings he’s wearing, the smile on his lips, and the way some of his hair has made its way out of his low bun to frame his face.  

The two of you stand there for a moment looking at each other, with you holding your flowers in between your bodies.  You engage in a staring match for almost a second too long before you break the silence.

“No one’s ever gotten me flowers before,” you sheepishly admit, looking down at them instead of at him.  Eddie grins at the blush that blooms onto your cheeks after your prolonged eye contact.

Eddie scoffs before he can stop himself.

“Seriously?  That’s a damn shame, sweetheart.”

You look up at him again and try not to faint at how easily the word fell from his perfect lips.  Unable to take another second of his eyes on yours, you retreat into your living room to find the perfect place for your new flowers.  You decide to put them on your coffee table, then turn around to find that Eddie had followed you in.  

He offers his arm out to you, “Shall we?”

This time, you can’t fight the smile.

You take his arm and swipe your purse from the coat hanger next to your front door on your way out.

-

Eddie was the perfect gentleman for the entire duration of the car ride to IKEA.  He had opened the car door for you, he let you pick the music, and he definitely did not sneak a glimpse at your bare, voluminous thighs when your dress shifted as you sat down.  The sweet smell of your perfume spread throughout the interior of his truck, he hopes that smell never fades away.

He couldn’t help glancing over at you every other minute, looking so beautiful in his passenger seat while you bobbed your head to whatever song you had queued up on his phone. 

“Would it be a total invasion of privacy if I played your On Repeat playlist?  I’m dying to know what the music teacher’s favorite music is right now.”  Eddie turned to see that you were smiling pleadingly at him, and how could he say no to that face?

“I suppose,” Eddie sighs dramatically.  “But, you are not allowed to judge me for whatever pops up.”  He playfully points a finger at you while keeping his eyes on the road.  You giggle girlishly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You hit ‘shuffle’ on Eddie’s playlist and aren’t surprised when the first song that plays through the speakers is ‘The Unforgiven ll’ by Metallica.  You already knew Eddie was a fan of the band thanks to the music he always has playing a tad too loudly whenever you pass by his classroom.

“Oh, I know this song!”

Eddie’s face whips towards you sporting a shocked ‘you’ve gotta be kidding me’ expression.  He was definitely expecting you to be the ‘indie music’ type.  Your eyebrows furrow adorably angrily at the look on his face.  

“What?  A girl can’t like Metallica?” You fix him with a look that tells Eddie he should think twice about his response.

“W-well…I just didn’t expect you to be into them…that’s all.”  You roll your eyes playfully at him and cross your arms.  “But!  I’m very pleasantly surprised that you are!  Girls rule, alright?  Men like…totally suck and stuff.”

You chuckle at his frantic attempt at avoiding a lecture on gender inequality and feminism while settling back into your seat.  And because you actually do know and love this song, you start mouthing the words, which eventually evolves into singing them under your breath.

When Eddie thought he spotted you mouthing the words out of the corner of his eye, he was sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him.  But just barely hearing you singing the words to his favorite Metallica song just further confirmed a fact that he already knew.

Eddie Munson was totally going to fall in love with you.

The rest of the car ride consisted of sharing music, talking about work and life, childhood memories, and other random topics.  Eddie discovered that you love thunderstorms, your cat’s name is Pascal (after the chameleon from Tangled), and that you moved here at the beginning of summer from Chicago.

Eddie swears there’s never been a conversation in history that flowed as well as yours and his.  He felt like he’s known you for years, and he hopes you’re feeling the same way.

You totally are.

-

Once the two of you made it to IKEA and inside the giant store, Eddie quickly realized that he never really put any thought into what he actually wanted to buy for his classroom.  You swiftly came to his rescue and pulled out your phone to open up Pinterest.

Together, you found a couple pictures that matched the general vibe of Eddie’s classroom.  He grabbed a map of the store and a cart, and set off into the maze of furniture.  

You were back to being shy again, now that you were out in the wild with Eddie.  He found that making jokes about all of the funny names got you giggling, and so he didn’t miss an opportunity.

He made you laugh the hardest next to the Koppang drawers.

You bumped your shoulder into his around the Baggebo bookcases.

His hand brushed yours next to a Tornviken kitchen island. 

And Eddie finally worked up the courage to hold your hand next to a Klippan loveseat.

You gasped a little when you felt his warm hand slide into yours, interlocking your fingers together.  A red hot blush worked its way up your neck as you snuck a glance over at him, only to find that he was already looking at you with a smirk.  He knows exactly what this hand holding is doing to you.

He chuckles smugly as the two of you arrive at the lights section of the store.  As he pushes the cart through the aisles, you’re enamored by the twinkling lights that are draped overhead.  You’re lucky he’s holding your hand, or else you probably would’ve fallen flat on your face.  Eddie can’t help but to stare at you as you stare up at all the different light fixtures.  The different colors and hues of light shine beautifully onto your face, and the soft smile on your lips makes Eddie wish he could just grab you and kiss you right here in the aisle.  But, he figures that would cause you to explode after your reaction to his hand-holding.

He watches as you look further down the aisle at the lamps that are on display there, your face lighting up in recognition.

“Oh!  That’s one that I’ve got in my room!”  You point at an orange, donut shaped light called a Varmblixt.  Eddie recognizes it, you do indeed have one hanging on the wall behind your desk.

“I must have it,” Eddie says with a flourish ,”Never have I seen a more extraordinary donut lamp.”

You giggle and go to grab one to place in the cart, but the box proves to be way heavier than you remember.  Eddie notices as soon as you inhale to exert more effort, and he steps in immediately. 

 No fair maiden such as you should be forced to exert any effort whatsoever in his presence.

“I’ve got it, sweetheart.”

You try not to let the name affect you but once again, you fail.  You’re left blushing and biting your lip, speechless.  You stare unashamed at Eddie as he picks up the heavy box and goes to place it in the cart with ease.  The overhead lights were really doing him favors, every ridge and contour of his body was lit to perfection.  You could see the delicious bulge of his biceps, the ripple of his forearm muscles, and the outline of his chest in his shirt….why is your mouth watering?

Eddie easily places the box in the cart, turning to face you again.  He finds you blushing up at him with wide eyes, and is unable to contain the smug smirk on his face.  The sudden lack of distance between the two of you did not go unnoticed by him, he hoped you couldn’t hear his heart pounding in his chest.

The ‘normal you’ would’ve noticed that you were obviously in Eddie’s personal bubble, and you would’ve taken a step back like the respectable adult that you are.  But the ‘normal you’ was long gone in Eddie’s presence.  This version of you was not unlike the version that existed when you were an awkward teenager who was on the brink of passing out anytime a boy even breathed in your direction. 

While you were busy ogling Eddie’s physique, you’d failed to notice the close proximity between the two of you, which led you to your current situation.  

You and him were so close together, you could feel the warm puffs of air from between his parted lips gently hitting your face.  His gaze trailed down from your eyes to your lips, but you wouldn’t have noticed anyways because you were one step ahead of him.

His lips looked so pillowy and soft, you wondered how they’d feel pressed against yours.  Would he kiss you slowly, gently holding your face in his big hands and brushing his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks?  Or would he be rougher than that, grabbing you by the waist and tugging you into him, kissing you with fire and passion?

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow as he watches you suck your bottom lip into your mouth to bite it.  You’re so goddamn beautiful, and you looked like an angel in this aisle of lights.  A lamp from behind you lights up the silhouette of your hair like a halo, and he can see the lights above his head reflected in your eyes like stars.  

Eddie knows he shouldn’t kiss you right now, not in the middle of IKEA where he can hear kids whining to their parents and couples arguing over which shade of beige would match their living room better.  He knows this, but he can’t stop himself from reaching his hand up to gently grasp your jaw.  His thumb slides from your chin to your bottom lip, tugging it free from your teeth.

His hand snakes down to the side of your neck, and you can feel the slight tremor in his hand.  You’re glad that the situation is affecting him too, because you are freaking out.  

Is he going to kiss you right now?  

In IKEA?

On your first date? 

Is this even a date?  

Do you even want him to kiss you?  Idiot, of course you want him to.

Eddie’s eyebrows lift slightly, almost questioning you.  Asking you, ‘Do you want this? Is this okay?’

You answer him with a soft smile, and you feel his hand move behind your neck to pull you in.

It is at this moment that a baby starts to wail one aisle over, effectively ruining any sort of moment you and Eddie had been sharing.

He lets out a frustrated huff, and touches his forehead to yours with closed eyes.  

“Of course,” he groans.

You’re secretly giddy at the fact that he so obviously wanted to kiss you badly.  You bring your hand up to his arm that’s still resting on your neck to give it a reassuring squeeze, and in a surprising burst of confidence, you rise up on your toes to peck him on the cheek.

Eddie’s eyes shoot open at the feeling of your soft lips on his cheek.  He pulls back to stare down at you as his face turns red.

You giggle at him, then turn around to walk down the aisle.

“C’mon, I think I saw another one of my lamps down this way!”

Eddie snaps himself out of his daze with a shake of his head, he’s sure that he’s got hearts in his eyes as he watches you walk away from him.  Grabbing the cart with one hand, he holds his other gently to his cheek, touching the spot that’s still warm from your lips.

-

Eddie ends up purchasing five lamps from IKEA after an hour and a half of wandering through the aisles with you.  

He can’t help but to act like the loverboy he is when he’s looking at furniture with you.  He fantasizes about a life with you, imagining that the two of you are actually here to pick out items to furnish your shared house.  

He wonders which kind of wood floors you’d pick out and which backsplash you’d want in the kitchen.  You’d probably want to decorate with colorful rugs and throw pillows, and Eddie wouldn’t complain.  Not as long as you’re happy.   He’d live in a pink house decorated with bows and lace trim as long as he was living in it with you.  

Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself, it’s only your first date together right?

If only he knew you were having similar thoughts as you strolled up and down the aisles, hand in hand.  You thought about what kind of decorating he did in his house, you figured it was styled in some way considering the amount of effort he puts into making his classroom look as cool as it does.  Does he have shelves full of records or different posters framed and hung up on his wall?  Which side of the bed does he sleep on?  You hope he likes plants, there’s no way you could part with your beloved greenery if the two of you were to live together.

You’re quick to silence the random thoughts buzzing around in your head, it’s silly to think about these things on your very first date…you don’t even know his middle name yet!

You and Eddie both seem to snap out of your stupors at the same time, sighing simultaneously.  You both turn to look at each other and then begin to laugh, unsure on whether or not the ‘jinx’ rules apply in a sighing situation.  

-

Eddie pays for the lights, and soon enough you’re both back in his truck.  

It dawns on you that your date is almost over, but you’re quickly redirected when you hear the starting notes to the next song that starts playing when Eddie’s phone connects to his radio.

Is that…Taylor Swift?

You turn to him slowly, confused at why a Taylor Swift song is on his ‘On Repeat’ Spotify playlist.

Eddie’s already staring at you mortified.  He holds a hand up, pausing any words that might’ve come out of your mouth.

“Before you say anything,” he begins ,”I really admire her lyricism.  Girl’s a wizard with words.”

The two of you sit in a charged silence for a moment before you can’t hold in your reaction any longer.  A laugh breaks free from your chest, and Eddie can’t  help but to laugh along with you.

You’re wiping tears from your eyes as your laughter dies down, and Eddie just grins at you.

“I can’t believe it.  The rock and roll music teacher listens to enough Taylor Swift for it to end up on his ‘On Repeat’ playlist.”  You shake your head at him with a wide smile on your face that Eddie wants to take a picture of and frame.  

“Yeah, yeah…laugh it up.  As a music teacher, it’s my duty to appreciate all types of music.”

You nod along to his explanation, “Yes, of course.  How else are you supposed to connect with the teenage girls these days?”

“Right! Yes!”  Eddie exclaims.  “I do this lesson on lyrics and Taylor’s music is a great example of what storytelling in music can look like.  I respect her, hard.”

You stifle another laugh at his emotional Taylor Swift themed outburst.

“This stays between you and I alright?” Eddie points a finger at you playfully.  “If Harrington gets word of this I’ll never live it down.”

“Of course, my lips are sealed.”  You mime zipping your lips shut and throwing away the key.

Eddie settles back into his seat with a huff, boyishly smiling over at you.

“I have a very important question for you Eddie.”

He leans in, intrigued by your seriousness. 

“Which era are you in right now?”

Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back with a groan.  This sends you into another laughing fit, Eddie can’t help but to join in again.  He’s coming to find out that your joy is such an infectious thing.

“Hmm let’s see…,” he muses.  He turns to look at you with one hand on the wheel and a smirk on his face as he puts his keys in the ignition.  

“Right now…I’d have to go with ‘Lover,’” he says with a wink.

Your laughter is cut off abruptly as you gasp and bite your lip, attempting to subdue the cheesy grin that’s surely made its way onto your face by now.  

You stare unashamed as Eddie puts his right hand over the back of your seat to turn around and look through the rear window as he reverses the car out of its parking spot.  You can smell the cologne he must’ve sprayed on this morning, which immediately awakens the butterflies in your stomach.

As soon as Eddie is set on the route back to your house, he holds out his hand expectantly over his center console.  You look at it, then at him, then back at his hand before shyly placing your hand in his.  He’s quick to lace his fingers through yours, holding on tight and running his thumb back and forth.

You’re both thinking that you could get used to this.

-

Eddie (reluctantly) only lets go of your hand in order to rush around the front of his truck to open your car door for you after he’s pulled into your driveway.  He’s quiet as he walks you to your front door, wondering which way is the best way to ask you out on another date.  

You stop when you reach your door, looking down at your hand in his.  The silence begins to feel just a tad awkward as you both search for something to fill it.

“Thank you,” you start quietly ,”for today.  I had a wonderful time.”

Eddie lets out a relieved breath and grins widely down at you.

“I did too,” he begins, readying himself for his next question.  “Would you…I mean–would you like to…uh…shit, would you want to maybe do it again sometime?”

You know what he means, but it’s still so tempting to tease him when he’s blushing like this.

“Would I want to go to IKEA with you again?”

“N-no!  I mean, if you wanted to we could I guess…b-but I was thinking something more along the lines of dinner?”

You find it adorable how nervous he is to ask you out on a second date, as if you wouldn’t agree to go out to dinner with him tonight.

“I’d love that.”

Eddie’s face lights up with a triumphant smile as he lets out the anxious breath he’d been holding in.  

“Good, that’s really good.”  The way you’re smiling up at him right now is causing him to lose his train of thought.  “Um…how’s tomorrow night?  Around 7?”

“Tomorrow night is perfect.”

“Awesome.  Great, yeah I’ll just…I’ll pick you up, okay?”

You’re beaming as you nod your head, much too ecstatic at the idea of going out with Eddie again to form a coherent sentence.

Eddie finds himself smiling and nodding with you, you’re just too adorable. 

“Hey could I uh…c-could I get your number?” Eddie stammers the question out like he’s a prepubescent teenager, mentally face palming the whole time.

He’s relieved when you chuckle and hold your hand out for him to place his phone in.  He fumbles around trying to give you his phone as quickly as possible, he can’t believe how nervous he feels right now. 

He finally somehow manages to pass over his phone with a new contact page pulled up and ready for you.  You type in your number and name, making sure to add the artist’s palette emoji afterwards.  Eddie laughs through his nose when he sees it, then pockets his phone again.  

There’s a weird tension in the air that can only be brought upon by two people who so obviously want to kiss each other, but are too nervous to make the first move.  Eddie wracks his brain for a way to ask you if it’d be okay for him to kiss you without looking like a total idiot.  It’s really unfortunate that the way you bite your lip causes his mind to completely shut off and switch to autopilot.  

“I really wanna kiss you right now,” he blurts out.

You look up at him, shocked at his bluntness.  Eddie’s even more shocked than you are.

“Y-you probably should then,” you bashfully admit.

Eddie can’t believe that worked.

He steps towards you and softly places one hand on your cheek, the other going to gently grasp the side of your neck similarly to the way he had in IKEA during your almost-kiss.

Your eyes flutter closed as you feel his lips graze yours for the first time.  The feeling is electrifying, and you can’t help but to venture forward for more.  

Your lips were just as soft, if not softer, than Eddie imagined. 

You plunge forward to press your lips against his, instantly deepening the kiss.  Eddie found himself instantly addicted to the feel of your lips and the way you sigh into the kiss.  It’s a shy kiss at first, where the two of you slowly begin to figure out your shared rhythm.  But it wasn’t long before you sank into a synchronized dance, mirroring each other’s movements in a way that crafted the most perfect, earth shattering first kiss.  

You let Eddie Munson kiss you at your front door in a way that you had longed to be kissed for your entire life.  This was how the women you saw in movies or read about in books were kissed.  You’d read about magic and sparks flying, and you think you’re finally starting to believe in all of it.  

Eddie moves his hand from your cheek to your waist, gripping it and pulling you closer to him.  The gasp you let out gave him the sweet opportunity to run his tongue against your bottom lip, asking, pleading for an entrance which you of course granted.  You tasted like autumn and felt like home, he decided he could kiss you for hours on end.

You both stood there for a good five minutes at your front door, making out like giddy teenagers and feeling like them too.  Eddie finally pulls away from your lips, pleased to find you subtly chasing his mouth with your own.  You open your eyes and come out of your kiss-induced haze to find him smiling adoringly down at you with both hands now circling your waist.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you once more. 

“Actually, I’m gonna call you tonight.”  He kisses you again.  “Is that okay?”  Another peck.

You're giggling as he places a final kiss on your forehead, “Yes, please.”

“Good.”

Eddie steps back, grabbing your hand to kiss it like he did on Tuesday.  He pulls you back in with that same hand to plant one last kiss on your lips, then jogs back to his truck.  He waves and quickly honks his horn twice as he pulls away.  

You’re left standing at your front door, watching his truck disappear down your street and reliving every moment of your first kiss with Eddie Munson.

When you finally make your way inside, you make sure to smell your brand new beautiful flowers before scurrying off to your bedroom to pick out an outfit for your second date with Eddie tomorrow night.  

TAGLIST:

@josephquinnsfreckles @the-fairy-anon @anukulee @littlebebebunny @meetmeatyourworst @lalalala-melmosworld @someantics @lokis-army-77 @loserboysandlithium @strangerstilinski @mystra-midnight @lesservillain @queenimmadolla @luveline @munson-blurbs @fairyysoup @urhoneycombwitch @oneforthemunny @rebelfell @taintedcigs @wroteclassicaly @eiightysixbaby @bettyfrommars @loveshotzz @lovebugism @carolmunson @rustedhearts @lonelysatellites

[cdragons]

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 2

Previous Part, Next Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. But silver linings exist in the sticky toffee pudding Mrs. Gavey made for you.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Sex, Felix is Felix (a ho), Reader finally eating some good fucking food, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver is Oliver (a creep), alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic

Author's Note: BRUH??? HOW DID I GET SO MANY NOTES IN PART 1??? Everyone has been so wonderful and supportive. I received so many questions and comments, which have all been great! Thank you for reading this story, and I hope that this part lives up the first one. Also, this is technically a Christmas fic bc it just fits with the story's timeline. I would like to thank Grammarly for catching all my grammatical errors 🥲, @ethereal-athalia for enabling my crazy ideas 🥰, and @valeskafics for providing me Saltburn smut when I catch myself thirsting 😇

Christmas Eve - Saltburn 2006

“Oh! Oh – y-yes, yes, yes! FUCK!”

Fucking the girl underneath so hard to the point where she likely saw stars. Meanwhile, Felix was trying to finish as soon as possible.

“So big! God, you’re so fucking big – FUCK!”

He brought her to his room and in his bed because he thought her hair just barely matched yours, and if he didn’t think too much about it – her voice sounded a bit like yours too.

But he made a mistake.

The girl – whatever her name was – sounded nothing like you. Her hair was nowhere near as pretty and shiny as yours, and her nails were fucking long and sharp that they were digging for his blood. Her makeup too – fucking hell, it was like she trying out for the opera with how much she caked onto herself.

Every time Felix saw you – whether in the library or under a tree – your nails were trimmed short. And from what he remembered, you didn’t plaster yourself in cheap cosmetics.

No, you never needed to. Your style of choice was simpler and more elegant than most girls he knew, including his sister, Venetia. Granted, he loved his sister to bits and pieces, but the girl loved her spray tan in the winter.

But worst of all – she didn’t have your eyes. Her gaze was too mindless and soft, a mix of adoration and unparalleled lust. Your eyes held vivacious rage and

“Felix?” What’s-Her-Face asked. “You okay?”

Fuck, he was getting soft.

Closing his eyes, Felix knew the only way he would get to finish was to think of you. He thought about the last time he saw you. He remembered how hard the wind blew and how cold it was that night. He felt himself harden at the memory of how alive your eyes were right before and after you broke his nose. His back still had the welts from the blows of your notebook. Every time he saw them in the mirror, he would lovingly stroke each bruise because they were the only evidence that you were real.

That you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

Letting his mind run wild, Felix imagined you here instead of this imposter. He’d imagine you on top – no way a woman like you would let anyone be on top, not even him. Fuck, you’d be the most wild thing ever to exist, he’s sure he’d let you do anything to him.

His heart, his soul – whether you cared for him or wished to crush him under your shoe – everything of his would be yours.

He wondered if you were the type to be into using a riding crop.

Regaining his vigor with his eyes still closed, he imagined you riding him until oblivion. Your breasts would fit perfectly in his hands as you would still be bouncing on his cock. Your head would be thrown back, and his eyes would roll to the back of his head at the feeling of your pussy tightening.

Oh God, he was going to blow.

Quickening his pace, the girl that wasn’t you was full-on howling in unbridled pleasure. When she climaxed, he could finally let go and come. Ropes of his cum spilled into the condom as he shouted out your name.

Falling to his side, he hadn’t bothered to check if Lady Not You remained in the sheets. It didn’t matter if she did; Felix was too exhausted to care. Finally feeling like he could rest, he fell into a dream about the day he felt his life truly begin – the day he met you.

First Week of Oxford University Michaelmas Term of 2006

Felix remembered the first time he saw you – it was after the first week since the term began. He and his mates were fucking around in Radcliffe, and the old bag running the desk was having a cow with them. He was bored out of his mind when all of a sudden – he spotted you on the upper level. You wore dark wash blue straight-leg jeans with rolled-up cuffs and white high-top Converse sneakers. It looked like your shirt must have been at least a decade old, given how the black-dyed cotton was faded to dark gray, and the paint looked cracked and chipped. Your thick locks were gathered in a loose but simple braid. Unlike everyone else, your eyes weren’t focused on him – but on the structure and life around him.

He had to know more.

Slipping a tenner to one of his friends to cause a distraction, he used the diversion to make his way to your spot on the second floor. Having a closer view, you were the most vividly gorgeous creature he had ever laid his eyes upon. He was worried that his movement toward you would alert you of his presence, and you would only scurry off – and away from him. But judging by the slight bobbing of your head, you wouldn’t be able to hear him since you were listening to whatever was playing through your earbuds.

All the better for him to keep observing you.

As he inched closer, his eyes caught the tiny wisps of your hair that weren’t contained by your messy braid, creating a lovely frame of your face while also bringing out the shine in your eyes. You had a simple gold chain around your neck with a circular locket hanging. From the side, Felix could faintly distinguish the words “Bon Jovi” in blue cracked paint and “1989” underneath a skull wearing red aviators.

He didn’t know who the fuck Bon Jovi was, but clearly, he was someone pretty fucking important to you.

But what captured Felix’s interest was how engrossed you were with the scene unfolding underneath you. Your eyes very rarely broke away from the view – only to quickly glance at the hardcover sketchbook you balanced on the white-painted railing. Whenever you glanced down at your sketch, Felix could see how long and thick your eyelashes were. Each time you blinked, it was like his mind broke down the movement of your eyelids frame by frame as if he were editing a Garry Marshall film. He wished he could be your cheek at that moment. If only to feel the gentle flutter of your lashes’ touch. Deep in your concentration, your lips were slightly pursed in a way that brought out their luscious fullness.

He couldn’t help but imagine how they would look around his cock. If he came inside your mouth, he was sure that some of his spunk would leak past your lips before you tried your best to swallow it down.

He was so lost in the fantasy of you and him that he hadn’t realized you had been calling out to him. Breaking out of his reverie, he looked down to see you right before him. And you looked downright pissed at him.

“Hey! HEY!” you exclaimed while waving your hand to his face to catch his attention.

You were American. How adorable.

“If you could stop staring at me like a fucking serial killer, I think your ‘mates’ are trying to get your attention.”

You pointed your finger at his group of friends still on the first floor. It seemed that they successfully drove away the grounds' warden. The old bat was now fixated on putting away all the returned or misplaced books on the shelves.

Must have been Farleigh’s idea.

Anyway, back to you.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Hey, can I get your –” but you were gone by the time he turned back to you.

Instead, he found himself alone on the second floor. He quickly glanced around to see if you had just moved to a different area. But you were gone. Racing the stairwell, hoping to catch up to you, he found that you had already walked too far for him to call you out without seeming completely desperate.

Except that he was.

He watched you walk away – shoulders back, posture straight, and head held high – and thought at how utterly unfair it was to him that you walked away from him so beautifully without giving him your number, or at least your name.

Felix woke up in a dark room; he was confused as to why the maids hadn’t drawn curtains – until he realized that Mum had likely sent them for their holiday after the party was finished.

It's too bad that he wasn’t there to see everyone out like a good son. But he wouldn’t beat himself over about it too much – chances were that his parents were also hungover off their asses too. He didn’t even want to imagine V’s state right now.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Felix dug into his closet to find whatever someone wore the morning after fucking a completely faceless stranger to scratch an itch meant for someone else. In the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a little note on his nightstand. Swiftly plucking it with two fingers, he could barely make out the words written in swirly cursive.

My name’s Cassie. Just thought you should know for next time. Call me: XXXX-XXXXXXX 💋

Felix scoffed before tossing the dingy paper to the floor – destined to be forgotten before the next hour came – before locking himself in the bathroom to take a piss and wash off the smell of booze and cigs off his skin.

By the time he was finished, it was probably close to noon. He would have made his way down to the kitchens to fix something up – but he was immediately met with Farleigh as soon as he stepped out of the doorway. Bastard startled him up so bad that he practically jumped a foot off the ground.

“Fucking – really, Farleigh?” he asked. “Practically gave me a heart attack first thing in the morning.”

“It’s almost one so that ship has sailed.” He quipped back. “Aunt Elspeth and Uncle James were quite distraught when their golden son wasn’t seen by any of the guests when the party ended. It wasn't good when the Carltons’ daughter was gone for almost an hour. But at least she returned to her loving parents’ arms by the time it was to go home.”

Farleigh shot his cousin a curious look.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you? I’m pretty sure her name was Cassandra.”

Felix just shrugged.

“Don’t know about any Cassandras. Fucked a Cassie last night, though.”

Farleigh snorted a laugh as they went to the kitchens to see if any food was prepared.

“Merry Christmas, indeed.”

A few minutes of companionable silence passed before Felix asked his cousin something important.

“Hey, do you think she’s thinking about me?”

“Cassie or Cassandra? Because the answer’s probably yes anyway.”

“No, not them. Y/N, Y/N L/N.”

Farleigh immediately stopped. He genuinely wondered how Felix managed to get into Oxford sometimes. Sure, he was a legacy kid, but the line had to be drawn somewhere.

“You really think,” he slowly began, “that the girl who dragged you out of the library in front of everyone, broke your nose, beat you bruised with only her flimsy-ass notebook – because you ruined her painting – would be thinking about you?”

Judging by the look in his cousin’s eyes, yes. Sighing at the incredulity of it all, Farleigh could only shake his head before finding something to eat and drink away the migraine he could feel was coming.

Watching his cousin walk away from him, Felix knew he thought he was fighting a losing battle. But he wasn’t too worried. Everything would change during the upcoming term. Oxford was its own world – broken away from everything else. All that mattered to anyone in Oxford was this world's history, present, and future. And now – as it was made clear now to Felix – you were also part of that world. He would get to find you again and make sure to bring you to the point where you would look for him the way he would look for you.

Still, a selfish part of Felix hoped that you were even just the slightest bit miserable being away from him as he was being away from you.

Manchester, December 2006

You were having the time of your life.

Michael invited you to his home in Manchester for Christmas to spend the holidays with his family. You refused, at first, the idea of being a burden to your best friend during a time when it should be spent with family. Michael liked to put up a big front, but you knew that he was just as – if not more – excited to spend Christmas with his folks than you were before the “incident.”

But he insisted, and you could not have been more grateful for the invitation. But you wish you were a tad bit more graceful with your reaction when he first brought it up.

Oxford Dining Hall December 2006

You were angrily shoveling pasta into your mouth at the time. Sadly, the appallingly bland marinara sauce paired with the overcooked spaghetti and dry meatballs was the university's most flavorful dish.

“Come home with me.” He told you one evening during dinner time at the dining hall.

Caught off guard, you half-choked on the mountain of overcooked noodles in your mouth. Immediately, you reached for your glass of water to wash it down and to prevent a truly horrifically dull death.

“What?” you croaked out.

“Come with me to my house for Christmas.” He clarified, utterly unfazed by your near death. “Come on, you’ve been complaining to me all week about not being able to fly back for the holidays. And no one should have to spend Christmas eating whatever slop they’ll end up serving.”

“Michael,” you began, “I am not going to impose on your family like that. And you seemed to have forgotten one key detail: I can’t leave until I re-do the painting.”

“So, come over after you finish,” he reasoned, “I know you remember what to do, and that already cuts the time you originally spent on it in half. You won’t need a whole month to do it again, so come over when you finish. Plus, you don’t have your other classes to worry about.”

You knew that he was right – he was right about a lot of things – but the offer still made you uncomfortable. Scholarship student or not, you were no one’s charity case. If there was one thing you hated more than being underestimated, it was being pitied by people who didn’t know you. That wasn’t the case with Michael, but the feeling made you feel small.

You hated feeling small.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I would be imposing on your family. Your mom’s a nurse, right? She’s probably been looking forward to your homecoming for ages now. Informing her that she should be expecting a complete stranger, who would be staying for two weeks, would be a huge burden on her. She shouldn’t have that kind of stress burdening her during the holidays.”

He rolled his eyes at your concern.

“Don’t be a drama queen. I already have one in my life, and I’m genetically attached to her. And you’re hardly a stranger. Mum’s always asking when you would be visiting anyway. She’s worried if you’re eating enough or getting enough sleep. She’s a bit looney like that.”

You shot your friend a glare. He was trying way too hard to keep a cool, nonchalant façade. Michael Gavey was a total sucker for his family but in the sweetest way. During the long study sessions that stretched into the night, Michael’s defenses were lowered, and you could get more information about his life and home.  

His mom was a Manchester Royal Infirmary nurse practitioner, while his dad was an accountant at Pearl Lemon. They met at a coffee shop. He was working as a barista to pay off his student loans, and she was a nurse just starting her residency. He wowed her with his terrible jokes, and she charmed him with her infectious smile, and the rest was history. Three years into their marriage, baby Mikey was born, with the addition of his baby sister Lilypad a decade later.

When you remained silent, Michael knew your stubbornness would give him endless headaches. But you were his best friend, the only person he saw worth befriending in the infinite sea of prats and slags that overpopulated their university. You laughed at his shitty jokes, and he snorted at yours. You would try to trip him up with out-of-pocket sums; he’d laugh when he answered them before your calculator. You had his back when some rugby bloke pushed him around, and he had yours when some fake tanned bitch called you a tramp.

“Look, I can’t promise it’ll be anything like your home. I know you miss your mum’s cooking and your dad’s drunk stories. But my parents already made me promise that I would get you to visit because it’s Christmas and no one should be alone and you’re going to die without me here and blah blah blah. Just say you’ll come? Lil’ will murder me if you don’t come. She’s been dying to hear all about the Great Apple and Broadway.”

“…It’s actually called the Big Apple.”

Your comment brought a loud and rather unattractive snort to leave his mouth. And the chuckle that came after brought a small and tentative smile on you.

“Look, are you coming or not?”

You had to admit, the invitation sounded welcoming. You were dying to put faces on the people that made Michael Gavey, well, Michael Gavey. He rarely talked about his family, but his tone was warm and soft when he did. It was such a sweet contrast to the snarky little shit you were used to, and so temptation won in the end.

“…Fine.” You agreed after dragging out the tension. “But I am bringing presents for all your family members, and you have to help me. And any funds that were spent on me are going to be paid back before summer. Got it?”

A true, genuine smile crept across Michael’s face.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“…Will I be seeing any baby pictures of you?”

“Don’t push it.”

You weren’t sure what exactly to expect from Michael’s family – maybe they were wonderful, or maybe the idea of an American that hailed from a city with some of the highest crime rates in the US gave them hives – but you were sure that you wouldn’t be alone if Michael were with you. Safe to say, your expectations were set way too low.

His dad's arms immediately enveloped Michael after you two exited at your stop and the station. You had always assumed most British father figures to be a bit cold and distant, but it seemed that stereotype didn’t apply to his dad. You went in for a handshake but were also caught in a warm hug. You introduced yourself while expressing your gratitude to him and his wife’s generosity.

“Oh no, please,” he insisted, “please call me Greg. Mr. Gavey was my father’s name, and I don’t think I’ve grown that many wrinkles yet.”

When you arrived at his home, it was a medium-sized red brick building in the suburbs. After entering the door and Greg announcing your arrival, quick footsteps ran down the stairs, and a young girl with golden honey curls in pajamas and a pink tutu ran to Michael.

“MIKEY!” she exclaimed. “YOU’RE HOME! Did you miss me? Why did it take you so long? You said your tests were done by the third. It’s the fifteenth today!”

“Lily, Lily,” Michael breathily laughed, “calm down. Of course, I missed you. But I had to wait for my friend because she’s hopeless with directions.”

“That is not true!” you blurted. “It’s not my fault I come from a grid system!”

“Anyway, this is my very good friend, Y/N L/N. Y/N L/N, this is my little sister, Lily.”

Lily turned to you with a big smile and curtsied like a perfect ballerina.

“Hello! My name is Lily! I’m eight, but I’ll be nine in April!”

You almost squealed at how adorable the sight was. You crouched down and mirrored her smile.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Lily! I’m Y/N, and I’m turning nineteen this coming b/m! Your brother here told me so much about you.”

“He did?” she asked with wide eyes.

“He did! He told you how smart you are in math and that you’re an amazing ballerina.”

Lily shyly looked down as a massively cute blush bloomed on her cheeks.

“I wanna be good at sums like Mikey. That way, I can help Daddy with his work like Mikey did when he was my age.”

“Ok!” interjected ‘Mikey,’ cheeks equally flushed at the slipped detail from his baby sister. “Time to find Mum. She in the kitchen?”

“Yep! She’s making roast chicken and mash with peas!” She turned to you. “Is Y/N allergic to anything?”

“Nope!” you replied, “Only dust, but I’m pretty sure that won’t be in the dishes.”

Meeting Michael’s mom – who was absolutely gorgeous, by the way – was another huge highlight of the break so far. Hearing you three entering the kitchen, she immediately turned off the stove and dashed over to hug you and her son.

“Oh, Y/N!” she warmly greeted you. “I’m so happy that you were able to come. Michael has told me so much about you. Have you adjusted well in Oxford? The time difference isn’t putting too much strain on you, is it? You both look so skinny – are they feeding you at all at that school?”

“Careful, Mum. You might scare her off.”

You shot him a mocking glare before answering his mother.

“Don’t be mean! And I think I’ve adjusted well enough to the university. Jet lag wasn’t too much of an issue because my parents made sure I moved into my dorm early and adjusted to the time zone changes before classes started. The food they serve at the dining halls doesn’t compare to homecooked meals, so I haven’t had much of an appetite. But after walking into the kitchen, I think I’ll be able to regain it once I have your cooking!”

“Oh, you are so sweet! I’ll let you get settled. Greg and I cleaned up the guest room for you. It’s next to Lilypad’s room. She’s excited to hear any stories you have about New York. It’s just on the second floor at the end of the hall.”

Walking back to the entrance to grab your bags, you were just in earshot of Michael and his mom’s conversation.

“Michael! Why didn’t you tell me she was so beautiful! I thought she was a model from Vogue when she first walked in! Are you sure nothing’s going on between you two? Should I expect any grandchildren in the near future?”

“Mum!” he loudly groaned as you softly chortled.

Christmas with the Gaveys was so much fun. You played a dozen board games. Michael was a beast in Poker and Uno while you cleared the board with Scrabble and Black Jacks. Mrs. Gavey was a fantastic cook – you couldn’t remember the last time you had any meal that had more than salt as a seasoning since coming to England. You tried sticky toffee pudding for the first time – you almost cried at that first bite. Everyone was so warm to each other and showered one another with so much love. Most of the neighbors watched Michael grow up, and many shared his childhood stories. It reminded you a lot of the Christmases at your parents’ apartment back in Queens.

The community and camaraderie- it was like you were back at home with your family. Your mom would pick up a roast duck from Peking Duck Sandwich Stall in Flushing while you and your dad would go to Eileen’s to wait in line to pick up your favorite cheesecake. The building would have a huge potluck on Christmas Eve, and everyone would bring a dish. Your neighbor, Mrs. Wong, would bring out everything necessary to make her famous dumplings. Everything was made from scratch. You and the kids of the building would learn how to wrap the fillings in the wrappers while the adults made the wrappers and fillings. You would play White Elephant with the other kids on Christmas Day, which usually ended in a fistfight.

You still missed home. You missed your parents and cat. You missed making cookies with your parents because Christmas was the only time when both of them had time off from work. While his school was still on break, you and your dad would take advantage of your mom’s employee benefits and watch a bunch of live Broadway shows.

When your parents skyped you, you cried after seeing their faces for the first time in so long. School was so stressful, and you were starting to regret traveling so far when you could have easily gone to a school so much closer to home. You tried your best to reschedule your flight, but round-trip flights were expensive, and they increased exponentially during the holidays.

You cried for an hour after seeing the prices online.

But thanks to Michael, you felt so much less alone than you would have if you had stayed at Oxford for the entire break. You introduced him to your parents during the call, and they loved him. It was such a massive relief that they liked your friend, especially because of how much his friendship meant to you. When he left the room, your parents basically forced you to ensure he would come with you to stay with you when you returned for the summer. They were shocked when you told them he had never had fresh jianbing or a decent slice of pizza. After the call, you were confident they were making a list of every store and stall you and Michael would visit during his visit.

Classic Queens’ family behavior – showing love by forcing food down your throat whether you like it or not.

At the moment, you were at the window in your room and looking at the moon. It was about three in the morning, and the rest of the household was asleep.

Well – everyone except one.

Michael had crept in about half an hour ago, and the two of you were just looking at the stars. You hadn’t expected to see so many – you could only see the lights from planes and aircraft at night back home. There wasn’t any talking, only comforting silence. The scene outside your window with the fresh snow on top of the rooftops and ground. Each house had a slight outline of their Christmas tree lights shining from their lower windows.

Your fingers itched for your pencil and sketchbook to immortalize it.

Ever so softly, Michael broke the silence while looking at you.

“So,” he began, “how would you rate your first English Christmas in the Gavey Household?”

You looked back at him with the biggest smile that Michael had ever seen on you.

“Ten out of ten. Would pay to see lightsaber reenactment again.”

If there was a God out there, you prayed for the coming term to be as wonderful as this holiday had been for you.

Suburban Prescot, Liverpool December 2006

In a well-established suburban home in Prescot, a short boy with crystal blue eyes and inky black hair locked himself in his room. The noise and babble from downstairs gave him a headache. He hated his parents. He hated his sisters. He hated being invisible and being from nowhere.

He had to get out of here.

In his backpack, a photo of a specific heir of a manor was safely tucked in the bottom. The new term was going to be different for him. He would make sure of it.

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[halfvalid]

the blade daughter, pt. 3

ABOUT

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

alternate title: dracule mihawk cures your daddy issues!

rating: mature

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!dracule mihawk | live action!straw hat ensemble

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 23.6k total | 7.3k this part

description: you finally soothe the uncertainty you've had surrounding going out and making a life of your own. somewhere inside, you find the bravery to finally tell zoro how you'd feel about him.

tags: mihawk's daughter!reader, female reader, canon-typical violence, cursing, no use of 'y/n', pet names per mihawk ('dear', 'darling', 'sweetheart', 'little hawk'), emotional hurt/comfort, slow burn, kissing, confessions, a lil suggestive at the end

author’s note: ANDDDD SHE'S DONE!!! this was a wild 8 day long ride of writing, i'm a bit uncertain about the ending so please tell me what you thought of it!! hopefully you liked the fic, thank u so so much for reading.

The two of you emerged from the room a little while later. You’d finished cleaning up, and Zoro had kept you company as you cleaned both his swords and Hiru. The both of you walked together afterwards, wandering into the kitchen where Sanji had whipped up a meal. 

“We’re close to the Grand Line,” Nami reported, having apparently steered the ship far enough away from the other pirates to leave the helm alone. “Should reach the mountain by early morning.” She glanced over at you. “Kuraigana Island first, right?” 

“Yeah,” you affirmed. “The Grand Line is… screwed, though.”

“We’ll be fine,” Luffy said brightly. You just shrugged, taking a seat at the table. “Zoro! Did you get everything cleaned up?” Zoro had changed into a fresh shirt, one not so bloodstained, and he gave a curt nod. “Good. Come and eat so we can get ready for tomorrow?” 

Sanji passed you a bowl, and you let out a thin breath. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered how and when this had become your norm—it’d been a week with the Straw Hats, now, and— 

You dropped your chopsticks in your hand. It’d been a week. “Fuck,” you said, the word dropping out from between your lips before you could stop them. Your entire body had gone rigid, pink flushing up your arms and face as something burned deep inside of you. 

Everyone’s heads had snapped up to look at you, matching concerned expressions on all of their faces. “I, um—” you said, scrambling up from your seat, words too big in your mouth. You opted not to finish them, dropping your sentence as you yanked your shell phone out of your jacket pocket. “Sorry, I—” 

You shook your head, hurrying out of the kitchen. The cold gust of the ocean breeze hit heavy on your face, and you let out a breath, the gust of air exhaling out of your chest in a rush. You heard footsteps behind you, but the panic hadn’t bled out of your veins entirely, and your hands shook as you tried to open your phone. 

Zoro’s hand was pressed over yours before you could snap the case open. You stared down at it, and your gaze lifted, the tremble of your hands subsiding as his warm grasp sunk deep into your skin. “What’s up?” he asked, low and steady. 

“I, um—” you swallowed hard, hitching breath soothing at his touch. “Um. It’s—I have to call my dad.” 

Zoro was serene, tone even and still. His words from before echoed around in your head, the proclamation of not having patience. It’d been untrue after all. “Did something happen?” 

“I’m supposed to have dinner with him,” you blurted. “Tonight. I’ve never missed it before. Because I’ve always been on the island, in our—I’ve never missed it before. I’ve been with you all for too long.” 

“I’m sure he’d understand,” Zoro said, though his hand didn’t fall from yours. He paused, lips parted as his eyes ran along your face. “Or is it something you’re upset about?” 

“I don’t have friends,” you whispered, words fierce. “I don’t go places. I stay at home. This life isn’t mine. It’s—” 

“I don’t think you should dictate what you do based on what your father does,” Zoro interrupted. His tone wasn’t harsh, exactly—but it was strong, tone firm, jaw set as he spoke. “So you miss one dinner. So you’re out and about for longer than a week. Does it matter?” 

Does it matter? Your heart pounded in your chest, and you took in a steady breath, trying to soothe the adrenaline that still pulsed in your veins even now. “I don’t… I’m not used to this,” you admitted, somehow managing to keep the contact of your eyes even as your brain screamed at you to look away. “I’m not used to being away from home.” 

“Everyone starts somewhere,” Zoro said. 

You hesitated. His hand moved carefully away from yours, nudging your fingers to open the phone. Your gaze dropped, staring at the little snail waiting for you inside, nestled in his little bed of velvet. You picked it up, tucking it into your ear as your shaking hands dialed Mihawk’s number. 

He answered on the first ring. “Hello there, darling,” he said, and you closed your eyes, a soft exhale leaving your lungs at his voice. “Are you calling me about dinner? I’ll be there in a few hours, I promise. Just finishing up over here.” 

“No, actually, um—” you cut yourself off, teeth coming down to halt your tongue. You opened your eyes, turning to glance tentatively over at Zoro. Does it matter? he had asked. Which… it did, right? You weren’t a part of the Straw Hats. You hadn’t joined their crew; you’d been insistent on that, pushing away any idea of a life out at sea in exchange for the comfort and familiarity of your home lifestyle. But you’d been making bonds with them despite, and helping them out with their ship, and fighting alongside them in battle. And you’d just patched up Zoro’s wounds a mere hour earlier. You didn’t make friends.

But you were making them. 

“I’m not going to dinner this week,” you said, the words all slurred as they spilled from your mouth. There was a pause of surprise on Mihawk’s line before he spoke again. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling Zoro’s gaze on you. 

“Finally departed from the nest, have you, darling?” Mihawk said. His voice was soft—tender, almost. “Very well, then. Any idea when you’ll be on the island next, or shall we keep it a suspended date?” 

“I should be home in a few days,” you said, voice hitching in your breath. “I’ll—I’ll call you! I don’t know what I’m going to do afterwards, but I’ll—I’m not going to just disappear.” 

“Well, of course,” Mihawk said simply. You tightened the squeeze of your eyes, trying to suppress the tingling prickles at your waterline. “I’m glad you’re making friends, dear.” 

You made a face, letting out a breathy scoff. A defense mechanism, really. “Don’t get mushy on me, old man.” 

“Me? Mushy?” There was a staticky scoff crackling over from Mihawk’s side of the line. It was such a simple conversation, so—why was it driving you to tears? “I could never, darling, do you even know me? I’ve got to fly, anyway—there’s some pesky pirates around here I’ve got to deal with.” 

“Bye, dad,” you said, the words choking up your throat, all raggedy at the edges, too big as you shoved them up and through your mouth. They grazed your tongue, but the points weren’t edges; they didn’t draw blood. “I—um.” 

The Dracules did not say I love you. Your father was doting, certainly, but he expressed his affection in far more unspoken ways. Presents from all four Blues. A weapon of the highest caliber quality when you were thirteen. Personal lessons in sword fighting. The murder of anyone who dared send an off look in your direction. 

“Me too, little hawk,” Mihawk said simply. “Now go have fun.” 

The den den mushi let out a soft little croak, signaling that Mihawk had hung up. You let your hand fall, the fingers holding the case of your phone going slack. Air punctured your lungs as you inhaled, the salty, crisp breeze loosening your muscles with every breath. 

“Are you alright?” Zoro asked. The words were gruff, awkward. Like he wasn’t used to saying them. You tightened your grip on your case, and then tugged the snail out of your ear, setting it carefully back where it belonged. You met Zoro’s gaze, heart thudding a bit faster as you saw flickers of concern in his eyes. 

“Yeah,” you said. “I think I am.” 

The sun shone bright on your face, the weather of the Grand Line being more forgiving today as the ship sailed carefully through the ocean. Your route was still towards Kuraigana Island, although you were growing more split about it by the second. You’d just had a conversation with Mihawk a day or so ago about you not being at the house—and the fact that you’d have to choose whether to go home and potentially never see the Straw Hats again was a decision that gripped heavy at your heart. 

“Looks like you’ve got a lot on your mind.” You glanced up to see Zoro at your side, forearms propping at the Going Merry’s railing as he gazed out at the ocean. You shrugged, eyes flickering down his side profile before falling back to your hands. 

“I don’t know,” you said. “Just thinking about what to do, I guess.” 

Zoro fixed you with a look. “You should try not doing that.” 

A startled laugh escaped your throat. “What? Thinking?” 

“It gets old,” Zoro said with a firm nod, brow slightly creased to shield his eyes from the sun. “I’d recommend dropping it for at least a few hours. You’re getting wrinkles.” One of his hands moved upwards to nudge against your forehead, and you ducked, another laugh gracing the edges of your lips. 

“Right,” you said, dubious. “How are your wounds?” 

“I’ve taken worse,” Zoro said with a shrug. “Though I guess I’ve still got that one, huh.” He grimaced, lips tugging back to bare his teeth into a scowl. It took him a while to speak again, and you turned your gaze back towards the ocean, waiting for the unspoken words to leave his lips. Minutes ticked by, but you just basked in the sun, trying to air your mind of any thoughts. Maybe Zoro had a point, there—sometimes it really wasn’t necessary to think at all. 

When Zoro finally spoke, his words were quiet; muttered under his breath. You had to strain to hear them, as the thin ocean breeze swallowed them up almost immediately. “I really thought I could beat him.” 

You huffed out a breath, unsure of what to say. Unsure if Zoro even wanted you to say anything. Your grip on the boat’s railing tightening, palm running across the soft wood. You found words falling out of your mouth anyway, though, although you yourself were surprised by them—“You can.” 

Zoro glanced up at you, surprised. “Maybe not now,” you hastened to say, not wanting to add to his clearly already-inflated ego. “But you’re good. You’re good enough to beat him, eventually. In a few years, given the proper time and training. I think…” You swallowed down the phlegm in your throat, alarmed by how wet your voice was starting to sound. You took in a breath, steadying your tone, making certain your voice wasn’t quite so thin or reedy. “I think that’s what scares me about you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Zoro said, all low and hushed. You just shrugged. 

“I don’t mind,” you answered. You felt his eyes on you, burning like a sun on fire, like the stars dotting his skin were crisping over your skin, charred and burnt and broken. Or maybe it wasn’t quite so destructive. Maybe it was a tender fire, crowning a pile of wood and cared for with iron stakes, embers glowing deep in the night to keep warmth fueling a pot of soup, or healing ragged hands after a long battle. 

“Let me get you a drink.”

Zoro disappeared. He returned with a flask, handing it over to you after unscrewing its cap. You knocked it back—it was rich but bland, all dry and earthy. Sake. You’d pegged him more as a beer guy. “Thanks.” 

Zoro’s gaze didn’t move from your figure. It was warm, you decided then. The swordsman was vicious at times, relentless in his fight, sinewy figure slashing cuts into flesh as he sparred with his enemies. But there was a distinction behind the hot, heavy iron of those glares at the look at which he placed upon you now. You couldn’t go as far to say his eyes were tender, or soft. But they were warm. Fire was a calamitous thing, but it had its blessings. 

“Let me take you out,” Zoro said suddenly. Your entire body froze, murmurs of warmth and tingling buzzes pricking up and down your spine. Something inside you lurched—no, it didn’t lurch, didn’t have the unpleasant sensation associated with it. It was softer, burning, guttural. Like a sharp knife cutting straight through your abdomen, sliding into your stomach, prying apart the bones like they were putty. Your chest squeezed inwards, heart pulsating with soft pangs of something. Hunger; desire, maybe. Yearning. 

“Why?” you asked. Zoro just shrugged, effortlessly casual in his movements. You saw a hitch in his throat, a flicker of something in his eyes, a strain in his jaw. Not so effortless after all. “Actually, more importantly—where?” 

“I’ll figure something out,” Zoro answered. “Is that a yes?” 

You turned, glancing up at him tentatively. “I’m not used to this sort of thing,” you said carefully. Zoro just shrugged. He still looked effortless, all guarded, but you could see the tremors and quivers underneath. 

“Neither am I.” 

You pursed your lips, raising your face to let the sun glow down onto your skin. “I have a rule, though,” you said, voice lifting up, more of a tease now. There was a ghost of a smile at the edge of your words, although your mouth wasn’t shaped in one. It was hesitant, careful not to scare you, really; creeping on you inch by inch. “I can’t go out with men who haven’t beaten me in combat.” 

Zoro snorted. “I have beaten you,” he said. “But if you want a rematch—” 

“Let’s not strain your injuries too much.” Zoro let out a scoff, but it was light-hearted, laced with amusement. You just shook your head, the dawning smile at the edges of your lips now, tugging them softly upwards. “I accept a loss when I get served one. You beat me, fair and square.”

“So I get to take you out now,” Zoro murmured, words careful, hovering in the air just barely out of his lips. He turned towards you, the sun outlining his face with a soft glow of gold and orange. He didn’t smile, but there was that soft, burning look again, lips slightly parted, taking in air. “That’s the rule, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” you said. “It is.” 

“Tonight, then,” Zoro said. “Ten. Aftercastle.” 

You spent some time contemplating what to wear. You hadn’t brought a very expansive wardrobe along with you, only the essentials, so there wasn’t much to choose from—just some shirts and pants, no dresses or skirts in the bare bones of your luggage. You eventually picked out your favorite of the grouping, sliding your signature jacket on like usual, Hiru fastened securely in its scabbard at the back. 

Zoro was waiting at the afterdeck when you arrived, dressed in a dark wrap shirt and his usual green obi. The cloth was nicer, though: his pants were missing their usual wear and tear, and his shirt looked to be made of finer cotton. “Hi,” you said, slipping up next to him. The tangerine tree’s leaves brushed at your ear, and you glanced up at it. The fruit was ripe, round and as bright orange as Nami’s hair. 

“Hey,” Zoro replied. One of his forearms was propped against the afterdeck railing, and the other wrapped around the side. You put your hand beside his, pinky just inches away from his. “Do you know any constellations?” 

“Some,” you said, squinting up at the sky. You could point a few of them out, but not many—the sky was cloudy tonight, most of the stars blocked out by dull puffs of gray and blue. “You?” 

“No,” Zoro answered. “Was never really interested in that kind of thing.” He glanced over at you. You’d turned your attention on the trees, again, plucking one of the tangerines off the branches. The tree trembled, its leaves quivering with soft swaying motions. You dug your nails into the flesh, peeling it carefully. “Why’d you just stay home?” 

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug. “My dad used to not let me leave. He stayed with me until I was maybe twelve, for the most part. Then he started going out more, but he didn’t want me to come. Something about it being dangerous. He dropped the ban when I was sixteen, but…” you hesitated, tucking the shredded pieces of tangerine peels in your pocket. “I just kind of stuck with it, I guess.” 

“Weren’t you lonely?” 

“Kind of.” You broke the orange in half, moving on to pick at the pith with your fingernails. You gathered that up, too, little white lines piling up in the crease of your palm. 

“Yeah, me too.” 

“He always wanted me to leave, I think,” you said. “To find my own life. I was always happy staying there with him, though. Or waiting for him.” 

“You wouldn’t be abandoning him by leaving,” Zoro said. 

“Logically, I know that.” You peeled a piece of orange off from a half, offering it to Zoro. He took it, carefully pushing it between his teeth. He broke skin, a burst of piquant citrus juice dripping on his lower lip. Your eyes lingered there a moment too long, but you looked away a second later, speaking again. “I think it’s just a habit, really. I worry.” 

“I mean, he’s a Warlord of the Sea. I think he can take care of himself.” 

“It’s not that I’m worried about,” you said with a sigh. You popped a slice of orange in your mouth, sucking at the tart juice. “I don’t want him to get lonely.” 

“That’s not really your responsibility,” Zoro answered. His pinky crept closer to your hand, from where you’d returned your grip on the railing. His touch was feather-light, a soft breath of skin against skin that was there and gone again within a moment. “Did you think any more about it?” 

“I didn’t,” you said. “Took a page out of your book.” 

“It’ll come to you eventually,” Zoro said. “Like that one Shanks guy said—actually, I don’t remember the quote. Ask Luffy about it in the morning. He’ll probably go on for a few hours.” 

You snorted. “You’re kind of bad at giving advice, Zoro.” The name came easily, and you stopped, feeling the syllables on your teeth. It was comforting. Natural. 

Zoro seemed a tad bit offended by that. “At least I’m trying,” he muttered, voice defensive but not hostile. “Onto lighter topics?” 

You popped another tangerine slice in your mouth. “Like what?” 

“Nothing light about my life, so I’ve got no idea.” You snorted, choking on the orange that’d made its way halfway down the passage of your throat. You coughed, shaky laughs escaping your lips as you cleared your airways. An amused smile had perched on Zoro’s face, eyes glimmering with warmth as he watched you.

“That was unnecessarily edgy,” you protested. You finished with your tangerine, letting the pith flutter out of your palm, some of the white floss sticking. You didn’t mind it. 

“Got a laugh out of you, didn’t it?” Zoro nudged you, the skin of his finger pressing fully against your pinky. This time, he didn’t move away, letting the warmth of his skin bleed into yours. 

“You never answered my question.” You raised your pinky, lifting it to brush against Zoro’s knuckle. Carefully, you slipped it into the gap of his interdigit, looping your fingers together so they were intertwined. Zoro exhaled shakily—you glimpsed his other arm moving away from the railing, lowering to his side. “Why you wanted me out here, I mean.” 

Zoro pulled up a flask, unscrewing the cap with one hand. He didn’t drink, though, just held the bottle suspended in his hand. He didn’t say anything for a while, letting the soft rush of water from below and the tranquil rocking of the boat fill the silence. For a moment you thought he wasn’t going to say anything at all. To your surprise, though, he raised the flask to his lips, taking a short sip before letting his hand fall again. “You feel different.” 

“Care to be a little less vague?” 

“I don’t know if I can,” Zoro said carefully. His guard was up, that much was sure. You didn’t exactly blame him. “Things have changed since I joined Luffy. Sometimes I can’t describe it.” 

“The crew,” you said. “It makes sense.” 

“It does,” Zoro agreed. There was something magnetic about it, about him—something that drew you in. But you weren’t afraid of it, really. The Straw Hats weren’t scary. Their bared teeth weren’t fangs; their canines remained unsharpened at their maw. Their lure was more peaceful than that. “We like you. You fit in.” He paused, mouth slightly ajar, a tremor of something on his lower lip. “I like you.” 

Your lungs were empty, devoid of air. Something in your chest clawed at you, trying to climb up your throat, compressing your organs. Zoro’s touch burned into you, interlocked fingers searching an imprint in your skin. You were certain you’d feel it for hours; days; months; years after. “I think I like you too,” you said. 

“Well, you like my earrings,” Zoro said easily. “That’s a start.” 

You turned towards him, at his open stance, tucking yourself in the space between his figure at the side of the ship. The motion forced Zoro to raise your hands away from the railing, but he slid with the action easily, fingers fully interlacing with yours. His other arm remained propped along the ship, flask in his fingers, the skin of his forearm brushing against your side. Your free hand raised up to skim along his earrings, dull clinks of the metal sounding out at the emotion. “I do like your earrings.” 

“Enough to let me kiss you?” 

You tugged gently at Zoro’s earlobe, angling your face up to meet his. “Yeah.” 

Zoro kissed you square on the mouth, mouth full and open, hand slipping around your back. The edge of his sake flask dug into your spine, but it wasn’t a sharp pain, and you didn’t mind it. Your fingers tightened against Zoro’s, chasing his lips with yours, letting him swallow you whole. He was patient with it, smooth and languid; tongue licking into the crevices of your mouth, firm as he mouthed kisses at the lines of your lips. 

You breathed in from his lungs, chest getting tight as he sucked the air clean out of you. Still, you were addicted, utterly devoted as his fingers nudged against your hand and his tongue skimmed along your mouth. He was a good kisser, effortless and smooth, nearly elegant with his motions. He tasted like sake; earthy, woodsy, reminiscent of some sort of mushroom, maybe. It suited him well. 

You let out a little whimper as Zoro’s tongue pressed deep to your throat, and he swallowed it up, flicking lazily along the roof of your mouth. You were getting short of breath, though, so you placed a gentle litany of faint kisses along his mouth before tilting your head back and letting the night air puncture your lungs. Zoro’s pupils had gone wide, deep black swallowing the walnut of his irises. His hand pulsed against yours, steady as ever, but he didn’t speak.

“I like more than your jewelry,” you said, staring down at where your fingers tangled with his. They looked like two pieces of a puzzle, extremities manipulated to slot along each other, palms molded together. “I like the way you move, and the way you fight. I like your face.” You hesitated, playing with Zoro’s fingertips to distract you from your words. 

“You don’t have to say it,” Zoro said. 

“No, I think I do.” A ghost of a smile flickered up your mouth; a corpse, really, one that had forgotten it wasn’t really dead after all. “I like you, Roronoa Zoro.” 

Zoro’s fingers squeezed tighter against yours. There was no click, no noise of finality, no settlement of a suspended thread. You supposed it didn’t work like that. Life didn’t stop and end. You went on. You’d see Zoro in the morning, again, after you’d gone to sleep, and things would continue like normal. “Okay,” he said. “Late enough for you to go to bed, yet?” 

“I could go either way,” you answered. “Staying out here wouldn’t be so bad either.” 

“Fine by me,” Zoro said, not moving from where he stood. “So, Lady Dracule. Where to next?” 

“Wherever the breeze takes me,” you answered, but there was a decision settling down in your chest. One you weren’t so afraid to look at anymore. 

Kuraigana Island was just as you’d left it, sky dark as night even in the middle of the day, rotted ground crunching dust and rocks underneath your feet. The Going Merry had docked in one of the number of homemade boat berths Mihawk had made sometime in your youth. 

Usopp let out a low whistle as the Straw Hats stepped onto the island, head practically turning around in a 180 degree spin as he craned his neck to look around. “You live here?” 

“It’s quaint,” you said defensively. 

Nami gave you a sympathetic look. “It really isn’t.”

“Why is the sky black?” Luffy murmured in amazement, casting his gaze upwards to the overhang of rumbling clouds that existed perpetually over the island. “Have you never seen sun in your life?” 

You rolled your eyes, leading them through the gravelly path up to your house. Their reactions were, well, nothing short of the expected—Sanji’s eyebrows lifted, and Zoro let out a low whistle as he took in the sight. 

“It’s like Kaya’s house,” Usopp breathed. “But… bigger. And more spiky!” 

“It needs a paint job,” Nami deadpanned. You snorted. 

“I’ve been trying to get him to renovate for forever. Good luck.” You cleared your throat, suddenly awkward as the group walked closer and closer to the house. Your footsteps slowed, until you came to a full stop a few meters off the front door. The Straw Hats grouped around you, curious. “Just… don’t be weird, please. Nami, don’t steal anything unless it looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in thirty years. I only bother to polish the important stuff.” 

“Is that an open invitation to rob your house?” Nami asked with a snort.

“Do you have any food?” Luffy asked. 

“Probably not. My dad can’t cook for shit. Sanji can make something,” you said. “Our kitchen’s kinda nice.” 

“Working in a Warlord’s kitchen? I’d be honored,” Sanji said, with a little flourish of his hand. You rolled your eyes, but Luffy at least seemed satisfied. You glanced over at Zoro, who was the only one of the group who hadn’t said anything up to now—his lips were set into a thin line, but he met your gaze, and they flickered upwards just a quarter of an inch. The action was reassuring, almost, and you were soothed enough to start walking again.

The door flung open before you reached it, although the sudden motion didn’t startle you like it did to your compatriots. Dracule Mihawk stood in the doorway, dressed in his usual hat and jacket, Yoru heavy off his shoulders like usual. “I thought I heard footsteps,” your father trilled, voice wonderfully monotone as he bent in front of you, taking your hand to press a gentle kiss upon your knuckles. “Have you brought your friends along, darling?” 

“Clearly,” you said with a soft laugh. It was like all the tension evaporated from your body as soon as your father got near, and you found his hand, giving it a tight squeeze before turning to your friends. “Do you need introductions, or do you know them all already?” 

“I only remember the future pirate king and the swordsman,” Mihawk said with a dismissive wave. “Oh, and Yasopp’s child. It’s no matter, really. Well, come on in, you’re letting in the cold air.” 

Usopp stuttered something incomprehensible about his father, but Mihawk had already disappeared. You glanced over your shoulder at the rest of the Straw Hats. “He’s like that,” you said apologetically. “Just… come in.”

They followed you into the house, glancing around the lobby to take in the decor. You had to admit, a lot of it was rather gaudy, but it wasn’t like Mihawk cared much about what adorned the walls, and you had little resources to work with. Sanji made quick work moving to the kitchen after you made sure that Mihawk hadn’t prepared dinner. 

“So,” Nami said, the words mulling around in her mouth as she lounged by the kitchen island. “Nice place.” 

“It’s kinda scary-looking,” Luffy said honestly. “Interesting choice of decoration. I guess if you like it, though.” 

“Are you okay on your own for a moment?” you asked, getting up from your seat. “I’m going to go talk to my dad.” Luffy nodded, and the others all hummed their assent. Zoro caught your gaze—soft, curious. You just gave him a reassuring smile and slipped out of the room. 

Mihawk was waiting in the living room, long body stretched supine along the couch, booted feet thrown up on the arm. You narrowed your gaze at it. “Don’t put your feet on the furniture,” you grumbled. 

“Sorry, dear,” Mihawk said, though he made no move to alter his position. “Did you end up getting that jacket for me?” 

“I did,” you said, glancing through the satchel that hung at your hip. You pulled it out, folding it with a solid shake and holding it up for Mihawk to see. His golden eyes flickered up and down the garment, taking in the material. Black cotton twill, with red paisley silk as the lining, delicate red lace at the hem and sleeves. The lapels were wide, buttons shiny and black, and it used red stitching rather than black, giving a sort of exoskeleton look to it. Mihawk sat up, pushing his hat back. 

“It’s beautiful, darling. I love it.” 

You folded the jacket in half, slinging it across the back of the sofa before moving around to face Mihawk fully. “About the crew.” 

Mihawk glanced up to meet your eyes. “Yes?” 

“I…” you took in a breath, the inhale shaky in your lungs, bones and muscles rattling in your chest. “I think I’m going to stay with them for a little while, if you’re okay with it.” 

“The Straw Hat crew,” Mihawk said carefully, shaping the words on his mouth, tasting them on his tongue. “My daughter, part of the Straw Hat crew. Well, it’s not the most terrible-sounding thing to say, I suppose.” He paused. “No idea why you’d think I wouldn’t be okay with it, though, sweetheart. I’m not horrendous.” 

“Well, I figured—” you started, voice trailing out into a protesting whine. “You’d be against them? Garp sent you after them. One of them tried to kill you.” 

“Oh, you know I don’t hold grudges over such trifling matters,” Mihawk said with a dismissive wave. “Roronoa Zoro, right? He was watching you the entire time you entered. Wouldn’t take his eyes off you, darling.” There was a particular glint in his eyes, hunted, like he was searching for a quarry. “Something to tell me?” 

“No,” you said, too fast. Mihawk lifted both brows, and you broke almost easily. “Maybe. No. He’s—no.”

Mihawk clucked his tongue, sounding amused. “I suppose your rebel streak was bound to come out eventually. And from what you told me, he did beat you, so I can’t exactly complain.” You flushed, warmth heating up your skin, bringing a rosy blush to your cheeks. “Make sure he doesn’t get himself killed before I can fight him again, will you, little hawk? I’ve got my eye on that one.” 

“Okay, dad,” you muttered, but the tension of your shoulders had gone slack, and your muscles were loose. 

“Will you be leaving after dinner, or will you stay until the morning?” Mihawk asked, standing up to his full height. He stretched, sinewy limbs long and supple. He looked nearly odd without Yoru perched along his back. “I’ve missed you.” 

“Morning,” you answered. “I’ve missed you too, dad.” 

Mihawk smiled at you. “Go make sure our guests aren’t burning down the kitchen.” 

Dinner was less of an awkward affair than you’d expected. Usopp spoke the most through it, and Mihawk was fine to goad him on, occasionally switching topics to inquire about the rest of the crew. 

Sanji had made a fine meal; a grilled steak and onions with a side of asparagus to some kind of white sauce pasta you didn’t recognize. It felt… nice, really, having them all around you. Mihawk certainly knew how to socialize, and Luffy didn’t seem to mind his acerbic tendency. 

“And after I defeated all the enemy pirates,” Usopp was rambling on, “We hit a cannon straight into their mast, and it came crashing down! Oh, you should’ve seen it, man. It was me—well, Luffy—I guess he was the one that chucked the guy into the ship, or whatever. It wasn’t actually a cannon, but the details aren’t that important—”

“What about my little hawk?” Mihawk interrupted, and you had the vague sense to start whining. “I don’t suppose she just sat there throughout the whole fight.” 

“Oh, nah, she got some guys too I guess,” Usopp said, lazily waving an arm in the air. “She’s the one who stationed me at the cannon, she knew how great I was at it. She almost died to this one big dude—”

“I did not almost die!” you snapped. Usopp cackled out a hearty laugh. 

“No, she totally did. Thankfully for her, the great Captain Usopp came to her rescue—”

“Me,” Zoro muttered, words barely audible as he spoke them into his cup. You cracked a smile, and he glanced up, catching your eye. A tender look crossed his face. 

“Okay, yeah, it was Zoro who saved her,” Usopp admitted. “Cut the guy’s head straight off his body. But that’s just because I was busy fighting off the other pirates!” He motioned with his hands, mock-punching the air in front of him. 

Mihawk just raised his eyebrows. “Did he, now? I hope you thanked him properly for that, sweetheart.” 

You shot Mihawk a warning look. “Dad.” 

Mihawk didn’t let that faze him, raising his glass of wine to his lips. “You might want to take him around the island. There are some fairly romantic spots here, ones I brought your mother to while she was pregnant,” he said, mouth around the rim of his glass. You flushed, resisting the urge to lunge over the table at your father—clearly, he could see your vexation, mirth dancing in his eyes. 

Zoro didn’t say anything, eyes tilted downwards like there was something particularly interesting in his cup. Nami and Sanji were murmuring things to each other, and Sanji raised his voice to speak. 

“I knew there was something between the two of you! Come on, Lady Dracule, you could do so much better than the mosshead here—”  

“Shut it—” Zoro started. 

“You most certainly did not know, and you owe me fifteen hundred berry for that!” Nami said, offended. She elbowed Sanji firmly in the ribs, and he let out a low cough. Her head spun towards the head of the table, where Luffy was sitting across from your father. “Luffy, tell your cook to honor his bets.” 

“You bet on us?” you demanded, a squeak of embarrassment entering your voice as you protested. Nami gave you a look. 

“Please. You were obvious.” 

“Well,” Sanji jumped in, “Personally I thought you had better taste than—”

“I said shut it, waiter,” Zoro said, finally looking up to fix Sanji with a glare. He tilted his head to the side, one eyebrow raised, and you stifled a laugh. “And if I were you, I’d give Nami her money as soon as possible.” 

“This is so unfair,” Sanji muttered, but he fished a wallet out of his pocket and slapped a few bills onto the table. “There you are, madam. I hope you’re happy.” 

You groaned. “At the dinner table, really?” 

“Money waits for no one,” Nami said with a little wink, tucking her winnings carefully into a pocket of her skirt. 

“Sanji, did you make dessert?” Luffy wondered. Sanji rolled his eyes, but the sigh he let out was kind and good-natured. 

“Well, lucky for you, I did have the mind to bake some cookies while here.” He got up from his seat. You just gave him a dubious look; everyone had more or less finished with their food, though, so you got up, collecting the dishes to wash. 

You did chores, Nami hanging around you and lending her aid while the other Straw Hats got comfortable in guest rooms or whatever else. Zoro hadn’t budged from the dining room, apparently not interested in exploring the different parts of your house—you could just barely see him out of the kitchen doorway, nursing his drink as he stared thoughtfully into the distance. 

The familiar shape of your father’s jacket joined his side, and you narrowed your eyes, straining to hear. Mihawk had bent over the table, a pleasant smile on his face as he spoke. He didn’t bother to speak quietly, so everyone in the near vicinity heard his words— “If you hurt her, I won’t show the mercy I did the first time. My little hawk’s more important than finding a worthy opponent.”

“Dad!” you snapped, dropping the plate you were in the middle of washing. Mihawk didn’t even look in your direction, even as you stormed out of the kitchen to stand protestingly by the mouth. “Don’t—” 

“Oh, hush, dear,” Mihawk said with a dramatic eye roll. “I’m off to bed, then. I’ve got business in the morning.” He came over to you to brush another kiss along your knuckles. “I’ll be gone before you wake up. Safe travels.” 

“Good night,” you said with a sigh. Mihawk left, then, disappearing around the bend of the corner to head off to his room. 

“...I still don’t really forgive him for almost killing Zoro,” Nami said warily. Zoro got up from his seat, moving over to where the two of you had gathered in the kitchen. “But your dad’s fine, I guess. Not terrible, as far as fathers go.” 

“Yeah,” you agreed, then glanced apologetically towards Zoro. “I’m sorry about him.” 

“It’s fine,” Zoro said with a careless shrug. “It’s getting late. I’ll walk you to your room.” You nodded, drying your hands on a nearby kitchen towel and prompting Zoro to follow you up the steps. The house was large, a castle, really; all dark and winding, with long corridors and tall ceilings. Your bedroom was grand, on the second floor, with a sweeping balcony and wide windows that bore a full view of the island’s perpetual darkness. 

“What’d you say?” Zoro asked, stepping into the room. He glanced around, but didn’t remark in his surroundings, turning instead to look over at you. 

“I told him I’d be joining the Straw Hat pirates,” you said. Zoro smiled at that, the edges of his lips curling up. 

“Good,” he said simply. You moved towards him, forcing him to back up until he reached the plush of your bed. He sat down, eyes not flickering away from yours, soft brown that held an entire universe in them. Planets lined his cheeks, spatters of galaxies that you thought you might revolve inside. “Living here for years alone doesn’t seem like the most interesting life.” 

“It was fine while it lasted,” you said, bending your head down, lips hovering over his. Zoro’s hand came up to press firmly along your waist. “I think I like the ship a bit better, though.” 

“Hm,” Zoro murmured, eyes on your mouth. He tugged you down, but the kiss he pressed against your lips was chaste, and he was leaning back again before you knew it. “I decided, by the way. On whether I wanted your dad to like me or not.” 

You arched a brow, thinking back to that night so long ago when you’d first heard the words on Zoro’s lips. I’m not sure if I want him to like me. “Well?” 

“I do,” Zoro said, nudging against your chest, chin bumping along your shoulder. “It makes sense, with you.” 

A comfortable silence filled the space. His thumb ran a tender circle along the skin of your torso. “I should probably pack,” you murmured. 

“Eh, you’ll have time for that later,” Zoro said dismissively. You laughed, the sound full, straight out your throat. 

“Do I, now?” Zoro’s lip quirked, eyes grazing over your figure. You prattled on as if you didn't even notice. “Did you have something else in mind? You realize after this we have all the time in the world to be together—”

“I told you I was impatient,” Zoro interrupted, and then he was tugging you down, pressing a full kiss to your mouth again. You parted your lips to argue, but Zoro just took that as an opportunity to side his tongue in, and, well—this wasn’t so bad, either. One of your hands came to tangle in his hair, nudging his head just the slightest bit upwards to allow you better access. Zoro’s thumb didn’t stop making lazy revolutions into your skin. “Doesn’t seem like you mind.” 

“Shut up,” you mumbled against his lips. You leaned forward, pushing him back onto the bed, before pausing to lean down and unfasten the straps of his shoes. 

“You’re a real charmer.” Zoro didn’t complain, though, seeming more than pleased when you returned to kiss him, allowing him to fall back onto your bed now that you’d shed him of his footwear. “Little hawk, huh?” 

You huffed out a breath. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s cute,” Zoro said casually, one arm coming to prop behind his head. He drank you in properly, this time, from where you were on your knees on the mattress, unstrapping your own shoes before joining him up on the bed. “You are.”

You met his eyes, and a flicker of warmth crossed over your heart. For a soft, silent moment, you let it breathe. Let it exist there. Let the realization that you may one day love this man fill your soul. 

“Come here,” you said, climbing over to Zoro even as you spoke. “I’m going to kiss you again.” 

Zoro just grinned.  

The Going Merry was just as you’d left it, although Mihawk had provided you with any extra provisions the crew might’ve wanted for the rest of your journey. You’d packed up and brought along your stuff, too, managing to finally decorate your cabin in the ship more to your likeness. Everything was ready, and you stood at the edge of the aftercastle, Zoro to your side as you stared down at the island you’d called home for all the years of your life. 

But Kuraigana Island wasn’t your only home anymore, and neither was the hawk eyed man who resided in it whenever he was not busy doing something else. Mihawk had left in the early morning, but the ghost of his presence still warmed you. This way, it was easier to let go, you thought. This way, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. 

“Casting off!” Luffy yelled, his voice puncturing the stillness of the island air from his usual spot on the goat at the ship’s bow. You turned away from the island, jacket lapping around your legs as the wind whipped against it. 

“Ready to go?” Zoro asked carefully. 

“Yeah,” you answered, turning away from the island. Zoro stood to your left, one hand perched on the hilt of his sword, the other relaxed at his side. His brows were creased, strong against the shimmer of the glinting sun just barely peeking through the darkness of the island. 

The fog washed his features in blue, all blurry around the edges, but you couldn’t help but think he was the most beautiful man you’d seen anyway. 

“I’m ready.”

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

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author's note: i also wanted to pop in and say that i'm not opposed to writing more fics/oneshots of this character and in this universe (hereafter referred to as md!reader) with zoro <3 if you guys have any requests pop them in my box when my requests are open, plus i may write some on my own time too!

© halfvalid 2023

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

Fall for Me | One Shot

Pairing: Astarion x Dark Urge

Rating: Explicit NSFW18+

Chapter Count: One Shot | Read on AO3 Word Count: 8,048

Title: Fall for Me - Sleep Token

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 during Act 2. Explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge as Astarion realizes there's a depth to his feelings that he's been trying to deny. Tags: Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Mentions of Violence, Soft Astarion, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character.

Author Note: Well…this got a bit out of hand. It started as me wanting to write about the moment Astarion realizes he's in deeper than he thought with this relationship, then morphed into me wanting to explore his headspace while being intimate, and then just devolved into absolute filth. I have no excuses. This fic precedes another of my fics called "Faint of Heart," which can be found on my account.

Astarion woke to a cold and suffocating darkness. A scent of wet decay hung in the air, eerily familiar, and all around him the silence screamed.

The night was distinctly void of the mundane sounds that had become commonplace during their journey. Even as they trekked through the Shadowlands towards Moonrise Towers, their nights usually bristled with distant howls and the whispers of skeletal trees as their limbs tangled and clacked in the wind. Now, however, there was nothing but a heavy and stifling quiet that set his nerves on edge. An anxious sense of wrongness stirred in his gut as he tried to get his bearings.

Where was he? Last he remembered, their group bedded down on the outskirts of an abandoned town called Reithwin. They intended to explore the decrepit buildings and shadowed ruins the next day as they pushed towards Moonrise.

Astarion sat up and blinked into the clawing darkness, squinting as if that would somehow bring the world around him into focus. Even with his darkvision, nothing manifested except the ever-expanding gloom all around him.

He ran a hand across the damp floor and shivered against the deep chill that engulfed him. He cast about for his belongings but found none, only a cracked tile floor slick with mildew and grime.  

He heard a metallic clatter in the darkness as he shifted around and suddenly tuned in to a weight around his right ankle. An icy dread began to rise in his throat like bile as he hesitantly reached out and touched the shackle, fastened tight.

No…

Panic shot through his heart like a stake and his mouth went dry. He realized with a vile shock why he recognized the scent of old rot which saturated the air. It was the smell of stale rat blood mixed with years of filth and dirt.

He was back in the kennels. Back in Cazador’s grasp.

The realization nearly made him vomit as terror and confusion twisted in his stomach. Astarion hadn’t needed to breathe in over 200 years, and yet that didn’t stop his chest from tightening nor his lungs from seizing. Panic swept through him. He tried to gulp down air as a constricted and choking feeling pressed over him. Eyes wild, Astarion desperately tried to catch sight of something…anything in the relentless gloom.

How? Why? What in the hells had happened?

His mind wheeled, fueled by a horrifying sense of upheaval. He didn’t recall being attacked, but that didn’t change the situation he now found himself in.

He had to get out. He couldn’t be here. This couldn’t happen. This wasn’t right.

Except…it was. Because this was how his life had always been. He’d never escape. Never be free. Cazador would always find a way to drag him back. His master would never let go. He would always find Astarion, no matter how far he ran.

Thou shalt know that thou art mine.

Cazador’s fourth rule burned in Astarion’s mind, haunting and vicious. He stifled a sob, swallowing it back down and gritting his teeth until his jaw ached. He needed to figure out what had happened, because if he was here then…

Eli…

His stomach lurched as a fresh wave of dread nearly choked him. Where was Eli? If Cazador had been able to seize Astarion, had he taken her, as well? Guilt flooded his mind as it raced, trying to piece together some sequence of events that made sense. None of it seemed logical, but he was too panicked to dwell on the irrational nature of it all.

If Cazador had Eli…

But Cazador didn’t know, he couldn’t know…how Astarion felt about her. Hells, Astarion didn’t even understand his own emotions when it came to Eli. She was…something to him. More than nothing, so much more than nothing.

If Cazador had her…if he turned her…hurt her… Gods, what had Astarion done? He’d put a target on her, and of course Cazador would find her and take her. Because that was what he did. He destroyed anything that brought Astarion even a moment of happiness. How could he have been so stupid?

“Eli?” Astarion called quietly into the darkness, unable to mask the distress that clawed at his throat.

The voice that answered struck him numb with fear.

“Foolish boy. How easy it was to deceive your weak mind.” The cruel mockery in Cazador’s voice caused Astarion to flinch as if he’d been hit.

“What did you do with her?” Astarion hissed through bared teeth, dreading the answer.

“Nothing. Because she is nothing.” Cazador’s voice reverberated in the darkness as if he were everywhere at once.

Astarion didn’t understand whatever game his master was playing, and so he remained silent; shivering, though not as much from the cold as the trepidation.

“You’ve always possessed such a feeble mind, so easy to bend and break,” the voice bit from the shadows. “Did you honestly believe you’d escaped? That you’d been abducted? I planted such an absurd fantasy in your head that I had my doubts as to whether you would believe it. But your incompetence never ceases to entertain.” 

Astarion’s eyes went wide and he froze like a prey animal that had only just sensed a trap. A slow, creeping horror slithered up his spine at the thought of what Cazador was insinuating.      

“None of it was real, you pathetic little wretch. You’ve been here, the whole time, trapped in an illusion of my design.”

Astarion was going to be sick.

“I thought it was time to pull back the curtain, before you got too attached. To remind you that you are mine, and that will never change. Because who would want something as miserable as you?”

He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t need to breathe, and yet he couldn’t. His throat burned with bile that came up from his churning stomach. Hot tears seared the corners of his eyes and his brain felt as if it were on fire.

It hadn’t been real… None of it… He’d never be free…

You are mine. 

_______________________________

Astarion gasped awake, as if he were a man drowning who’d finally come up for air.

His chest heaved as sweat cooled against his skin in the night air. He rolled onto his side, coughing as the memory of vomit receded. He felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and wiped at the ones that had already trailed down his face.

Sitting up, Astarion shivered as the nightmare withdrew, glancing around his darkened tent anxiously as the ghost of Cazador loomed in his mind. He was alone, and though night in the Shadowlands was grim, it was not nearly as oppressive as the darkness in his dream.

A feeble hazy moonlight leaked through the murky tree canopy outside, casting a dim sheen through the pitch of night. Shadows bobbed and weaved on the walls of his tent, cast by drooping and swaying trees. The snarl of an animal sounded somewhere far off in the distance, and Astarion sighed as he tried to settle himself.

His nightmares were dipping into parts of himself he’d rather not acknowledge, preying on fears he wasn’t ready to face. He frowned, stomach knotting as residual feelings of fear and loss flashed through his mind like grease catching alight in a cook pan. He ran a hand through his white curls, recalling the anguish he’d felt in the depths of his dream. He’d felt so small. So fearful and alone. It made him restless.

Astarion stood and exited his tent, stepping into the chill of the night. Their campfire had burned to embers, the light barely able to cut through the murky darkness. The hour was either exceptionally late or achingly early, and the camp was still. Astarion was the only creature stirring in the gloom.

Memories, unbidden, jerked into his mind. Nights spent lurking in silent shadows, looking for a hapless target to bring back to the mansion. The endlessness of his putrid life was the only thing he thought lay before him. More decades of pain, torture and misery. The uncaring hopelessness of it all crushing every scrap of faith and every desperate prayer he had within until all that remained was a broken shell. Unfeeling and brittle.

He hated how wretched and pathetic he’d been. Used up and miserable. He never wanted to feel that way again. And so he fled from those memories, seeking distraction and solace, until he came to stand at the entrance to Eli’s tent.

Astarion paused just outside the mouth of the tent, apprehension twisting in his gut. He was being silly and foolish, he knew. Eli was fine. She’d be asleep in her bedroll and Astarion would feel like an idiot who’d allowed himself to get worked up over a godsdamn nightmare.

Gently, he pulled back the curtain that hung across the tent mouth and peered inside. As predicted, Eli was fast asleep with her back to the entrance. Astarion watched her shoulder rise and fall slowly as she breathed and felt the gnawing tension inside himself loosen its grip, just a bit.

Stupid. This was stupid. He was stupid. Gods, he wanted to hold her…

He wanted her to look at him like he meant something, like he was worth something. He wanted to lose himself in her, like that first night when they’d created their own pocket of nowhere. Free from Cazador and all of his miseries, free from the pain and the fear. Just them, wrapped up in hushed whispers and sweat and lust…and something else. Something different and needy and fragile. Something he’d never felt with anyone else.

“Astarion?” Eli’s voice pulled him back into the world and he blinked, focusing on her as she turned over to face him.

Of course she was awake. Eli’s sleep had become even more restless and fleeting since the night she’d woken him in a panic and he’d had to restrain her. He’d watched over her as she writhed, witnessing her loss of control as the thing within clawed for the surface. It had reminded him of how Cazador would wrest control of his spawn, forcing them to do as he commanded without resistance. He’d realized then that he feared losing her. That he cared and desperately wanted her to overcome whatever this monster was.

He was struggling with the realization, but that didn’t make the truth of it any less real.

“I’m sorry, my dear.” Astarion spoke quietly, shaking his head as if that would rid his mind of its cluttered thoughts. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Without pausing to dissuade himself, he crawled forward into Eli’s tent and sat next to her bedroll. He had allocated absolutely zero thoughts to what he would say or do next, but that wasn’t necessarily uncommon for him these days. Things had been working out for him so far, so why shift strategy?

Eli sat up and watched him curiously. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, waving off the concern that was growing in her eyes. “I’ve just been unable to sleep, what with Gale one tent over and snoring like an ogre with swamp lung. So, considering our current arrangement, I thought I might share your tent for the remainder of the night.”

Astarion’s words flowed with well-practiced ease and charm, as if he hadn’t just made that entire excuse up on the spot. He smirked at Eli, who was still fixing him with a skeptical stare, and fought down the sudden anxiety that was rising in his chest and urging him to back out of the tent.

Eli had become rather versed in reading Astarion and it was something he had not quite come to terms with yet. On one hand, it stroked the egotistical part of him that desired attention and affirmation to have someone so attentive to him that they could peak behind the pomp and bluster he so often put forth. On the other hand, he felt as if a part of him was at risk of being snatched away or trapped if someone was able to pull back the roguish mask he’d so carefully crafted. He felt unbalanced, oscillating between moments of vulnerability with Eli and moments where he slammed his walls back in place.

A part of him wanted to tell her why he was really there. That the thought of her, the thought of them, not being real had shaken him to the point where he physically needed to see her. Just to put his mind at ease. He didn’t understand it, himself; the feeling that had driven him to seek her out after he woke. And so he kept his mouth shut and didn’t elaborate, fearing that Eli may think him rather pitiful.

Eli continued to watch Astarion, dubious yet silent, before she sighed and shrugged. “Alright then. If you don’t want to tell me what’s really going on, that’s fine,” she said, then patted the space next to her on the bedroll. “You’re always welcome, you know.”

Astarion felt a strange pang of…disappointment twist in his chest. He’d honestly expected Eli to press further for an explanation that wasn’t clearly pulled out of his ass. But she didn’t. It was disarming.

He moved to her side and situated himself as Eli laid back down. She watched him for a moment as he fluffed a pillow and settled, then she closed her eyes with a deep breath and said nothing more.

“Thank you,” Astarion said quietly as his eyes danced across her restful face.

He felt a sense of unease, unused to having his boundaries respected in such a way. Eli had never been the sort to prod at him for explanations, or to prod at anyone, for that matter. As someone with their own menagerie of secrets and internalized darkness, she tended to allow others the leeway to decide how much or how little they wanted to share. Still, they’d been…indulging in one another rather frequently these days, and Astarion was realizing that while their nights together were a lot of fun, he wanted something…more.

The problem was he hadn’t any idea what that “more” was. And gods did it frighten him. The last thing he wanted to do was give someone else control over him, not after he’d so recently regained a taste of freedom. Over the past 200 years, every relationship he’d ever been involved in had been nothing more than a means to an end with Astarion either playing the role of manipulator or the one being manipulated. Attachments were leverage, giving someone a hook they were able to dig their claws into in order to gain ground. Isolating himself from connecting with others was how he had survived.

And yet, as he watched Eli drift back into sleep, his eyes found her hand resting near her pillow. A longing came over him and, carefully, he reached out tentative and slow until his fingers brushed gently against her own, quietly connecting. Questioning.

Eli’s eyes opened, sleepy but curious. She watched his fingers lightly caressing her own, and with a small smile took his hand and tenderly wove her fingers in between his. Moments like this, made up of soft touches and careful affections, were becoming more common between them. And the intimacy of these moments never ceased to fascinate Astarion.

To Astarion, intimacy had always involved passion and lust. It was created in the pressed spaces between fervent bodies as they worked one another towards ecstasy. It was fleeting and vanished just as quickly as it emerged.

This, however…this was different. This was calm and soothing, and it lingered almost like a promise. Always available to be restoked and explored.   

“I…” Astarion began, hesitating for only a second before he steeled himself and pressed on. “I dreamed I was back at the mansion. Back under Cazador’s control.” The name was spoken on the edge of a growl, his red eyes fixed on their joined hands.

He paused, thinking through what to say next, and Eli allowed him the silence to collect his thoughts and continue. “He mocked me,” Astarion spat. “Saying that all this was an illusion. That I hadn’t escaped. That you were an illusion.”

He glanced cautiously to her face, and when his eyes met hers, he found understanding there.

“Well, you came to the right tent,” Eli smiled, voice playful though not dismissive. “I’m something of an expert on nightmares. We can even compare notes, if you like.”

She squeezed his hand lightly and repeated his words from the night when he’d kept vigil over her as she fought against the dark madness within herself. It was unexpectedly touching and Astarion felt something twist where his dead heart was.

“As for whether or not I’m an illusion,” Eli said as she propped herself up on her elbows, slinking closer to him, eyes locked in to his own. “We can thoroughly investigate that claim, if you’d like,” she whispered, a sly question lingering in her gaze.

Astarion smirked, rising and leaning in to close the space between them. He untangled his fingers from her own and placed his hands on her shoulders, fulling intending to roll her to her back and ravish her while she squirmed beneath him. Astarion had come to Eli’s tent with no expectations beyond wanting her close, but he certainly wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to get even closer. They were good together. Really. Fucking. Good. And already desire was clouding over his mind as he bent to capture her mouth with his own. He had tasted her many times before, and yet every time they came together after a prolonged absence it felt fresh and raw. Rejuvenating and wild.

In all of his time as a thrall to his master, Astarion had never bedded the same person twice. Every night was a new conquest, new prey for him to stalk and tease until he’d gathered just enough information to get him through the evening and to get his target back to the mansion. The encounters always played out very tactically on his end as he gathered just enough surface-level drivel to ensure his quarry was seduced into the trap. Once Cazador came for his prize, Astarion would never see the poor wretches again, and that was fine by him.

With Eli, though, it was so different. There had been nothing tactical about any of it after that first night, and even during. The ecstasy of freedom, of choosing to give of himself rather than being forced, was intoxicating. They would explore one another, finding comfort in both familiarity and discovery, honing in on the things that drove the other mad and had them coming undone in the throes of rapture. They were becoming known to one another, intimately and completely. Perfecting and exploring and discovering every time they were together.

It was both enthralling and terrifying, being known like that. Being laid bare as Eli unraveled him just a bit further every time, uncovering parts of himself that had been left dormant and untouched for so long.

The anticipation of it all was already causing a firm swell to build below the waistline of his trousers as he pressed into the kiss. His tongue darted and teased at her lips, gently prodding between them and beckoning her closer. One of his hands had slipped to the small of her back as the other pressed into her shoulder, gently guiding her so that he could tuck Eli below him and crawl on top.

Eli, however, seemed to have other plans in mind and resisted his direction, pushing back into him and maneuvering the both of them until he was on his back with her legs straddling his waist. She never broke the kiss, rocking forward on her knees as she took his hand from her back and pinned it to the ground above his head, her fingers lacing in between his own. He growled into the kiss and playfully ghosted a fang over her bottom lip, causing her to hum needfully into his mouth.

And then her lips were gone, leaving only the hot impression of longing against his own as Eli trailed her lips from the corner of his mouth to the shell of his ear. Her breath was tantalizingly warm, brushing against the sensitive skin there, causing a shiver to course down his spine before it pulsated up into his firming dick. His free hand came to rest on her hip and he fingered mindlessly at the hem of her pants. He wanted her to sit back onto his groin so he could roll his hips up into her and rut his straining cock in between her legs. Hells, he wanted to be free of their clothes so he could sheathe himself inside her warmth and watch her ride him while he speared her over and over as she screamed his name until her throat was raw.

But then all thoughts and wants were lost to a white hot flash in his mind as Eli bit down on the tip of his ear, careful not to break skin but sharp enough to fire lightning off into his veins. His hips snapped up, needing to feel her as his cock throbbed. His left hand was still pinned above his head by one of hers, and he felt his nails digging at the skin of her knuckles while his right hand desperately tried to pull her hips down against him. He choked off a whine in the back of his throat and closed his eyes as his head rolled back against the ground.

She laughed breathily into his ear, and oh gods it was undoing him already. This was dangerous. She’d been paying attention, noting all the things that set him off and applying them expertly until she had him writhing. It was a wholly new experience for him and beneath his fervor and lust was a seed of trepidation.

When it came to sex, there had always been two ways the experience would play out. Either he would maintain control over the situation, or he would disassociate as his various partners had their way and used him to their satisfaction.     

But this. This was new. And while it wasn’t unwelcome, the fact that she’d worked him into this position so easily was setting off alarm bells in the back of his mind. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. He hadn’t realized how freely he’d given of himself these past few weeks, how far he’d let her explore and how attentively she’d done so.

How known he truly was.

And then she was letting go of his hand while her lips returned to his own, pressing soft and affectionate kisses into them. She carded a hand into his hair, careful to avoid his ear which was still tingling and overstimulated. He felt a shudder of both relief and disappointment roll through his body as the high passed, missing the sensuality and hunger of it all while relaxing into a more settled state of mind.

Astarion’s eyes were still closed, and the throbbing in his dick had not subsided. He felt her breath back at his ear, though not as close as it had been earlier.

“I just want to make you feel good,” he heard her whisper, sending sparks back through his veins. “Show me how.”

His eyes fluttered open to find hers gazing back at him, sweet and attentive. He felt her fingers twining through his hair and sighed contently, a small smile on his lips.

“You’ve been doing a magnificent job so far, darling,” he crooned before pulling her back down into another wanting kiss.

He smoothed his hands along her sides, repositioning her atop him until she was flush against him. He ran one hand down her spine, firm and slow, while the other gripped the back of her head, encouraging her to melt into him as their tongues explored each other’s mouths and their bodies squirmed, searching for friction. The hand at her back moved to squeeze her ass before he pressed her down against him, desperate for pressure against his groin.    

“My only critique so far is there are entirely too many clothes between us,” he breathed against her lips. The hand on her ass gripped tight as he pressed and rubbed his thick erection into her hips, driving the point home.

“Allow me to remedy that,” Eli said with a quick kiss.

And then she was gone, hiking his shirt up and licking warm and wet kisses down his belly towards his waistline. Her hands were undoing the fastenings of his trousers and his head was beginning to spin with the implication.

That wasn’t… She didn’t have to…

He felt Eli slip her hands beneath his smallclothes and tug, pulling both his trousers and underwear down until his erection was free. He sighed from the relief, feeling the fullness bob and twitch expectantly. Eli was dragging her tongue down from his bellybutton towards his aching cock and fuck…he couldn’t remember the last time someone had offered to do this for him.

His hand was in her hair, then, tugging gently for her to look up at him.

“That’s not what I was implying, my dear. You don’t have to…” Astarion’s protests trailed off when Eli’s eyes met his, full of lust and playful longing.

He’d sounded almost sheepish, even a bit apologetic, as a sting of guilt wormed its way into his gut. Astarion should be the one giving pleasure, that was how these things always went. That was what he was good at…what his master had made him for…

The thought struck out at him unbidden with a nasty sense of shock and disgust. Cazador had created him for the pleasure of others, taking every opportunity to viciously remind him that what he wanted and how he felt never mattered. It was a belief that had been bolted to his soul after decades of torment, and one it seemed he still carried, even when he wasn’t in his master’s grasp.

“Astarion,” Eli said, softly pulling him out of his spiraling.

He blinked and refocused on her as she pressed her lips gently against the taunt skin over his hip bone, drawing an eager hiss from between his teeth as his dick jerked. Images of her mouth around him, warm and so godsdamn wet and tight, were firing off in his brain and…fucking hells, when had he fallen so completely for her?

“Right now, in this moment, nothing would make me happier than to get you down my throat and thoroughly satisfy you.” Eli smirked at him, hands on his bare thighs and lips a mere breath away from his cock, red and full and beginning to leak.

Her eyes were glittering with a mischief that was intoxicating, but there was affection there, too, soothing and comforting. He shivered, furiously trying to shut his brain down as thoughts collided in explosions of need, guilt and desire.

He’d thought himself so smart, charming and seducing her into his bed. Laying a trap and then walking her into it with such confidence and glee, only for him to find himself just as ensnared. He’d used her, manipulated her, and then drowned himself in her and gods above, if he didn’t want to do it again and again.

“But if that’s not what you want…” He stiffened at Eli’s words, catching the undercurrent of concern in her voice as she shifted and began to move back up his body.

He stopped her, sliding his hand from out of her hair to cup her cheek while he brushed a few silvery strands from her eyes with the other. Now was decidedly not the time for him to have an internal crisis of feelings. Not in the middle of the night with his dick out, pants halfway down his legs and Eli saying such obscene and beautiful things to him. There’d be time for personal reflection later.

He wanted this. Wanted her.

“I want it.” He almost felt embarrassed at the raw desire that slipped through his voice, heavy and breathy. “Gods, you have no fucking idea how much…”

He stopped himself before he could elaborate more and completely mortify himself.

“It’s just been a long time since anyone offered,” he concluded. He wouldn’t admit he couldn’t remember the last time someone had pleasured him like that.

Eli considered him for a moment, expression thoughtful, and for a brief moment of panic Astarion wondered if she had changed her mind. About him and about all of this. But then her lips twitched up into a tender smile and he felt his soul shudder.

“Please.” Astarion breathed.

Eli ghosted a few featherlight kisses near the base of his cock before whispering, “Well, when you ask so sweetly…”

And then her mouth was on him and Astarion’s head rolled back as he made a noise he was entirely too obliterated to be ashamed of.

She took only the tip at first, sucking down onto the head as her lips slid back and forth over the swollen ridge. Her pace was slow, and it was both agonizing and exhilarating. His thighs clenched as a heavy pressure throbbed deep in his groin, sending shivers and tingles spasming out through his legs and up into his belly. His hand was back in her hair, grabbing and encouraging, careful to not be forceful, while his other hand fisted the bedroll.

He both heard and felt Eli laugh low in her throat, the vibrations of it tingling down his shaft and setting his nerves on fire. He’d managed to kick his trousers off, spreading his legs apart so she could nestle between them and absolutely destroy him.

Eli began sucking him down further, slowly sheathing himself into her mouth. He shut his eyes, growling as her warmth and spit enveloped him. He responded by hitching his hips up into her, wanting more, wanting her full of him. He felt her hands on his hips, directing him to rock up into her mouth at a languid pace. He fell into the rhythm, fucking into the suction. She flattened her tongue, applying pressure along his shaft every time he thrusted in before dragging her tongue tip along the sensitive skin when he pulled out.

The growl in his throat grew into a lewd moan that shamelessly filled the tent, leaving no one who was awake in camp to wonder about what was taking place. He could not have cared any less about who heard, and in fact he welcomed it. Let them all listen as Eli, savior of the Druid’s Grove, conqueror of Grymforge and scourge of the Absolute went down on him and fucked him senseless with her perfect fucking mouth. He was the only one she’d do this to, the only one she’d pleasure. No one else got to experience this, see her like this.

He was hers.

The thought set off a wave of arousal so potent that he felt his cock spasm in response, leaking precum that Eli’s tongue then swirled across his tip as he continued to rut into her. The pressure between his legs was mounting as a possessive and greedy emotion seized him.

“Darling…oh gods, darling, not yet…” Astarion wasn’t going to last like this, but he was not ready to be undone. Not yet.

He opened his lust-blown eyes and a feral groan tumbled out of him at the sight of Eli between his legs, sweaty and fervent and his. Leaning forward, he cupped her chin and encouraged her off his dick. Her eyes met his and the mixture of arousal and craving in her dilated pupils slammed into him so hard his chest hitched.

Nobody looked at him like that. Ever.

He needed more.  

Wordlessly, he pulled her up to him and their mouths crashed together in a wild and wanton kiss that was all tongues and teeth. He could taste himself on her, salty and pungent and it drove him mad.

They only separated for a moment as Astarion pulled Eli’s shirt up and over her head before removing his own. Then, they were tumbling back onto the bedroll, Astarion still pinned beneath Eli as their hands greedily explored one another.

He began fumbling with the buttons of Eli’s pants, the last barrier between them, and licked into her mouth as she moaned desperately into their bruising kiss. She was writhing on top of him, bent over him and straddling his bare torso as her hips rolled against him shamelessly. Undoing the buttons, he slipped his hand beneath her underwear and ran a teasing finger between the lips of her swollen clit.

Eli whined and gasped as his touch and Astarion laughed with wicked mirth, gliding his finger back and forth between her wet folds but never going deeper. She was soaked, worked up into a frenzy and it emboldened his ego to no end.

“I didn’t realize sucking on my cock could make you so wet,” he purred with no small amount of self-satisfaction.

His finger traced a circle along the rim of her pulsating clit, earning a high-pitched moan that shuddered out of her throat and went straight to his dick. She tried to reposition herself, needing his fingers in places they weren’t.

He grinned at her distress, earning a reproachful bite to his lower lip that did nothing to dissuade him.

“Less working your mouth and more working you – oh fuck!” Eli cried out as Astarion pushed two fingers up into her, burring them deep.

She bolted upright, arching her back as her mouth fell open and her head fell back, a slew of profane and needful curses tearing from her throat. He felt her clamp down on his fingers, hands pressing on his chest for balance as she brazenly rode his fingers.

He gazed up at her as his fingers stroked and hooked at her throbbing walls, causing little twitches and spasms to filter throughout her body. Her skin glistened in the foggy moonlight that seeped in through the walls of the tent, sweat-slicked breasts bouncing with each thrust of her hips as her head lolled, eyes shut reverently as she worked to satisfy herself. His dick bobbed against his belly with each roll of her hips, and he could feel a warm trail of precum rolling down the edge of his hip. His erection was so stiff it verged on painful, and when he felt her walls begin to flutter around his fingers, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer.

He pulled his hand back from within her core and the gasping whine that erupted from her lips nearly choked him.

“I’m sorry, my sweet,” he crooned, wrapping an arm around her back as he braced himself with the other and sat up. “Bear with me for just a moment. I dare not make you wait any longer.”

Astarion tipped her back and laid her down, yanking both her pants and underclothes off in a swift motion. He settled his hips between her legs, the head of his cock pressing agonizingly at her entrance.

He hovered above her for a moment, drinking her in. She was a gorgeous mess, eyes blown wide with craving and skin flushed hot and pink. Her chest was heaving as she gazed up at him with a look that would have stopped his heart if it weren’t already still. Adoration beamed back at him as she smiled and Astarion felt a twisting deep in his chest.

He knew then, with absolute certainty, that whatever was between them was so much more than anything he had planned for it to be. It terrified and amazed him. Welling up emotions within himself he wasn’t sure how to grasp or understand. He didn’t want to hide from it, though. He’d been hiding and skulking and manipulating for too long.

He wanted something more. Something real.

Astarion bent down, kissing Eli deep and longingly. Hoping that even just a shred of what he felt could be communicated through the embrace. She sighed into it, eyes closing and hands carding into his hair before they slid down to his back. He shivered as her fingers traced tenderly over the scars there, careful and deferential.

Breaking the kiss, he hooked an arm under her left leg and rested it up on his shoulder, pressing it forward and stretching her apart. Lining himself up to her warm core, he rested his forehead against her own and felt her squirm impatiently beneath him.

“Fuck, Astarion, please.”

That was all it took. He pushed inside of her, body shuddering at the enveloping and soft warmth. He felt his abdomen clench, waves of arousal rocketing down his legs and up his spine as he sank into her to the hilt. Astarion groaned, pulling back before he buried himself again, then again, then again. Eli gasped with each thrust, arching her back and angling her hips for a better position. The leg he’d pulled over his shoulder tensed and squeezed, pressing down on him as he snapped his hips up and into her. A low growl rose up, unbidden, from his throat. He was throbbing and needy and she felt so fucking good. Warm, wet and tight as he pressed into her walls and felt her contract around him. Their eyes were locked in and a rapturous shudder ran the length of his spine as Eli’s face contorted in ecstasy, her mouth opening in a silent and delirious cry.

He pulled back again. Her eyes were begging. Another thrust, making her back arch up as she bucked her hips into him, needing him deeper.

He was entranced with her face and the raw longing he saw there. He plunged in again, drawing a high squeal from her that turned into a breathy rasp as she closed around him and shook against his body. Her eyes never left his, and he drank in every mewl and cry as she looked at him with so much affection and craving that Astarion was tempted to duck his head and hide from the level of vulnerability she was giving him.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t. No one else got to see this. No one else would see Eli – hero, warrior, leader, fledgling legend that she was – shivering and squirming underneath him as he pumped into her. This was all for him, and him alone.

She was falling apart, losing herself in the thrill and the ecstasy, every sob for more spurring him on as he stared into her enthralled eyes. Her hands were everywhere, desperately running up and down and all over, clutching and pulling him closer while she pushed at the small of his back, directing his thrusting pace into one she could match with euphoria-inducing turns and twists of her hips.

The wild and undone look in her eyes coupled with the unrelenting throbbing of his cock was near enough to drive him mad. Electric jolts shot down his legs from his groin with every plunge, and his muscles felt as if they would seize at any second. It felt amazing. She felt amazing, and gods she was looking at him like he was the gravitational pull of the universe. It tore at his seams and pulled a centuries-old ache from his dead heart.

He wanted to be someone to her. Someone important. Someone she needed.

It was agonizing and frightening, that feeling. The last time he’d even remotely felt anything near to it, he’d been locked away and isolated in a coffin for over a year. Punishment for such sentimental wretchedness.

Astarion grit his teeth, clawing his way back from the memory and pushing it all down. Those were things left for later. Not now. Not when Eli was crying out and babbling about how incredible he felt, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss that he swore was going to set him on fire.

The pressure was building between his legs again as every muscle below his chest began to tense. His mind fixated on the lewd and wetly rhythmic sounds coming from between them and he could feel her slick arousal all over his groin and lower torso. His mind began fuzzing, triggered by all the erotic sounds and the building stimulation threatening to explode in his core.

He wanted this. He wanted to feel her cum beneath him. He wanted to feel himself truly and completely let go for the first time in centuries.

He pulled back from their kiss, the hair on his neck pricking in response to the small whine that left Eli’s throat as he did so.

He continued to pound into her, hard and measured, dick pulsating inside of her as the buildup became nearly unbearable. Beyond the pounding of blood in his ears he could hear himself grunting with each thrust, deep and animalistic and so fucking needy as the delirium mounted all around them.

Astarion leveled his eyes with Eli’s, face hovering above hers, and smiled at the unabated and desperate look she was giving him.

“Do you really want me that badly, darling?” he asked, panting and nearly out of his mind with wonder at the sheer amount of desire coursing between them.

There was no teasing in his question, no flirtatious overtones or hidden meanings. He needed to know.

“Yes,” she breathed, and the world narrowed.

“Gods, Astarion, I want all of you,” Eli nearly cried, arms tightening around him as she came near to climax. “Not just this,” she moaned, pressing her face into his neck as her back arched off the ground. She was shaking she was so close.

“I want you with me,” she whined into his ear and the desperation in her words was intoxicating. “In all the ways that matter,” she continued, her voice raw and teetering on the edge of bliss. “…with me. Please!”

Astarion clung to her like a man drowning, eyes closed and face pressed into her hair. The scent of her was everywhere and he reveled in the frantic intimacy of the moment, blindly grabbing at her upturned hips and bottoming out into her with a force that sent lightning zipping through his veins and stars bursting behind his eyelids.

The pressure between his legs released and Astarion came with all the subtlety of a smokepowder barrel blowing alight, all the muscles in his legs and lower torso seizing and relaxing in bursts.

“Gods, Eli. Fuck!” he cried out against her, swept up in the climax as the world fell away.

Eli followed, her inner walls contracting around him, bolstering his orgasm as she shuddered and cried out for him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed tight, wanting him full and solid as she came with him inside.

Astarion moved his hips in a circular motion, gentle and sensual, letting Eli ride out the last of her orgasm as the both of them came down. They were a tangle of arms, legs, sweat and ragged breath, neither willing to let go of the other as a hush fell over the tent. They rested in the quiet, laying in each other’s arms, content in the intimate sense of togetherness. He could feel her racing heart beat beneath her skin as he rested his head under her chin, her pulse lulling him into a comfortable daze. The scent of the blood in her veins was hot and sweet and he reveled in the thrum of life that surrounded her. A life he was growing more and more attached to…

Suddenly, Eli snorted and Astarion’s eyes snapped open curiously. He lifted his head and quirked a brow down at her as she tried and failed to suppress a fit of giggling. He tensed, unsure and more than a little confused by her bizarre response to what he thought had been a rather exhilarating experience.

She squeezed his bicep reassuringly, a delighted grin settling on her face.

“Sorry,” she laughed quietly. “I was just thinking, there’s no way anyone in this camp is still sleeping. We’re going to have to apologize in the morning.”

Astarion’s eyes softened as the corner of his mouth twitched up fondly. He then made a show of rolling his eyes before he buried his face back into her neck.

“You are quite mad, aren’t you?” he mumbled, unable to keep a smile out of his words. “I’ll go to my second grave before I apologize for what we just did.”

_______________________________

The sounds of muffled shuffling outside the tent woke Astarion the next morning. He tracked the sound with his ears, unwilling to open his eyes and rouse himself from his sleepy haze.

Eli lay pressed up against him in his arms, her head nestled near his chest. He’d pulled a blanket over them at some point during the night in an effort to retain the warmth coming off her body. Considering his undead nature, he could only sap her body heat from her, rather than contribute to it, and that fact bothered him a bit more now than it had in the past.

He traced a finger lazily across her back, feeling the ridges and divots of multiple angry scars she had no memory of earning. Eli’s body was a war story, just as damaged as her broken mind with twisted scarring and gnarled blemishes that held their secrets close. They were the remnants of a brutality that was difficult to reconcile with the person he’d come to know Eli as, and it made her all the more beautiful for it.

He didn’t mind her brokenness, and he was comforted by her imperfection. He knew all to well what it was like to be torn open over and over…

The clang of a cookpot being hoisted over the camp’s fire caused him to flinch, and Eli stirred, yawning into his bare chest.

Astarion opened his eyes, blinking as they focused in the gloom. Early morning shadows crept along the walls of the tent and he could now hear Gale’s distinct and nervous muttering as the wizard went about his morning routine, preparing coffee and some manner of breakfast near the center campfire. There was another voice, too, hushed and careful, as if the speaker didn’t want to be overhead.

“Oh, would you two stop squawking like a pair of gossipy hens!” Karlach’s voice boomed out over the hushed muttering, both scolding and amused in tone. “You both are just jealous it wasn’t either of you causing that racket last night. Hells knows I am,” she bemoaned.

“Is that what Gale and Wyll are prattling on about?” Lae’zel’s voice barked from over near her tent. “Sex can provide excellent relief from the stresses of our chaotic situation. It is both a healthy and helpful activity, though I am assuming neither of you have much familiarity with its benefits considering how you chatter like scandalized adolescents.”  

Eli cut off a laugh in the back of her throat and Astarion smirked.

Gale and Wyll had begun to boisterously protest before Karlach interrupted, clearly directing her next statement in the direction of Eli’s tent.

“They might as well get out here so we can properly taunt them for not inviting any of us!”     

Eli rolled onto her back then sat up, shrugging the blanket off and arching her spine in a fluid stretch, arms raised. Wordlessly, she then bent down, kissing him with a tenderness that made his chest ache, before she leaned away and stood, beginning to dress.

“Sorry, Karlach, but I draw the line at superheated engine that could melt my face off and angry unstable bomb that could level a small city when considering who I sleep with.” Eli pulled her shirt over her head and turned to wink at him before she unfastened the tent flap and stepped out into camp.

Karlach’s boisterous laughter greeted her and Astarion frowned as the tent flap fell back into place, leaving him alone with thoughts he needed to sort through.

Denial wasn’t going to work any longer. And gods, was he in trouble.

[tin-wufborf]

Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 1)

Okay, so listen. A few months back, I mentioned the possibility of me doing a rec list of all the Sterek fics I like to re-read (basically my comfort library), right? Well, it turns out that what I thought was going to be a list of, like, 50 fics max is now, far, far, far, FAR longer than that to the point that I don't actually even have a number to provide due to the fact that I still finding more and more to add to the list. I really hate the idea putting them all in a single post--as someone who primarily engages with this site via it's mobile app, I personally find super long lists harder to navigate, especially when you lose your place and have to start from the top--soooo, I have decided to instead release my recommendations in a series of posts containing 15-20 fics/series each instead of dumping the whole library on you at once. This post marks the first of (almost certainly) many, so I hope you all enjoy!

List and links to next parts below the cut.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17

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The Boy Who Loved Wolves by orphan_account (NR | 1/1 | 1,522)

Stiles always loved the tamed wolves his tribe used for hunting. When he finds himself face-to-face with an actual wolf, an alpha no less, how will it change him? And how will his tribe react to his change? Based on Paul Goble's The Girl Who Loved Wild Horses.

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Will of the Weakness by Cheshyr (G | 1/1 | 2,248)

Whenever Derek threw Stiles into walls, he always assumed that the teenager didn't fight because he couldn't. Not once did he consider the possibility that Stiles was holding back.

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Making a Memory by beenwandering (M | 1/1 | 2,702)

Stiles was prepared for what would come after the bite. He knew what to expect and, despite his worries, he was ready for his new life. Apparently very ready. Or, “that one where Stiles can’t be anything other than Stiles, even when he’s a wolf."

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A Cottage in the Woods by FaeryQueen07 (G | 1/1 | 2,960)

“There’s a cottage,” Stiles’ mother says, and then she presses a kiss to his forehead before turning off the light.

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Tell Me, Are My Words Worth Less? by Cheshyr (G | 1/1 | 3,830)

Stiles is proud of his words. He loves to talk and tell and share and speak. And he absolutely, deep in his soul, hates his stutter.

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Little Lion Man by lyllytas (T | 1/1 | 5,029)

Sheriff Stilinski has just been fired from his job and is at a loss for his son's recent behavior. All he wants is the truth, so when Stiles comes to him with another crazy story, he's had enough of the jokes and lies. Unfortunately for him, this time Stiles was telling the truth. And Derek Hale is very protective of his pack.

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Love in the Groves series by Sheepnamedpig (3 works | T-E | 5,706)

1. The Oak Tree (E | 1/1 | 1,533) A forest spirit decides to take up residence in Derek's forest. 2. The Cherry Tree (E | 1/4 | 2,170) Derek and Stiles get married. And then they get married again. 3. The Ash Grove (T | 1/1 | 2,003) Stiles gets sick. Derek watches him carve the infection out.

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Knotting Expectations by chase_acow (E | 1/1 | 5,722)

Stiles gets an eyeful and suddenly getting up close and personal to a werewolf is all he can think about.

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go home, or make a home by lady_ragnell (T | 1/1 | 7,437)

In a world where Derek lets Scott kill the Alpha and get the cure, he has to figure out how to rebuild his life, with help from Stiles.

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Communication (And the Lack Thereof) by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying (M | 1/1 | 7,687)

Sheriff Stilinski has been waiting for this day for a long time. As he watches his visitor walking up the path, he thinks about everything that's happened in the past year and his fingers twitch for his gun. But he can't do that; he can't shoot this man, as much as he might like to sometimes. Maybe he can go one worse, though.

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Integral to Survival by placeholdr (M | 1/1 | 8,529)

Derek is in the cell for about ten minutes before the lone door opens and a new body is tossed in. The person hits the floor with a grunt, rolls, and stands as the door is clanging shut.

“That’s really not the way to treat a guest!”

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Ten Weeks by scarletsptember (T | 1/1 | 10,024)

They say no news is good news at a doctor's office. The news Stiles gets changes everything.

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adore to see your eyes fly by 1001cranes (E | 1/1 | 11,309)

stiles is a pyromanic, derek is a sociopath. a match made in some kind of heaven. teen wolf kink meme fill.

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Blood and Bonds by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying (NR | 1/1 | 20,595)

Stiles wants to lose his virginity, so Derek sets him up with a nice female werewolf at a pack mixer. Nine months later, the pack gets a rather stark reminder, and with it comes realizations, feeeeelings, and danger.

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Heat of the Moment by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying (T | 1/1 | 21,320)

I'm the alpha now.

Derek never wanted the alpha power. But now he could feel the alpha power thrumming through his veins, calling to him and the those it considered pack.

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The Wolfvengers (Are Not A '90s Boyband) series by someonelsesheart (2 works | T | 23,152)

1. Angry Birds Is Not Meant To Be Taken Literally (T | 3/3 | 12,917) Derek gets that he and Stiles are kind of on a Need To Know basis, he really does, he just thinks that Stiles' godfather being in the freaking Avengers counts as pretty Need To Know. 2. The Captain America Law (T | 3/3 | 10,235) For the record, Derek is not very fond of talking about feelings, up to and including discussing his personal life, anything that has to do with Stiles, That Time With The High Heels, and games that include having to convey feelings. On a completely unrelated note, who knew that Tony Stark owned a sexy nurse's costume?

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An Exercise in Trust by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying (M | 1/1 | 25,529)

Derek Hale hasn't been able to hold a steady job for quite some time, thanks to his past. When an ad is posted for a babysitting job, Derek(thanks to his experience with his large extended family) jumps at the chance to maybe start rebuilding his life.

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hyper heart alone by hito (E | 1/1 | 34,570)

When Stiles returns home to help his father recover from an injury, he discovers that things have changed somewhat in his absence: Derek is working closely with Stiles' father, around the house and underfoot, generally annoying and disconcerting Stiles with his presence.

Well, Stiles isn't sure you could call all the sex they end up having annoying, but he isn't really willing to call it anything else, either.

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By and By series by 1001cranes (3 works | T-E | 35,611)

1. hear his alibis (T | 1/1 | 6,628) creepy never looked so cute - or, how Sheriff Stiles accidentally adopted a juvenile offender. (another) pyromaniac au. 2. multiplied by seven (E | 9/9 | 26,340) Derek isn't exactly like other people. Stiles doesn't say that because he's in love with him, or whatever. He's not like Scott, who thinks Allison hung the freaking moon, or was the first girl to ever let a guy under her bra. Derek isn't like other people. Sometimes he's not exactly sane. psychopaths in love - the story from Derek & Stiles's side. companion fic to 'hear his alibis' 3. up to the highest high (E | 1/1 | 2,643) Kate takes a day to think it over, to plan her attack. She's good on her feet, but a little preplanning never hurt anyone. And if she's going to make Derek bleed, well - she needs just the right weapon. The right words. A thousand little pinpricks and cuts, because Derek isn't the type you can cut off at the knees so easily. You have to look for that dark, hidden place to plant a seed of doubt, and Kate? Kate's good at that. "He wants to be with a girl," she says. Like poisoned honey. "Or he doesn't not want it, am I right?" You think that curiosity won't get the better of him one day?" She's got her hands on him when she says it. She feels the beating of his heart, the firmness of his pectoral muscles, because, hey, this is precisely the way she swings. And Derek might keep it pretty well tucked up under his cap, but he doesn't exactly hate the female persuasion himself. Or at least he's attracted to them. Same difference in the end. "Better the devil you know," she says, and from the way Derek's gaze narrows she's got a feeling she's won.

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Blood in the Water, Fire in the Sky: A Love Story series by ahab2692 (7 works | E | 69,750)

1. God, How Things Change (E | 1/1 | 9,056) After killing Peter Hale, Derek and Stiles have to deal with the aftermath: Scott doesn't want to forgive Derek for taking away his chance for the cure, Jackson struggles with adjusting to his newfound powers, and Lydia remains in a coma. Derek has his own demons to wrestle, and the more time he spends with Stiles, the less sure he is that he'll be able to control himself.

2. The World Spins, Regardless (E | 1/1 | 11,006) Stiles helps Derek expand his pack, and the two of them take steps forward in their newfound relationship. Meanwhile, new enemies arrive in the form of a dangerous pack of werewolves from a nearby town, as well as a pair of mysterious hunters with an unknown agenda. (Sequel to "God, How Things Change.") 3. Cracks in the Foundations (E | 1/1 | 10,107) Preparing for the oncoming war with an aggressive werewolf clan, Derek and Stiles make efforts to secure their friends' safety. Derek put the pack through a rigorous training regimen, and Stiles convinces him to form a temporary alliance with the Argents. However, no one is able to foresee a shocking loss that has a devastating effect on the pack's stability. (Sequel to "The World Spins, Regardless.") 4. The Wicker Throne and the Werewolf King (E | 1/1 | 11,241) Stiles and Lydia travel to a distant mining outpost in the woods to try and kill the Alpha of the rival pack. Meanwhile, Derek and Chris Argent struggle to ensure the safety of the pack in the aftermath of Stiles' recent loss. (Sequel to "Cracks in the Foundations.") 5. Conversation (and Carnage) (E | 1/1 | 9,096) Stiles attempts to negotiate with the Alpha. Derek attempts to negotiate with Meredith Wakefield. Hidden agendas lie beneath the surface. Everything is not as it seems. (Sequel to "The Wicker Throne and the Werewolf King.") 6. ...And Hell Followed With Him (E | 1/1 | 10,080) Stiles emerges victorious as the new Alpha. Derek and Chris Argent launch their attack on Meredith Wakefield. Stiles and Lydia return home. (Sequel to "Conversation (and Carnage).") 7. God, How Things Change (Redux) (E | 1/1 | 9,164) Stiles and Derek pay a visit to their last remaining enemy. The pack recovers in the aftermath. Everything ends. Everything begins. (Sequel to "...And Hell Followed With Him".)

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[f-t-e]

I started watching SUPERNATURAL in November 2020. I know, I know. My partner and I had been isolating alone since March. The timing felt right. I went though a wild amount of upheaval and trauma over the next year and SPN was there for me through it all. It was THE show at THE time and it kept me afloat when I needed it the most. Since November 2021 I've written just about 110,000 words of SPN fanfic, a number that seems unbelievable to me, and that too has been a real blessing to my creative life, no matter what haters say. (why didn't I write my own novels in that time? Because I have a hobby, Karen, and I love it.) And I've read about 500000x that much fanfic, which has been the biggest blessing of all. (ETA: oh right, if you want to read my fic, you can find my stuff here, I wrote a fic where Dean reads books. Lots of books.)

I know I'm a nobody in this fandom but I thought on this, our #DestielDay, I would submit my own humble rec list. I've curated this very deliberately: every fic here has just about 4000 hits or less (most under 3000) and all were published in 2020 or after. So, sort of a rec list for some lesser known and newer fics, something you maybe haven't stumbled on yet. Especially thank you to @jewishcharliebradbury, her rec lists gave me a place to start back in the day and I have tried to model the depth and quality they brought to their lists. I tried to link to everyone's tumblr, but if I missed one, let me know.

Most of all, thank you to everyone who has EVER created something for this fandom, from 2005 to 2023. I am so thankful and, honestly, honored to be among your number. You're not supposed to be cringe and say a show saved your life...but SUPERNATURAL saved me, it really did. See y'all when the movie/reboot drops, to quote Ryan Gosling in The Notebook: IT WASN'T OVER, IT STILL ISN'T OVER. And I'm glad.

-----

Finale Fix-It & S15 and Beyond

What The Moon Was Saying by Amiril (@runawaymarbles)

This is hands-down one of the coolest “Dean Rescues Cas from the Empty” fics I have ever read and the concept is brilliantly structured to mirror the literal and metaphorical things Dean needs to give up and let go to get free. Every scenario is very satisfying and they make sense, is there any better feeling? Dean is very open in this, but in a believable way that still has edges. And, oh, the reunion is so good. Plus all the family stuff. Just excellent, exactly what you want in a fic like this: lovely, well-written, smart, fulfilling, all the pieces clicking, the show but better.

Awake and Annoying by skycruise

I love the use and passage of time in this one, it has some real impact, and I love the way Dean gets into the Empty (so smart, fits just right) and what I REALLY love in this one is the way it lets Dean be really clear-eyed and honest about his relationship with Sam, both the strengths and the weaknesses. And the last line, very clever and moving inverse of one of fandom’s favorite things. 

Living the life you chose by allthismusic

THEEEEE post finale Sam Winchester-Outsider-POV this fandom needs. Sam is absolutely awesome in this, the most believable, loving, realistic mix of “I knew all along” and “I had no idea” versions of Sam, landing somewhere I think that’s really true and in character. It fills in and develops so many gaps and silences in what the show let Sam know in the absolute best way. Best Brother Sam is a weakness of mine and he really shines here, there for Dean in the best ways but also coming into his own, I love it so very much. (this author also has a very great 2022 Big Bang fic, hugely recommend that one too.)

your ear to the wound that whispers by EmandFandems (@lazarusemma)

Who doesn’t love a HANDPRINT FIC?!? And boy this is such a good one. It follows Dean and his thoughts on the handprint from the first touch all the way to fixing the finale and it simply buzzes with longing and desire, tenderness and rawness. It’s great insight in lot of ways into Dean’s journey. It’s short but fulfilling and oh that very perfect last line. (this author also has a lot of great Jupernatural content.)  

Somewhere Off in the Dark by magickastiel 

Another awesome fic that traces Dean’s shifting/growing feelings for Cas from when he shows up in his hotel rooms to a HEA fix it after canon. Dean, again, is handled so deftly in this one, his confusion and sorrow at all the times Cas is slipping away from him all the way through the things he won’t let himself know. He feels really true in this one, sharp and tender in the best Dean ways. Also it has an agonizingly romantic end, you love to end up there.

Pins and Feathers by theskywasblue (@buttherewasnogod)

This author has so many freaking good SPN fics, omg it was almost impossible to pick just one to include on this list. Go treat yourself with their entire list because there’s so much good stuff there! But this one, oh I am a sucker for a finale fix-it that lets Dean be this tender. While I LOVE fics where he just jumps right into Cas’s arms (and write them lol) I also feel like this is so true to Dean too: that “maybe I misunderstood, maybe I shouldn’t say anything, maybe he doesn’t still –” And on top of all that, it’s a “they go the beach” fic and it gets the details of it so right, sand in your toes and all. Tender, amazing slow-burn, real, hot, full of heart and longing and everything unspoken and just waiting. Very satisfying!

i loved you first by kalmialatifolia

A set of four short fics that create an entire world of feeling and emotion. These feel like little whispered stories told under the covers, very atmospheric. There’s one very sexy one, a haircutting one (so good) and they’re just intimate. All together a great set and did I mention they’re in the “Cas saves himself” genre which is mmmm an underrated treasure.

no other faith is light enough for this place by anonymous 

A fix-it fic that has a particularly unique and beautiful visual of both how and why Cas comes back. The mechanics behind it are fairly standard but the way this author creates the visual of it, the sheer emotion and force behind it and how it happens, it really stood out to me and stuck with me. It’s Dean being brave enough to really feel and the way that just blossoms – lovely, aching, full-tilt wonderful.

 no proof, one touch by TakeThisWaltz (@watchinghimrakeleaves)

One thing I absolutely cannot get enough of is fic where Cas is hiding out from Dean in heaven. It just hits. And the only thing better is Dean chasing him down and the WAY he does it in this fic, methodically and – well the method (sobs) it is so endearing and OBVIOUS and gives Dean a chance to shout in all the best ways. This one is just real sweet and kind of goofy and if they have to be in heaven, I want them to still be these same two dorks.

Stay by redbrickrose

This is a post S15x18 from Cas’s POV and I think it’s very true to where he would be in the moment of getting yanked out of the Empty: resigned, hesitant about what he has in front of him, still a little in shock. And then. And then. Sweet and simple and Dean gets a chance to say, say, say it. This author has a good post series AU and a lovely little spate of S15 codas, all good. And then wrote this in real-time in the week after 15x18 Despair and right before 15x19 Inherit the Earth aired (could you just sob over the possibilities?!) and then hasn’t wrote anything since and that’s a shame but, like, yeah I get it.

like a one-two punch by Muir_Wolf (@muirmarie)

Don’t you love a short fic that feels like it’s a whole novel? This goes AU after 14x20 Moriah but it is a truly delightful twist on how Chuck could’ve reacted there and it makes Dean sharp as a knife, which is one really resonant image woven through this fic. Great imagery here and so many clever solutions for the lazy plotting of S15, including simply one of my all-time favorites in any fic ever solutions to Cas’s deal (genius) and getting rid of Chuck. Brilliant like a puzzle box yet still full of so much fucking joy.

maybe i like pleasure pain by tothewillofthepeople (@kvothes)

The fact that this was written in October 2023 and is so agonizingly good fills my heart with joy and tells me Destiel will never die lol. Cas, in particular, is great in this – he’s having a hard time adjusting to being in a body and with all the fuzz of the world. I love fics where Cas struggles with coming back from the Empty and this uses a really unique approach to it: Cas facing sensory overload and not knowing how to feel but wanting it all. Lovely, hot, Dean is just right in this too.

Earlier Canon (pre S15)

Proverbs 13:12 by starlingcas (@angelcasendgame)

Many might say I am biased because Renu has beta’ed everything I have written in the SPN fandom and they can read my brain and make everything I write better. But it’s not just that. Renu has done something beautiful and delicate in this fic, which is about Dean and Cas getting trapped in a net together (forced proximity trope, yes please) and weaves a web of its own; pulling you in just as they are pulled together. This is set mostly in early S14 (before fixing the finale in the most heart-healing way) and captures that feeling so well. There’s so much that’s unsaid between them yet still conveyed and Renu absolutely nails that, along with the tender longing that was always there. This is a fic to relish.

you may tire of me (as our december sun is setting) by deludedfantasy

You know how the show just sometimes is like “uh so anyway uh then Cas…uh…left.” and it just doesn’t make one lick of sense? FINALLY FINALLY a fic where Dean says “I’ll go with you,” and then goes because he actually would do that. This is a post Tombstone fic so it is exactly where/when he WOULD go and it is tender and hesitant and aching in just all the ways it would be between the two of them at this time. It’s about needing to keep someone in sight, it’s about having another chance to say something so important, it’s slow and soft and just right for the characters in this place. I could read this one about 100 times.

the anatomy of flightless birds by cowlovely (@dollhousemary)

This fic is basically the way you feel when you get all cozy and snug underneath your favorite blanket. This is a domestic-life-in-the Bunker S9 fic where everyone behaves like they are in character and not just like they have to get Cas off screen because the writers panicked. You’ll just want to curl up in this fic and savor it the way you wrap your fingers around a hot beverage on a very cold day, there’s no better way to describe it.

virtue by JenTheSweetie

I think I’ve read this about 100 times and it still gets me everytime? It’s a five things fic about Dean and Cas hooking up and it’s all you’ve ever wished for. This is set in an amorphous S8 and it is not just agonizingly hot but also romantic and very funny. It feels really in character! Sam is hilarious, Dean is clueless but bowled over and letting himself be swept up, Cas is delighting in every second and smarter than he lets on and it ALL feels fated and lovely and sexy and just splendid. (this author only has 3 SPN fics but they are all so good and if you try sometimes, well you just might find is an absolutely brilliant deconstruction of Dean learning the differences between “needing” and “wanting.”)

Romance at the Motel 6 by shelia_amour 

This fic makes me feel like Stefon from SNL. This fic has everything: Cas and Sam pretending to be married, just the right amount of jealous Dean, Dean randomly pretending to be married to Cas, Dean realizing maybe this isn’t so fake after all, motel vibes, Cas in Dean’s clothes, Cas getting bee slippers. If you are not sold on this already, we are very different people. So good, aches just right. (set in a kind of “whenever” of canon, but I like to put it somewhere in S8.)

que sera sera by Purple_Starflower (@hauntedpearl)

The epitome of how fanfic unfolds for us all the things that COULD happen. You can’t PROVE to me Dean and Cas never snuck off to snuggle and feed Dean’s touch-starvation early in S13. I had to check when I finished because I just couldn’t believe this fic was under 4000 words because it feels so full of touch, longing, the things unspoken, and all the ways Dean was reaching, reaching, reaching. The best kind of ache, and everything by this author is lovely. 

the hard edge that you’re settling for by lesspopped (@trekkiedean)

This is some S10 Demon!Dean that made my stomach hurt and my heart ache and I absolutely loved it and I absolutely hated it and it all felt so REAL with who Demon!Dean was and could have been. There’s a TW for mildly dubious consent in this, but to me, Cas was so agonizingly true to who he was/where he was at this point in canon too. This fic is gloriously, claustrophobically intimate. I say unbearable because as a reader you know that this closeness, this intimacy, is what Dean wants/craves/deserves but can only give himself as a demon and the author does an exquisite job at getting all that across. Hurts so good! 

four of swords by sundryvillians (eurythmix) (@perenial)

Can the world ever have enough post 12x12 fic? The answer is, of course, no. Dean and Cas bake bread and in the soft space of creating something with their own hands, get so close to the words Cas said. It’s about healing and anger and making something just because you are so tired of everything breaking. If that alone isn’t enough to convince you, let me also throw in this is another one of those “possible off-screen moments in canon” that gives them something honest and tender and raw and it feels so very possible. 

Fifteen Prayers From the Faithless by koyas_cat

Short, achy, that sweet sting. A set of prayers for Cas from the beginning to the end, full of all the things Dean doesn’t let himself say outloud and just reflecting the changes in their connection over alllll the years. So good.

[penny-anna]

i have other things to do but here we gooooo owl house fic recs:

Autism to Autism Communication by Polyhexian

"I understand sarcasm," Hunter said, sounding offended. He crossed his arms. "You didn't do the voice thing." Darius stared at him. "The what?" Hunter put his arms in the air and gave his hands a sarcastic little wave. "I GuEsS I'LL hAvE tO sToP cOmInG oVeR, tHeN," he said in the most over the top and comical parody of sarcasm that Darius had ever heard in his life.

everything by this author is great & this one is a joy and a delight!!

Extant Species by Polyhexian

She'd been called a monster more times than she could count, but she knew what a real monster looked like.

i'd happily rec a bunch of polyhexian's stuff but this lil vee & hunter fic was a highlight. especially enjoy the part where hunter's advising her on how best to go about murdering him. love that for them both!!

Owlet by Polyhexian

"Eda!" Hunter yelled as he shouldered open the door and Hooty cooed and rambled at him, "I need help with my potions homewooooooaaaat the HELL is that?!" Luz looked up from where she was sitting on the couch and reading what appeared to be a romance novel about werewolves. "What is what?" "That!" he yelled, pointing at the hulking behemoth curled up in the middle of the room in a massive pile of blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals. "Is that the owl beast?!"

& 1 more!! short n sweet n cute

With Clay and Star Scraps by SiryyGray

Hunter decided to do some research into Grimwalkers. First discovery: Grimwalkers were outlawed in every city under every rule as far back as the history books go. Second discovery: Grimwalkers have no natural means of death. Third discovery: there’s a caveat to that second one.

some absolutely brutal grimwalker content. SPOILERS: hunter can't outlive belos.

Intrusion by rayrock

'He drops something in. It moves and writhes, but it is clearly exhausted. “Eat,” is all he says, voice barely above a whisper. But it is a demand nonetheless, intimidating enough to send shivers down her spine. She hisses in protest once more. He tucks the notepad and pen into his cloak and pulls out a staff. It unfolds and glows a bright red. He does not say anything more. He is nearly always silent when she sees him.' Or: Vee and the Golden Guard’s relationship is complicated, but it is there

some more vee & hunter content for you

just a little bit left by prodigalDaughter

The first time Darius had seen the new Guard unmasked, the fury and betrayal had risen in him like floodwater, bubbling and steaming out of creeks and sewers. Creed had never told him he had a son. —— Hunter has discovered what he is, but he’s not the only one who has to grapple with assumptions made about his origins.

hey remember the other day when i was talking about 'what if darius thought hunter was the previous golden guard's son'! well here u go someone wrote that fic

Wild and Wandering Cries by PorcelanaRota

So his uncle goes flying into the wall directly above him and he is unable to dodge. And his uncle, who is now more palisman curse slime than he is flesh and blood, splatters on the wall, on the ground, on him. Hunter’s been in hundreds of life-or-death situations. He’s felt real and true and visceral fear that sank into his bones and marinated into terror more times than not. Still, nothing has ever left him so shocked and horrified and just flat-out scared that time has actually stopped.

belos splash zone? belos splash zone.

mistakes (the thrilling saga, in high definition) by quynnyah

"This," Amity says, "is not normal human behavior." (Or: Amity and Hunter volunteer to help Camila on a grocery trip. It goes about as well as expected.)

some banging amity & hunter in the human realm stuff for u

Notched by angelcloves

Belos removes the ear tag from his newest Grimwalker.

tiny wee fic giving a backstory for Hunter's notched ear. i rotate this concept in my brain all the time. absolutely twisted.

There is no open window, but the floors still creep by theprincessofdenial

On Tuesday, they eat Chinese. On Wednesday, Camila once again doesn’t have the time to cook, so pizza it is. On Thursday, she wants to make a proper dinner but there’s a hold up at the clinic, Luz knocks over a shelf, Willow has a wardrobe emergency, and then Amity’s cat goes missing. And Hunter beats Gus up so badly the boy ends up bleeding, so there’s also that.

hgnnnh i would rec this entire series if i could (it's 14 fics totally 200k total). its all so chewy i want to get my teeth into it and rrrrrrrrrr. ANYWAY this is my no 1 fav i've been back and re-read it about 7 times. love the Camila Noceda POV; the way it captures the chaos of all 6 kids in the house and makes it feel so real & vivid; the absolutely brutal Hunter characterisation. if ur a Hunter fan go read this right away.

Distance by theprincessofdenial

For the first minute, they all just stand there in silence and watch the airship slowly disappear beyond the horizon. Even though they’re supposed to react quickly, the cold still comes as a shock. It takes some time for the reality to settle in and for them to realize how useless everything they have brought is going to be when their marrow freezes. Hunter hears some of the Scouts inhaling sharply after they approach the ledge and look down. They turn around, unsure where to start, and they shuffle their feet in the snow (terrible decision, really, this way their boots are going to get wet even quicker). Hunter’s the first one to break the silence, and oh, he does it with style. He has been rehearsing that line for a week. “See you at the bottom, suckers!” he exclaims as he pulls out the staff and disappears in a flash of red light. (or: The Obligatory "Leave Everyone at the Top of the Mountain and See Who Makes It Back to the Bottom Alive" Fic. With a splash of Steve)

2nd rec from this series. exactly what it says on tin. *banging pots together* you like whump come get your whump i ADORE what this author does w Hunter. also Steve is there (whump for Steve!!)

A Potter's Field by theprincessofdenial

The view from the staircase is, well, not stunning, that’s definitely not the word. It’s just that “view” is supposed to be accompanied by “stunning,” and Luz can feel her brain coming to a screeching halt and refusing to process what they’re seeing. It's skeletons. Come on, they both knew it was going to be skeletons. The entire Isles know at this point. (Or: despite what the stories would have you believe, in the aftermath, there are things to deal with. Those things include ruined infrastructure, electing new leaders, and prosecuting those responsible for the old regime. And apparently, also Grimwalker mass graves.)

& third and final. unbelievably chewy post-canon fic. lets get into the reconstruction of the isles in full detail. goes hard as hell. will sit in my brain for a long time i think. cannot rec this enough.

and rats all for now!! i got a bunch more stuff in my 'marked for later' so watch this space

[mercuriians]

say what you want

synopsis ☆ you're forced to confront your feelings for aomine when your plans go wrong at a party.

content info — angst to fluff, some hurt/comfort, fem! reader, mutual pining (reader & aomine are both idiots), little bit suggestive at the end. also, as a WARNING, this work contains references to underage drinking so if that makes you uncomfortable then please don't read this.

word count — 3.1k words.

author's note — first full knb fic i've written!! yeahhh i got carried away so oops. wasn't really sure how to end it but i hope it's alright either way. while i was writing this fic i was listening to take a chance with me and lowkey by NIKI, so if you want to feel the vibes of the story then u should listen to those songs, they're amazing i promise. hope u guys enjoy!!

"you know, ahomine, this entire thing was your fault."

you aim for your words to be sharp, accusatory, and scathing, filled with the type of poison that conveys just how irritated you felt at the moment; they’re intended to withdraw some kind—any kind, actually, since it’s aomine you’re talking to—of guilt or acknowledgement from the boy, or at the very least a sign that yes, he was the one who deserved the blame, and every ounce of it too.

however your objective falls short, and there’s a thought that irritatingly lingers at the back of your unusually sluggish mind: that, really, you weren’t exactly free from fault either. but it isn’t like you want to admit that because even the boy next to you knows the extent of your obstinacy and pride.

it’s a shame, and it’s quite ironic too, that your words are ultimately what betray your integrity. the way they come out breathless, slightly slurred, and definitely nowhere near scathing says more than enough.

earlier, you might have drunk a bit more than you were supposed to.

but to be fair, it was kise's seventeenth birthday. knowing how passionate he became whenever the subject was about parties or having fun or legitimately just having the spotlight on himself, the celebration turned out to be rather wild, to say the least. though when you had all five—technically six—members of the miracle generation gathered in the same area, as well as some of their respective teammates, the pandemonium was likely the only thing you could even anticipate. besides the heavy stench of testosterone of course.

see, your original plan was to spend the night quietly spectating the crowd. you never really liked parties, and you never really liked all the chaos that it brought. what you did like, though, was watching that same chaos unfold before your eyes. you even prepared your childhood friend to be by your side when it all went down, with his fluffy baby blue hair and his innocent, perceptive gaze never straying too far from where number two sat contentedly, playing with a rubber ball.

"how long do you think it'll take before kagami and aomine get into a brawl?" you had mused, hiding your amused grin behind your hand as you watched the two basketball players get into an argument over what the next song would be.

all the while, you hoped that kuroko didn’t see the way your eyes dipped towards the area of skin that aomine’s shirt haphazardly left exposed.

luckily he didn’t seem to notice. either that or—this was more likely—he was kind enough not to comment.

"ten minutes." kuroko had stated bluntly, answering your question. as it turns out, he wasn't far off from the mark.

so, for the first half of the party, your plan worked. you sat by the corner, languidly drinking from your cup of apple juice while you chatted with kuroko about anything that came into your mind. everything was fine, things were going well on your part, and at some point, you even sang along to the cheesy pop music that the speakers blasted.

most of all, you managed to avoid aomine.

but to put it frankly, shit hit the fan the moment the clock hit eleven. a bit surprisingly, the instigator wasn’t aomine, or takao, or even the golden birthday boy himself. no, it was sweet, exuberant momoi.

looking back on it, maybe your surprise was unreasonable. this was the same girl who could make eerily accurate predictions simply based off the statistics she collected from the court, and with you being a basketball player yourself, you knew just how scheming momoi could be when she really wanted to. that, and the fact that she happened to be another one of your childhood friends.

yeah, you probably should have realized that she was plotting something.

yet the realization never dawned on you. not when she offered you three consecutive cups of sake and claimed that “it’s to help you loosen up!”, not when she managed to pull you away from kuroko, not when she proposed the stupidly cliche spin the bottle game, and definitely not when she forced aomine to sit directly across from where you were.

after watching a few hilarious and awkward rounds, it was only inevitable for you to be the one spinning the bottle, and it was only inevitable for the damned thing to land on the one boy you were hoping to skip. and no, not because you hated him, but precisely because you simply couldn’t. it was impossible to not like aomine, even with his laziness, arrogance, perversion, and occasional playboyish tendencies. the truth was that behind every flaw of his, there were just as many positives, whether it was his obstinate loyalty or his unwavering honesty or his genuine respect for those who earned it.

so no one could blame you for the way your breath caught in your throat when aomine held your gaze and when he eventually began to make his way over. “this okay with you?” he asked nonchalantly as if this was a light, casual matter, and as if he didn’t care at all. yet, there was a slight, barely noticeable tightness in his navy gaze. had you not known him for years now, you likely wouldn’t have picked up on that small detail.

but as small as it was, really, it was anything but. and with your heart beating just a bit faster, you knew exactly why.

you nodded your head wordlessly, your lips parting, your eyes meeting his, and your message being spoken and understood through that eye contact alone. aomine leaned in, and you closed your eyes.

his lips were chapped, and his hand felt rough and calloused against your skin, but you felt a trail of fire prickling through your body anyway. quicker than you would have liked to admit, you found yourself falling deeper. you hoped, for a brief, flickering moment, that aomine felt the same. maybe, within his mind, there were thoughts of you.

swirls of past memories, like when you two would play basketball together, sweat dripping down your faces, soaking the fabric of your clothes as you focused on not letting him score; fragments of the future, like what it would be like to attend college together; and wishes for the present moment, like maybe how he wanted you to be his, just as you've wanted him to be yours since the last year of junior high.

you pulled aomine in closer, fingers digging into his collar. the logical part of your mind shrieked, voice raising in volume the longer you pressed your body against his, but you shut the thoughts out.

very, very vaguely, it occurred to you that the alcohol made your heart beat faster, made your spirit burn recklessly in a way that you hadn't known before.

for better or for worse, aomine noticed too.

and the moment you regained all sense of control, you realized that you no longer felt the weight of his body, or the warmth of his lips. bright lights flooded your vision as you opened your eyes. aomine stood a foot or two away, his shirt a bit crumpled from where you had gripped the fabric.

there was a certain kind of look on his face, but the problem was that you were unable to decipher it. this was the first time you couldn't read him.

fear settled into your bones.

had you just ruined everything between the two of you? not just the chances of ever dating him, but your friendship as well? should you have kissed him in the first place? what kind of person did he think you were now?

what had you done wrong, and why did you ever even accept those drinks from satsuki?

suddenly the room was full of too many people, and there were too many sounds and the lights were starting to blind you and damn it you couldn't even hear yourself think. in the heat of panic, you found yourself running, murmuring mindless apologies to whoever you almost crashed into.

you didn't stop until you reached kise's balcony. it was small, barely enough for three people to fit in, but the fact that you were able to taste the crisp june night air was enough.

unfortunately, it turned out that you only had a few minutes to spend alone with your thoughts. before long, the sound of the glass door sliding open disrupted the silence. you closed your eyes, praying to whatever was above that it wasn't the one person you wanted to avoid.

"wow, you really don't want to talk to me, huh?" a gruff, low voice dryly remarked. well, shit.

your eyes flew open. "i—uh, aomine," you cleared your throat hastily, "what did i.. did i say that out loud?"

"sure did," he confirmed. you heard him walking towards you before you saw him slide into the narrow space on your left. cautiously, you snuck a glance; his expression seemed to be unbothered, but knowing what happened ten minutes ago, you wouldn't risk a bet on it.

his eyes met yours. "you've been acting off," he remarked.

you refrained from rolling your eyes, like it wasn't already clear enough. "yeah, well, the sake that satsuki gave me was.. um, expired." you lied, and quite messily too. "made my stomach feel weird."

"she made me check the expiration date before her mom bought it," aomine deadpanned, and for the umpteenth time that night you wished that the floor was kind enough to swallow you whole. "and your stomach seems fine to me."

"well you wouldn't know that," you shot back, somewhat angrily. "and why did—how did satsuki even get her mom to buy alcohol in the first place?"

"her mom was the one who suggested it," aomine shrugged. despite the twinge of surprise that you felt—you weren't exactly sure if an adult was allowed to buy alcohol for seventeen-year-olds—it was quickly washed away and forgotten, overshadowed by the look that the boy suddenly gave you.

"so, are we gonna keep dodging the topic or what?"

your shoulders sagged, your arms crossing over your chest instinctively. "what is there to talk about?" you muttered.

"look, between the two of us, you're definitely the smarter one," aomine stated bluntly. "so quit actin' like you don't know what happened back there, (name)."

a heavy sigh escaped from your lips, frustration welling up within your chest all over again. you found it quite difficult to even breathe at the moment. "i don't want to do this right now," you stated. "so please just leave and we can pretend like—"

"that's the problem right there," aomine interrupts, an unprecedented twinge of emotion filling his voice. it was anger and frustration akin to yours, yes, but there was something else—something that you could reluctantly guess stemmed from a place that he'd kept hidden until now. "you keep avoiding me like i'm the damn plague or something. i didn't even do anything wrong, and if you feel like i did, then i can't do anything about it because you're not telling me shit."

and that right there brings you to the present moment, the buildup to the storm that's about to wreak havoc and tear up the land.

"you know, ahomine, this entire thing was your fault." you hiss, every ounce of your feelings pouring out without abandon. it's messy, it's unorganized, and it's raw; maybe none of it even makes sense, or maybe all of it does. you don't bother trying to wrap your head around it because there's no use in doing so.

for once, you don't think, and you let your words spill out like water from a broken faucet.

"it's your fault because you made me feel this way about you, even though you're one of the laziest, rudest, and most obnoxious people i know, not to mention that you read those perverted magazines. but you're also one of the most loyal and genuine, and i know that you would never lie. not on the court, and not outside of it, either. and that just—a-all of it frustrates and confuses me because we're polar opposites. you say whatever's on your mind, and you don't care about what people think about it. i can't do that."

you take a moment to breathe, to slow down, and to collect your scrambled train of thought. "i think that's why i don't tell you things like this. i'm probably drunk right now, but i think you want someone who's as unafraid as you are, someone who takes charge of the situation instead of being in the background. the only time i can be bold is when i play basketball. because then it's just—"

"just you, the ball, and the person in front of you," aomine finishes. surprisingly, his tone is soft, even understanding, and you look up to meet his gaze. "i know how that feels."

"it's like nothing else matters when you're on the court," you whispers, and the boy next to you nods. "all of it is simple. it's nothing like having to deal with your emotions, and having to understand them."

"you're right about that," aomine agrees. there are a few, shocking beats of silence that ensue, both of you seeming to ponder on your individual thoughts. "but, you know, the way you kissed me back there said a lot."

your face flushes pink. "yeah, i know," you mumble, turning your head away as you rest your arms against the railing. there's an uncomfortable feeling that sinks into you, just being aware that aomine knows how you've felt about him for years. you don't remember ever feeling as exposed as you do now.

"you're a good kisser," he comments somewhat offhandedly. "makes me wonder how it'll feel like to do that again in the future."

you pause.

your mouth drops open. "huh?" you stammer embarrassingly. "you can't joke about this, aomine—"

"look at me," he interrupts, softly but firmly. with hesitation swirling within your mind, you raise your head to meet his sapphire eyes. there's no trace of humor, or scorn, or sarcasm anywhere on his face, however. in fact, the seriousness exuding from his expression feels undeniably out of character.

and yet he's never looked as breathtaking as he does now.

"i hate saying this, but i think satsuki really did succeed this time." seeing the confusion on your face, aomine explains, "i tried pretending like i didn't have feelings for you either, because like you said, it feels weird. i guess ignoring them was more convenient for me, too. but, satsuki being satsuki, i guess she got bored of us being idiots and pulled this entire thing together."

"she's an orchestrator," you mutter, astonished. "wait, so, this means that you like me too—i'm not hallucinating?"

"nope, your ears are working perfectly fine." he states. "i've liked you ever since you broke my ankles and put me on my ass back at teiko."

overcome with surprise and glee—none of this feels real, still—you can't help but snort. "weren't you pissed when i did that? i mean i remember kise drooling over me, and akashi-kun giving me a compliment, but you were definitely upset." fond memories flash within your mind as you remember the sheer embarrassment and anger on a thirteen-year-old aomine's face.

"and i was, believe me," the boy chuckles. "but that was the first time a girl played against me and won. usually, they would just crowd around me and ramble about how hot i was. it was an unexpected change, but it was nice. kind of turned me on, too."

the last part almost causes you to choke on your saliva.

"such a pervert," you accuse him, a tint of pink staining your cheeks. "i don't even wanna know the thoughts that filled your head."

"i was thinking about how great of a girlfriend you'd be," aomine grins, stepping towards you. he reaches out, his hand moving to fix the strands of hair that covered your face. "and how pretty you'd look wearing my jersey."

"we can talk about that later," you swallow, looking up at him through your lashes, the party long forgotten. "right now, all you have to think about is kissing me again."

"that's easy," he retorts, his strong arms circling around your waist protectively. aomine leans down, his eyes slowly sliding shut, and his distinctive scent—cedarwood, smoke, and a hint of sweat—washes over you as his lips slot against yours.

unlike before, the kiss isn't frenzied or desperate; still, it maintains an air of passion, which both of you can clearly feel. his hands are curious, wandering and tracing areas all over your clothed body, almost as if he's trying to imprint them into his memory. they finally rest comfortably on the small of your back, with your own hands perched on his broad shoulders.

sneakily, he bites your lip, prompting a small, sharp whimper. your mouth opens invitingly, and his tongue sneaks in, swirling around your own.

when you pull away a little while later, you find yourself panting. your chest heaves with every breath, and your knees start to feel weak. "and you say i'm the good kisser," you say breathlessly, reaching up to give him one more peck.

"well i wasn't lying, was i?" he raises his brows slightly, making you giggle. "i had to stop myself from going even further."

"nobody said you had to stop," you whisper under your breath, catching him by surprise.

"trust me, i didn't want to," aomine leans down again, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. "but we're both a little drunk right now."

his words bring you a renewed sense of clarity, or at least something resembling it. he's telling the truth, really; doing anything reckless under the influence of alcohol is quite far from being a good decision. "and i thought you were supposed to be a delinquent," you tease him harmlessly.

"even delinquents use their brain sometimes, (name)," he rolls his eyes. "besides, i'm starving right now. i wanna eat some of the onigiri that kagami made, even though he gets under my skin."

"he's a really good cook," you sigh in admiration, examining aomine's expression closely, "and he's handsome, too.."

he scowls. "watch it," the boy warns, "don't say anything you're going to regret later."

"sorry, daiki," you apologize with a grin. "it's just fun to tease you."

"whatever," aomine mutters. "tomorrow, i'll get my payback."

[silverskye13]

how did you get the confidence to write fanfiction? i always worry that i won't portray the characters properly so any ideas or wants to write fanfics that i have go away or i talk myself out of it :(

Well! First and foremost: Most people don't start writing,,,, anything with confidence. Let alone fanfic, where you know other people are going to be looking at it, with their own ideas of how the characters are supposed to act and feel influencing what they're coming to the story with. My first fanfic I was very insecure, which I feel like was evident, reading through the author's notes now. Apologies whenever something that required a lot of suspension of disbelief happened, a poll so readers could decide the ending so I wouldn't disappoint anybody, only to end in me writing and posting three different endings. Long justifications for why I chose certain things in the author's notes. The fic nowadays reads to me like a very rough apology.

"Hi I'm sorry I tried. Be kind I'm very scared."

But the thing about writing that fic was, it was the writerly equivalent of jumping into the deep end of the pool for the first time. After I bobbed back to the surface and realized a shark hadn't like, taken my legs off while I was down there, jumping in again got easier. And kept getting easier. And now I just write and post things.

There's kind of two schools of thought that I've seen people subscribe to, when it comes to taking the first leap. The one that's really popular around here on Tumblr is: Do it scared. It is simple and straightforward. You are scared. You will be scared. You probably never won't be scared. So do it scared. Write your thing, close your eyes and hit send [either to post it or to share it with one or two friends, or even just hitting the "save" button and not deleting it]. Get scared, do it, close your eyes, finish. When you open your eyes again and nothing terrible has happened, you can breathe a sigh of relief and do it scared again. It's a little nerve-wracking at first, but the idea is giving your mind the association of jumping and not falling. I did it and I didn't fail, therefore it is safe to do it again.

The other school of thought [the one I specifically subscribe to] is: Do it once. What you think or feel about it doesn't matter. What matters is you did it once. Maybe it will be hell, or it'll suck terribly. Maybe you're really excited! And it turns out great! Maybe its a wild ride of ups and downs, and by the end you need a few months to catch your breath and decide if it was worth it. Regardless: you did it once. Now you know, if you want to, you can do it again. Now you can decide if its worth doing again. For me, the euphoria of finishing a project always far outweighs the trouble getting there, so the step forward of "Do it once" is powerful for me. And that can be broken down too. "Write one chapter." "Draw one drawing." "Clean one room in the house." There is no pressure to continue if its really that terrible, but you at least get to decide if one was worth it [and a solid 9 times out of 10, one was worth it enough to do it more.]

Now, all that said, if what you're worried about is writing the characters right and nothing else -- don't worry too much. Most people care less about how true to life the characters are, and care a lot more about consistency in the story. An example from RnS: In canon, Helsknight is a cartoonish villain with one motivation, and that motivation is taking over hermitcraft Doofenschmirtz style. To date, no one has come into my inbox demanding I change him, because he's so OOC he's basically an OC at this point. What people have come into my inbox about though, is "Hey, you established X in this chapter, but he said Y in this chapter. Was there a reason for that?" which is them saying, "Why didn't you keep your character consistent?" If you tell your audience what the expectations are for the story and you stick with them, they will stop caring about OOC moments and characterizations, and will trust you're going somewhere with your writing. Suspension of disbelief, your powerful friend! They put the world on their shoulders and carry and everybody watches and claps.

If you're also worried about consistency, then start out with one shots! There's a lot less room for error, no large, sweeping character arcs to keep track of. And stringing a bunch of one-shots together can give you practice with character consistency and progression without committing to something massive and overarching. If you're truly worried about making the characters exactly like Canon [or the Canon in your head], I recommend making little lists of character traits, or important things you want to keep in mind. At that point you're scared of your own consistency, and you just need a framework to keep yourself consistent enough for yourself, if that makes sense?

Hopefully! This helps! Sorry I'm a little scattered today :'D

[rosanna-writer]

Love at First Sight's for Suckers (1/5)

Summary: [A Feysand Newsies AU] Rhysand had a reputation. A big reputation. But fortunately for Feyre, a newsie selling papers on the streets of Velaris, tabloid gossip about the handsome, charismatic, hard-partying war-hero of a High Lord's heir means business is booming. That is, until the city's newspaper magnates get greedy, Feyre finds herself an unwitting labor leader at the center of a strike, and Rhys becomes an unexpected ally... Warnings: None

A gift for @the-lonelybarricade, for @acotargiftexchange! @lbs-secret-santa is me!

LB, creating this for you has been such a blast, and I am definitely the luckiest secret santa in the world to have such a gem of a giftee. It's rare for someone to have both a talent AND a heart as big as yours—you're truly the High Lady of Feysand, not just because your fics are incredible, but because of the way you make new writers (including me earlier this year) feel immediately welcome and how you handle fandom nonsense with such grace and tact. I'm so glad to call you a friend <3

And sorry for an author's note that reads like an annoying award show speech, but there are SO MANY people I want to thank. The event organizers did such a thoughtful job creating an event that brought so many people together across the fandom; not just secret santa/giftee pairs, but people reaching out to new betas, roping new friends into secrecy shenanigans, and getting hyped about other gifts! @iambutmortal, @thesistersarcheron, @itsthedoodle, @wilde-knight, and @ablogofsapphicpanic have been the best betas/saucy Rhys pun brainstormers/secret keepers/DM screaming session partners, and the daily headlines would not have happened without their beautiful brains. I had SO MUCH FUN watching the excitement and creative energy grow and grow in the lead up to this reveal. And also @reverie-tales, thanks for being my unwitting cover to throw LB off my trail!

Anyway, you can find the first chapter Here on AO3 or under the readmore. Happy Holidays!

One Heir to Share? Rhysand's Rita's Threesome

Baring it All at Starfall! Rhysand Stuns in Daring Deep-V Shirt

Rhysand's Baby Blues: Heir's Latest Fling Spotted Shopping for Baby Clothes

Future High Lord’s High: Witchberries, Fae Wine, and Wild Starfall Benders in the House of Wind?

Lady of the Night or FUTURE Lady of Night? Rhysand's Girlfriend Shocks Royal Family at Nynsar

Un-Rhys-onable: Night's Heir Refuses to Kneel to High Lord

Heir Head! Rhysand Forgets Alphabet During Library Community Service

Rhysand had a reputation.

A big reputation.

Perhaps that was why after selling him the newspaper every day for the better part of a year, Feyre Archeron had long since decided that he was far too full of himself to be ashamed of anything.

As he did every Saturday morning, Rhys appeared on her corner like clockwork, wearing last night's clothes and his trademark smirk. If Feyre wanted to know what lucky male or female had gone home on his arm, she'd only have to check tomorrow's society pages, which were always breathlessly detailing the exploits of the Night Court's handsome, charismatic, hard-partying war-hero of a High Lord's heir.

Not that Feyre cared. There were more important things to worry about than Rhysand's love life, like where her next meal was coming from. She only kept up with it because his scandals sold papers like nothing else.

And she definitely didn't feel a stab of envy every time she read about his latest fling. That would be pointless—a lesser fae shadow-wraith like Feyre would never be Lady of the Night Court. The stir Rhys's Illyrian mother had caused made that obvious enough, even if she was the High Lord's mate.

"Good morning, Feyre darling," Rhysand drawled, the way he always greeted her.

"It's noon, Rhys," Feyre said. The nickname might have been overly familiar, but Feyre had noticed his eyes glittered like stars whenever she used it with him. And besides, after being up since dawn, she wasn't inclined to fall over herself currying favor with someone who'd just rolled out of bed.

"Then let me be the first to tell you that you look delicious this afternoon."

Feyre rolled her eyes, positive she looked the farthest thing from delicious in her threadbare leggings and sweater. If it were anyone but Rhys, she would have been sure they were being cruel. But he had enough of her goodwill that he could pay her teasing compliments and not end up with his teeth bashed in for his trouble.

"Did you give them anything interesting to write about last night?" she said, leaning back against a streetlight and crossing her arms over her chest.

Rhys picked at an invisible piece of lint on his tunic, which almost had Feyre rolling her eyes a second time. Despite being in last night's clothes, he didn't look the least bit disheveled—probably some spell he'd cast to ensure he looked irritatingly perfect as always.

"Mor needed a wingman again," he said.

Feyre relaxed, relieved at his answer. Rhys's equally beautiful cousin was the subject of plenty of headlines of her own, and the two were frequently seen together. The people of Velaris were fascinated by the pretty blonde former Hewn City princess–when the Herald ran a story about her, Feyre just had to shout "Morrigan" to turn heads and make sales. If the lead story was about her, Feyre could probably afford to eat tomorrow.

It had been a while, though, since Rhys had been spotted with someone new on his arm. Or with anyone other than Morrigan, his sister, or the two Illyrians he called his brothers actually. Feyre had rolled her eyes at the rumors of a secret relationship or a hidden love child—if you asked her, the most likely explanation was that there were only so many attractive people in Velaris with a weakness for violet eyes. Rhys was bound to run out of people to fuck eventually.

"Is that the truth?" Feyre said, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Or did you actually find someone to settle down with?"

She'd meant it as a joke, but Rhys didn't smile. There was something hungry, almost predatory, in the way his gaze slid over her. Feyre found herself flushing, even as she stared right back. "Would you care if I did?" he said.

It felt like a challenge; Feyre lifted her chin. "Of course I'd care if you stopped causing scandals. I'm a newsie, and gossip sells papers."

"Of course," Rhys said, something in his expression seeming to shutter. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a gold coin, handing it to her. The value was far more than a single paper was worth, but he'd always insisted she keep the change.

Feyre pulled a paper from the bag slung over her shoulder and handed it to him, longways so there was no chance their fingers would touch. She'd let that happen once, and his fingertips brushing hers had sent a crackle of electricity along her skin that she'd been thinking about ever since. Her mind replayed it almost daily—and frankly, Feyre found that embarrassing.

She pocketed the coin. "Pleasure doing business with you."

When Rhys spoke again, he dropped his voice to a low, sensual purr that sent shivers skittering down Feyre's spine, heat washing over her despite the autumn chill that cut through her tattered clothes. " Everything is a pleasure when it comes to you, Feyre."

He flashed her one last feline smile, and Feyre tipped her cap as he winnowed away, trying not to blush. With her other hand, she fingered the coin in her pocket. It would go under the floorboard with the rest of the ones she'd stashed away. Only a few more until she could afford the one-way ticket to the Continent that she'd been dreaming of.

Velaris was wonderful— if you could afford a big, strong door to lock out the hustle and bustle. Feyre certainly couldn't, and she was dying to get away.

A flash of auburn hair and a shout of "High Lady!" across the street pulled Feyre from her thoughts. Lucien was striding towards her, a half-empty satchel of newspapers slung over one shoulder and carrying another paper bag in his hand. She raised a hand in greeting—she'd stopped cringing at the nickname a long time ago.

"Is the new spot over by the docks working out for you?" she said when he got closer, even though she knew the answer. Lucien could sell papers anywhere; he didn't even need the eyepatch and the sob story about being an Autumn Court orphan who'd found his way to Night—just his brilliant smile was enough.

Lucien shrugged, the gesture far too elegant for someone who'd spent his morning selling newspapers to sailors and fishmongers. "I can make anything work."

"Then why did you come looking for me?" Feyre said. With unsold papers still in his bag, there had to be a reason. The newsies bought the papers from the distributor each morning, starting each day operating at a loss until they'd sold enough papers to recoup the cost. Lucien still had work to do if he wanted to turn a profit.

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Isn't gazing upon your beautiful face reason enough?"

"You sound like Rhysand."

"And you're saying that like it's a bad thing. Trouble in paradise?"

Feyre resisted the urge to roll up one of the papers in her own bag and smack him with it. Lucien had overheard her speaking to Rhysand once and apparently decided the prince was in love with her. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

"Rhysand isn't—"

" By the Cauldron, he'd follow you around like a lost puppy if you'd let him."

"He's just a flirt," Feyre said, the edge to her voice making it clear she didn't want to talk about this anymore. "What did you need me for?"

"Someone needs to finish my pickles," Lucien said, pulling a sandwich out of the paper bag. He handed Feyre half, along with the entire side of pickles it had come with, then sat down on the curb to eat, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

Feyre nibbled on the pickle, the first thing she'd eaten all day, and thanked the Cauldron for a best friend who hated them and shared them with her. Putting her papers aside, she sat down next to him. "Thanks, Lucien," she said, unwrapping her half of the sandwich. Lunch would be on her next—that had been their unspoken agreement for years, even when meals were sporadic and infrequent.

They lapsed into silence, more intent on eating than talking. It was comfortable, a much needed rest after a morning spent shouting headlines at passersby. Feyre's feet already ached from standing all morning.

After a few minutes, Lucien balled up the now-empty wax paper. "Now that you're fed, I think it's safe to mention that you're needed over by the Rainbow."

"Again?" Feyre said with a sigh.

"Bron and Hart are fighting over the same spot. The High Lady should step in."

Feyre wasn't sure when exactly it had happened, but at some point, she'd found herself the unofficial leader of the newsies of Velaris. She'd always kept an eye out for newcomers and lended them a hand—advice on selling papers and navigating the city was all she had, but Feyre shared freely. When there was a problem, she was usually the one to resolve it.

At some point, "High Lady" had gone from an ironic nickname for a poor girl on the streets to a mark of respect for a young woman who took care of her own.

"I'll talk to them," Feyre said, finishing her food and standing up.

Lucien started to thank her, but Feyre had already called on her magic, her body becoming nothing but shadow. Incorporeal like this, she could slip through walls and travel unseen—and crucially, it was faster than walking. As a lesser fae, it was the only magic she had at her disposal.

Even in the brightest sun, Velaris was full of shadows. And for better or worse, Feyre had made them her home.

***

Rhysand had planned to give himself time to read the news before he was due for a meeting at the House of Wind. Yesterday, he'd told himself he'd be up early enough to look over the agenda ahead of time. He'd wanted to be prepared, and his father would have his head if Rhys was late for official court business again.

But somehow, the High Lord's ire seemed incredibly far away last night, when the Cauldron only knew how many drinks he'd had and Mor was dragging him back to the dance floor at Rita's again, and dawn had nearly broken when he'd finally stumbled home.

Late or not, though, he still had to see Feyre.

The most important part of his day had become buying the paper from her. It wasn't about the news and never had been—every day, Rhys hoped that would be the day she finally took an interest in him that went beyond trading a few teasing remarks and rolling her eyes. He'd never flirted so much, so painfully obviously before, just to have it all go ignored like water off a duck's back.

And that had already been going on for a few months before the mating bond snapped.

Their fingers had brushed as she'd handed him the paper. Perhaps that brief touch skin-to-skin had been all it had taken for the urge to claim and taste and scent his mate to hit him with all the force of a brick to the head. Before he'd done something stupid, Rhys had winnowed away without an explanation or a goodbye.

After that, Rhys had resolved not to tell her, at least not until she showed some sort of interest back. But in the months since, he hadn't gotten her to even blush. And even if by some miracle, she did want him that way and accepted the bond, there was no guarantee she wouldn't resent him after a few decades as future Lady of Night. Her indifference was painful enough—Rhys wasn't sure he could withstand her hating him.

For the short flight to the House of Wind, Rhys let the chill in the air clear his head of thoughts of Feyre. He was supposed to focus today. Some of the city's most powerful merchants had asked for a meeting with his father, and as the High Lord's heir, Rhys was expected to be in attendance too.

The meeting room was already full when Rhys walked in, brushing his windswept hair back into place. From the head of the table, his father glared daggers at him.

Rhys ignored it, dropping into the empty seat that had been left for him. "I hope I didn't miss anything interesting."

He kept the smirk plastered on his face, even as his father pushed past his shields to speak mind-to-mind. We'll discuss this later. For now, get through this meeting without embarrassing me further. That's an order.

Rhys made a mental note to let Mor know he'd likely have to cancel their plans to go to the theater that night.

One of the merchants—Rhys had met him before but had forgotten his name—gave him a cold smile and said, "We were just discussing economic policy."

"Carry on, then," Rhys said.

As the meeting droned on, Rhys forced himself to focus, even if the subject matter was painfully dry. One day, he'd be High Lord, and if he wanted to be the sort of ruler the Night Court deserved, one who made things better, he needed to be knowledgeable and willing to listen.

But even then, he wasn't immune to letting his mind wander. At some point, he'd found himself thinking about how the sunlight had brought out the gold in Feyre's hair, when the sound of his name brought him crashing back down to reality.

"…but you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Rhysand?" one of the merchants was saying, the sneer in his voice obvious.

Rhys felt his father's eyes boring into him, and it was clear this was some sort of test. He was supposed to be handling something, and Rhys didn't want to think about what sort of punishment might be in store for him if he made it obvious he'd stopped paying attention.

"Would I?" Rhys said, arching a brow in a way that he hoped looked imperious.

"With how many headlines you've been the subject of? I think by now you'd know a thing or two about what sells papers. If it weren't for you, we'd have gone under after the War."

Rhys's hands curled into fists under the table as he recalled exactly who this merchant was—Pulitzer, a newspaper magnate, the one who'd been complaining that circulation was down since the Treaty had been signed. Peace, apparently, was boring.

Peace that Rhys had bled for, had nearly died for when he'd been captured by Amarantha's army. Not that any of that mattered when profits were down.

"Then a bit more gratitude is in order," Rhys said, his voice low and deadly and all command, sounding every inch the future High Lord he was. It was so brief that Rhys nearly missed it, but his father's lips quirked up in approval. "If you have a request, I suggest you word it carefully."

It quickly became clear that Pulitzer and the rest of the owners of Velaris's major newspapers had come to grovel. Even if Rhys couldn't bring himself to care, it was true that the Night Court's newspaper industry was bringing in less money since the end of the war. They'd come to petition his father for assistance.

And to Rhys's relief, the High Lord's answer had been a quick and resounding no.

Of course, Rhys knew his father's answer had been more about safeguarding the Night Court's wealth more than anything else. That much was obvious when so many of their citizens were struggling, even in Velaris. It was something that Rhys vowed to change one day.

But Rhys's relief didn't last much longer. His father had told the newspaper moguls to figure it out themselves, and they'd quickly agreed that to fix their bottom line, they'd raise the price for the newsies who bought the papers to distribute each morning.

Newsies who were barely getting by as it was. Newsies who were already going hungry and sleeping outdoors even as the weather got colder. Newsies who'd been orphaned or disabled after the war and couldn't find decent work.

Newsies like his mate, and Rhysand certainly wouldn't stand for that.

[vintagepresley]

Just Like Old Times

68' Comeback Special one shot

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader

Word Count: 3,467

Warnings: 18+ SMUTSMUTSMUT Tiny bit of a daddy kink, choking, tiny bit of fingering, oral (m receiving), rough deep throat, some dirty talking, cursing, use of the word slut, Elvis brings the camera out!, fluff, time jump (it's 1983 like in the last Ada fic I wrote), typical elvis stuff.

Author's Notes: This idea just came to me and I thought you guys might like it and would like an update on Elvis x reader. I just can't seem to let go of the comeback special series. I just love it too much and how far it's come in this universe. So, who knows maybe I'll write another one shot of these two, lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and possible spelling errors!

It was the first time in a long time that you and Elvis had the house to yourselves. Now that the kids were older you had promised them a trip to California to visit your parents for a month during the summer. They were more than excited because they had always loved going to California when you all took trips out there. But this trip was even more exciting because Elvis had paid for them all to go to DisneyLand. The house was quieter than usual without them and to be expected you were having separation anxiety not having your babies around. But you and Elvis needed this alone time and you both were going to take complete advantage of it. Your marriage was healthy for the most part and you two were intimate frequently, but sometimes it was hard because you were being interrupted by one of the kids. The two of you didn’t make love the way you used to before you had kids where it was wild and spontaneous because you seemed to never have enough alone time to do so. But the moment the kids were gone all Elvis was thinking about was desperately getting you into bed.

Elvis was sitting up in bed reading one of his books and you were finishing up in the bathroom and you came out in a buttercream satin babydoll nightgown and brushing your hair. The moment Elvis saw you walk out his face lit up at the sight of you that he just stared and smiled. All he could think about was happy he was with three beautiful children and the most beautiful woman by his side. As you continued to brush your hair you caught him staring at you and you smiled. “What?” you said softly. 

“Just thinkin’, baby.” he hummed. 

“About what?” you smiled. 

“How I’m the luckiest sonofabitch because I’ve got the most beautiful wife.” he beamed. 

You giggled at him and your cheeks went flush. 

“Oh hush.” you hummed. 

He set his book down and sat up a bit more as he smiled at you and then he slipped his arms around your waist and pulled you down onto the bed with him. You let out a soft squeal. 

“Elvis!” you giggled as you tried to keep brushing your hair and his arms tighten around your waist and his hands rested against your stomach as he left tiny kisses against your left shoulder.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I saw ya. That innocent girl starin’ up at me on that tiny stage all wide eyed. I was in love.” he mumbled softly as he continued to leave kisses against your shoulder. 

You giggled softly as you leaned into his embrace and you knew he wasn’t going to let you finish brushing your hair so you set the brush down and placed your hands over his. “Mm, I’m not that innocent anymore thanks to you corrupting me.” you teased. 

Elvis raised an eyebrow and smirked as his kisses began to trail along your neck and he moved one of his hands down toward your lap, running it in between your thighs which caused a soft whimper to escape your lips. “You like being corrupted, baby. You were such a naughty little girl for me that night.” he whispered into your ear. 

You captured your bottom lip between your teeth at his words and you watched as his hand continued to run in between your thighs and he groped and squeezed at them. He always knew exactly how to touch you or kiss you to get you aroused and now you were more than ever. “Well, daddy taught me everything I know..” you said in a breathy tone. 

Elvis’ lip curled into a grin at your words and then suddenly with his other hand he was squeezing your breasts and he kissed along your ear slowly. “Y’know with the kids gone for a month we could do what we used to do. Remember? Fuckin’ in my office, or when I fucked you on the kitchen table, the shower sex. Uninterrupted…” he whispered as his hand traveled up and his fingers brushed against your panty covered pussy. You let out a shaky and airy exhale his words driving you wild and his fingers making it even worse. “All month long…” he added. 

You tilted your head up slightly to look at him as his hands continued to grope your body causing you to let out another whimper and you leaned up to kiss his lips softly. “I’ve got an even better idea, baby.” you smirked. 

“Oh? What’s that, beautiful?” he replied. 

“Well.. We haven’t done this one particular thing in a while… I was thinking.. Why not make a little video to add to our collection?” you giggled. 

His eyes widened and he grinned. He had been wanting to make another sex tape so bad because the two of you had made quite a few tapes since that eventful day backstage at the Comeback Special. But hadn’t made one in a while because you didn’t have enough privacy. 

“What do you say?” you smiled. 

But he didn’t even have to give you a response because he was climbing out of bed already with excitement. “I’m grabbin’ the camera!” he shouted. You laughed to yourself seeing how quick he got up to get his camera. Technology was progressing slowly in the 80’s and Elvis had finally bought himself a new camera. You were the proud owners of the new Sony Betamovie camcorder and it was Elvis’ favorite thing to use when he first got it and he’d always have it in the kids faces and filming every little moment of them. But he also was waiting for the day to use it for your bedroom antics. As he went to grab the camcorder and replace the tape in it; you decided to slip off your little nightgown and tossed it onto the floor and you laid across the bed on your back and stretching your arms out above your head as he was walking back in and he nearly tripped and almost dropped the camera when he saw you and you giggled softly as you sat up. 

“Are you okay, honey?” you asked, trying not to giggle.

“I-I’m fine.” he mumbled as he stared at your naked body rolling around the satin sheets. He quickly sat the camera down on his dresser and facing it toward the bed. You sat up on your knees as you watched him press play and he walked over to the bed and you came crawling over to him as he stood before you and you sat back up on your knees and the two of you kissed deeply as his gentle hands ran along the curves of your body until they reached your ass and he gave it a hard slap causing soft squeal to escape you. “You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, baby.” he mumbled. 

You smiled at his words and kissed him again as your hands ran along his pajama shirt and you slowly began to unbutton it and each inch of his chest you exposed you pressed soft kisses against it until you completely unbuttoned his shirt, tugging it off him and throwing it on the floor. You stared up at him as you continued to kiss down to his round belly, rubbing your hands along it as you kissed it slowly. He watched you with lustful eyes and one hand still on your ass and the other brushing your hair out of your face. He had grown to love the way he looked because of you, but sometimes he was still self conscious about his body. But you loved his body and his belly especially and you never wasted an opportunity to show him. As you continued to kiss his belly your hands wandered down to his pajama pants and you brushed your hand up against his crotch and you smirked as you heard him groan and glanced up at him. 

“Oh, someone seems to be excited for me already...” you hummed as you licked your lips. 

“Mhm.. H-He’s always excited for you, darlin’.” he grinned.

You smirked and hooked your fingers in the waistband of his pants and tugged his pajamas down and your eyes lit up watching his erect cock spring out and slap against his stomach. Your eyes were fixated on his large member and you licked your lips again and leaned down further and arching your back, lifting your hips so that your ass was in the air and he gave your ass another slap as it was on display for him and you whimpered softly. You glanced up at him as your tongue circled around the head of his cock and his entire body tensed up at the feeling and he exhaled deeply. “Mm, baby..” he muttered. 

You smirked and circled your tongue around the head once more and flicking your tongue along the slit and tasting the saltiness of his precum against your tongue and you licked your lips as you wiggled your ass in his hand that was gripping onto it as you parted your lips open and slowly guided his cock into your mouth. He reached down to grab a handful of your hair as he groaned loudly as his other hand slapped your ass once more and groped it in his hand. You rested your hands on his thighs as you slowly started to bob your head down on his cock making soft noises as you sucked him slow and steady. His groans were getting progressively louder and his grip on your hair tighter and he began to push your head down further prompting you to relax your throat as he forced his cock in deeper causing you to gag softly around him and those soft noises grew into louder obscene noises and causing Elvis to grunt. “Oh fuck.. Your throat feels so damn good..” Elvis moaned breathlessly. 

Your hands gripped onto his thighs causing your nails to dig into his skin as he held onto your head with both hands began to fuck your throat causing your gags to become louder and forcing saliva to drip from your mouth and your eyes already watering. You began to kick your feet the rougher he fucked your throat and he pulled your hair yanking you back as his cock popped out of your mouth with strings of saliva falling from his cock as he let you catch your breath. You sucked in air and coughed a bit as you stared up at him innocently. He was smirking widely and suddenly he had an idea. 

“Turn over and lay down for me, baby.” he mumbled. 

You raised an eyebrow at his words, but did as you were told and as you turned around and laid on your back you glanced over at the camera that was still recording and then looking up at Elvis, whose cock was now directly in your face and dripping in your saliva. 

“Now get those panties off, darlin.” he demanded. 

You nodded at his words and reached down to slip your panties down and lifted your legs in the air to slip them off and you tossed them and then he grabbed your legs and forced them apart so that your pussy was on display for him. You watched him grab his cock and guided down toward your mouth and without having to say a word you opened your mouth for him and he slid his cock back down your throat and he grabbed onto your breasts, squeezing them in his big strong hands and you held onto his thighs as he started to thrust his cock down your throat. He groaned loudly. “Goddamn.. “ he mewled. You gagged and moan around his cock and your eyes shut tight as he abused your throat and causing the most obscene and embarrassing noises to escape you and you slapped his thigh signaling for him to let you get air and he quickly slide his cock out of your mouth and you spit up all the saliva that had built up in your mouth and it dripped down your face. “You okay, Little? You want more, baby?” he hummed as his hand rubbed over your throat. 

You nodded slowly. “P-Please..” you whispered as you opened your mouth for him again.

He smirked and wasted no time forcing his cock back into your mouth with one hand wrapped around your throat and the other running down your body and then grazing over your pussy. He forced you to take the entirety of his cock down your throat until his balls were pressed against your face and he thrusted himself down your throat slowly causing you to moan and gag loudly as spit up saliva and made a mess all over your face. “Ah fuck, I can feel it in your throat, baby. You’re so damn good at this.” he moaned as tightened his hand around your throat and he continued to fuck your face. Two of his fingers ran along your clit and your lower body convulsed against him and he smirked feeling how wet you already were for him and then he slipped those two fingers inside of you causing your thighs to close around his hand as he began to fuck your pussy almost knuckle deep and you moaned louder but it came out muffled around his cock that was brusing your throat that you had to slap his thigh again for him to stop. He quickly pulled his cock out that was covered in your saliva and dripping everywhere and you spit more up as you coughed loudly and your face was completely covered in your own spit. “Goddamn. You’re such a good fuckin’ girl.. I’ll give that throat of yours a break.” he chuckled with a smirk. 

You were breathing heavily as your soft moans continued to escape you as his fingers thrusted deep inside of you and you slowly moved your hips against him grinding on his fingers and you slipped your hands around his arm as you practically humped his fingers that fucked you faster and you titled your head back moaning loudly. “Oh, E-Elvis..” you said hoarsely. 

He grinned, slipping another finger into your soaking pussy. “You dirty girl.. So wet for me..” he groaned. He then slipped his fingers out of you and he stared at his glistening wet fingers that were coated in your slick and then he stuck them in his mouth and sucked you off his fingers and he licked the remaining taste of you off his lips. “Mmm..” he mumbled under his breath before stepped back to help you up and grabbed his shirt to wipe your face clean as much as he could before he threw the shirt and he pressed his naked body against yours and he kissed you hard and deep and you moaned into his mouth as you kissed him just as passionately. He lifted you up off the bed and into his arms and your legs wrapped around his waist as you continued to kiss sloppily and he smirked against your lips before he roughly threw you down onto the bed and you groan softly and he grabbed your legs and put them on his shoulders and his hands gripped your thighs tight in his hand and you stared up at him, biting your lip and anticipating his next move. But before he even gave you a chance to even think about what he was going to do he had grabbed his cock and roughly slammed it right into your pussy and you screamed out his name as your head tilted back against the bed and your hands grabbed onto the sheets. 

He began to slap his hips against your ass the sounds of his balls slapping against you as your pussy took every inch of his swollen, throbbing cock that forced your walls to open around him and he hit against your cervix with each rough movement he made as he progressively thrusted his hips faster causing the bed to creak and move beneath you and your entire body to bounce and he watched with delight as your breasts bounced in tune with his rough movements. Your eyes rolled back with pleasure and your back arched against the bed as you moaned and whimpered out his name loudly and he grunted and groaned above you as sweat dripped from his brow down his face. His cock was hitting all the right places within you that you began to pant between each moan and nearly ripping the sheets off with how tight you were gripping them. He was fucking you so hard it felt as if he was tearing you apart but you didn’t care. He felt so good, he always felt so good inside of you. He hadn’t fucked you like this in a while that you just wanted more. You wanted him to completely destroy you. 

He removed your legs from around his shoulders and he climbed on top of you the weight of him so heavy against you and his body so wet from how much he was sweating only turned you on more as his body stuck to yours and you wrapped your legs around his waist and now his face was buried into your neck and he was grunting into your ear as slammed harder inside of you and his hands grasping yours and holding them tight as the two of you moved against each other in unison. The sounds escaping the both of you growing so loud that it was echoing within the room. Your body began to feel weak as it trembled beneath him and your breathing was so heavy and you could feel your orgasm building within you growing stronger by the minute that you were ready to explode at any given moment. “E-Elvis, b-baby… I-I’m gonna cum!” you cried. 

Elvis kissed sloppily along your cheek as his breathing was heavy in your ear. “Cum for me, baby. Cum all over daddy’s cock like the good little girl you are..” he grunted out. His words were sure to send you into shock the way they brought chills down your spine and caused your body to react the only way it knew how at this moment. You threw your arms around him and held his sweaty body close to yours as you came hard all over his cock that the moment you did his hips bucked and his cock pulsed and twitched inside of you and he moaned loudly in your ear as he too reached his orgasm and ropes of his warm thick cum filled you up. His movements came to a slow stop when he finished and his body collapsed on you and he felt even heavier on top of you but you didn’t want him to move. You both laid there breathing heavily and he reached down to slide his cock out of you and you could feel his warm cum seeping out of you. You kissed along his neck slowly and then reached up to cup his sweaty face in your hands and brushed some of his hair that stuck to his forehead back and you smiled. 

“Well, that felt like old times..” you giggled softly, kissing his lips. 

He chuckled tiredly as he returned your kiss and stole a few more as he brushed your hair behind your ears. “It sure did. You’re still a dirty little slut..” he smirked, teasing you. 

You laughed at his words and playfully hit him. “Oh, shut up, she only comes out when you fuck me like that.” you smirked. 

Elvis chuckled and climbed off of you and laid beside you as he exhaled sharply as he glanced over at the recording camera and grinning to himself. You smiled widely and snuggled up beside him resting a hand on his belly and draping a leg over him as your head rested on his chest and his arms wrapped around you tight and he kissed the top of your head. You tilted your head up to look at him, kissing his chin. “Next time I say we roleplay like before. I’ll be the teacher and you the student again.. Just how you like.” you giggled as you placed another small kiss on his chin. 

He smirked. 

“It really will be like old times.” he laughed as his hand caressed your arm as he held you. 

“I love you.” you sighed contently, staring up at him. 

“I love you too, Little.” he hummed lovingly as he kissed you.

The two of you embraced tighter and kissed slowly all the while the camera continued to roll.

Tagging: @18lkpeters @re3kin @memphis-mania @ccab @kendralavon7 @vintageshanny @elvisblueshoes @peaceloveelvis @generoustreemystic @powerofelvis

68’ Comeback Special series

[vinelark]

do you have any good reverse robins fic to rec?

oh hell yeah!

Reverse Robins: Joker Junior series by miyaji_08 i rec’d the second fic in this series over here for the timkon of it all, but the series—two parts, both complete—is also one of my absolute favorite reverse robins stories. it goes the joker junior!tim route, so heads up for A Lot of tim-centric trauma, but gives tim (and everyone else) so much healing, too. it also gets creative with the robin of it all, as in, the call sign for batman’s partner is different from the jump because dick wasn’t around to originate “robin” for it, which i always think is a fun extra detail. the batfam characters are great and the young justice crew is also great, so read for top-tier hurt and comfort and great characters and satisfying plot and tim and damian competing to see who is the most Tired big brother of the bunch.

blood of the covenant by envysparkler robins are angsty in any order, but man does this hit the angst sweet spot, which in turn makes the soft parts feel even softer. i genuinely can’t decide what my favorite dynamic is in this AU, between damian & tim (damian wracked with guilt, tim hurting and still wanting an older brother even if he’d never admit it) and tim & jason (no spoilers but chapter 4 especially lights my brain up like a supernova) and tim & dick (i think about the part where dick grayson [tiny, cheerful] uses tim [undead, annoyed] as a jungle gym like once a week).

Wing Beats in Reverse by firefright a longfic where jason gets kidnapped by the mysterious red hood, who turns out to be jason’s not-so-dead predecessor. the jason pov here is great, and i was so compelled by how this AU explored his place in the bat family, and how it managed the emotional fallout from the kidnapping. tim is also so interesting in this—it does something i love in a reverse robins concept, which is make tim’s motivations (and lazarus pit effects) less about anger/hurt/revenge and more about ice cold logic, about being the villain so the bats don’t have to/whether they want him to or not. plus some league of assassins trauma as a cherry on top. also, kon gets to show up for a bit. (as a fair warning—and spoilers ahead—the fic has a somewhat hopeful ending for tim, but doesn’t reach full reconciliation in the scope of the plot.)

i woke up so worried that the angels let go by circees a short but potent batkids age reversal au that’s also a grisha au, starring duke as the coveted sun summoner that damian is trying to deliver to safety without mentally adopting a new brother (damian fails on the second part). even with my limited memory of grisha lore i could tell a lot of thought was put into this au, and i have a feeling it would be even better if you are able to catch all the details. i also love that even in a fantasy world where some of the bat family have magical abilities, duke is still extra special—a great analogy to being a metahuman among the bats.

The 90s Are Back! by RedWritingHood saving the two silly ones for last to lighten the mood! in this one, red hood!tim gets de-aged to sixteen and meets all his new siblings. it’s like .01% angst and 99.99% shenanigans, and pretty much all the dialogue is super quotable but Dick holds out his hands like he's calming a bunch of wild animals. "Okay, I know everyone's real upsetti spaghetti right now, but I think we all just need to calm down." might take the cake.

Clowns Don’t Kill People by mademoisellePlume very short, very silly reverse robins brother shenanigans, in which tiny dick grayson isn’t scared of recovering joker junior!tim because dick, having been raised in the circus, doesn’t associate clowns with evil yet. the fic is fun (and a great palate cleanser if you need a break from the angst above), and the author’s note at the end made me fully laugh out loud.

[idyllic-affections]

big brother kazuha and big sister beidou.... im so soft

i see kazuha as the gentle, calm, comforting big brother while beidou is more of the badass, fun sister

kazuha can and will sing you to sleep. and beidou will hold you up while on the crux so you can see the sea clearly (and if you get seasick kazuha takes care of you while beidou pops up every so often to make you laugh a lil)

i love them

big brother kazuha and big sister beidou.

summary. what are kazuha and beidou like as big siblings?

trigger & content warnings. insomnia, seasickness/motion sickness, brief mentions of medication.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff. kazuha & reader, beidou & reader. 0.5k words. no pronouns for reader.

author's thoughts. you literally have the best brainrots omg <33 you're so right though aly! they would be the best big siblings fr. this was my first time writing beidou and it made me VERY nervous but honestly? i love her. i dont talk about her enough. learning to write her is simply a thing that takes practice and patience c:

kazuha is the calm and somewhat responsible big brother (he was technically running from the law at one point, so...), whereas beidou is the excitable and fun big sister.

big brother kazuha, who either sings you to sleep or reads to you until you fall asleep on difficult nights. his voice is so gentle and soothing; it's hard not to fall asleep when listening to him. his voice alone is thoroughly comparable to a lullaby. he doesn't even have to be singing. the soft tones of his voice are enough of a melody on their own. he's just so... indescribably gentle, like the calmest breeze grazing your skin on a hot day, so it's hardly any surprise that he's such a master at resolving insomnia.

big sister beidou, who tells you exciting tales of her adventures like one would to a young child, regardless of your age. she illustrates her stories with skill that many bards could only ever dream of—the way she so seamlessly manages to make her adventures come alive in anyone's mind is a talent so many could only hope to attain. it's hard to know where she got such a skill, but then again... maybe that's just because of her vibrant personality? the stories may or may not aid you in falling asleep, but she can almost always call upon kazuha if she happens to fail, so there's nothing to worry about.

big brother kazuha, who perches himself on a good vantage point on the alcor with you and points out fun shapes in the clouds or in the foamy water. maybe he'll write poetry while you sit beside him in calm silence. maybe he'll end up taking a nap with you curled at his side as the wind from the open ocean glides gently, soothingly, over your peaceful faces. who knows? regardless of how that time is spent, it becomes a sort of bonding ritual.

big sister beidou, who will effortlessly hoist you up onto her shoulders regardless of your weight because lets be honest—beidou should be beyond muscular. she's impossibly strong, so don't worry about it. she wants you to be able to clearly witness the might of the vast ocean! that's one of the best parts of travelling by sea! you've got to both admire its beauty and respect its danger. the sea is a wild beast worthy of awe. though, if you get seasick... she'd definitely feel a little guilty.

big brother kazuha, who tends to your needs while you're seasick. he helps administer whatever medication works best for you—which beidou likely picked up from baizhu one of the times she was in liyue—and makes such you stay hydrated. he'll make a mental note of your tendency towards motion sickness and will remember to give you medication before future trips begin. he's very attentive.

big sister beidou, who pops in every now and then to either apologize for getting you seasick or to make you laugh because laughter is so impossibly cherished by her. she treasures all the smiles and laughs she can get from her crew, you included. <3

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[tojiscrack]

is it weird that i wish y/n existed in the actual jjk verse. like her personality fits so well with almost every single character, and the chemistry between megumi and y/n is THE BEST ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

her personality is so real and unlike any other reader i’ve come across in other reader x [insert character] fics. the chemistry between her and other characters doesn’t feel forced, if you understand what i mean? i thoroughly enjoy reading EVERY scene because of that! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

you said to look out for foreshadowing which is what i have been trying to do but perhaps i’m being a little silly looking way too early, considering other chapters have not been released yet. but one thing i have noticed is that megumi only really has shown CLEAR signs of liking her more than just a friend when he is about to leave her (not the scene where he’s silently fighting over sitting next to her at yuji’s place because that could arguably be seen as platonic too despite me seeing it as him liking her) - for example; when he’s going on vacation without her. now i understand that this is only one example but i have a feeling that this may become a reoccurring theme - what was it, absence makes the heart grow fonder? i have a feeling he’ll only ever understand his feelings for her when he is away from her. and given the angst hashtag, it wouldn’t exactly be surprising if for any reason they moved away from each other, whether figuratively or physically.

i could be completely wrong though and if that’s the case, then this is embarrassing ( ᵒ̴̶̷᷄◡̶͂ᵒ̴̶̷᷅ )و

but regardless, i’m so happy i stumbled across this fic. seriously, the way u write is awesome and i can only wish to be as good as you when it comes to writing! the dialogue, the chemistry between the characters is so cute and feels like a coming of age sitcom. i love it i love it i love it and i love you!! (๑˃́ꇴ˂̀๑)

please keep up the good work, soldier. i salut you for your hard work keeping us all sane after gege shattered our souls (stay alive, don’t let him find you) ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

liar, liar masterlist here

oh. my. GOSH. a long message? AJSJWKSJWJSJ STOPPP I’M SO EXCITED TO ANSWER THIS

it is not weird at ALL. i created this y/n with the sole thought that there should be a character as wild as her (i love goofy characters sm you have no idea). like my fav character from aot? connie. fav from jjk? gojo. fav from haikyuu? tanaka and hinata. fav from death note? L (don’t lie, that man was funny af).

read that entire sentence about her chemistry with megumi and the relationship she has with the other characters not being forced with a FAT smile on my face 🙂‍↕️ an author knows they’ve won once someone points this out using their own free will. thank you for that 😭💞

the second i saw the word ‘foreshadowing’ in ur message, JAISJWISJWJSJ. YES, YOU HAVE A PREDICTION? TELL ME MORE (i feel like a mastermind rn muahahahaha) 😋 you are nawt silly for looking for it earlier. i’ve dropped so many hints and no one’s picked it apart yet (surprisingly). some are more obvious than others, but let me tell you now, once you’ve noticed it, you’re gonna smack ur forehead and think ‘why didn’t i see this before?’.

i LOVE how you’re playing devil’s advocate for yourself (you’re so smart omg). like you’ve mentioned how the only in-your-face type of thing we’ve seen so far is the airport scene (i mean, if gojo pointing it out wasn’t so obvious, dk what is, really, lolol). and i also like how you’ve made it so that the arguing in yuji’s room can be easily seen as platonic despite what you might think (we need smart people like you so pls don’t die tyvm).

and OOH, IDK WHAT TO TELL YOU WITHOUT SPOILING IT. distance makes the heart grow fonder… yeah, can’t reveal whether this trope is for them or not. i can, however, confuse you a little and say that you’re half right. maybe, like, forty five percent right if i have to slap a number on it. yeah. but there is something that occurs later on (you guessed it, with the angst hashtag) that makes me want to say that you’re actually fifty five percent right. idk, you’ll see what i mean once the main story’s out 😭

this would NOT be embarrassing for you if you’re wrong, let me tell you that much. this fic’s been out since the end of december (beginning of january?) and no one’s come to a prediction as well thought out as yours. for that, i will NOT forget you when i write out the half-correct prediction of yours in the coming chapters.

i’m so happy you stumbled across my fic too! 😭 i’m having sm fun writing this out and laughing to myself (not at you babe, just as the evil mastermind that i am). i’ll be responsible for your complaints once the angst chapters get out (plural because there’s a LOT of them planned). tysm for ur kind message, i’m so flattered my writing pleases you 😭 dialogue is hard to write, trying to match it with the characters ofc, so i appreciate your support on that 💘

girl, gege will never find me. after what he did to my satoru, i will find him. don’t get it twisted.

on the contrary, i’m so upset you wrote all of this anonymously but i respect it, there might be a gazillion reasons why you’d like to remain anonymous. so if you ever send a message again, just lmk it’s you. call yourself the ‘big brain anon’ (😤) because you’re so smart and ily and don’t be humble about it, you are SO smart <3

[blueraineshadows]

I really enjoy your writing! I don't even have the words to articulate what I like so much about it, but as I was reading one of your fics for the first time I knew I'd found one of those gem authors that just hit every note.

I saw that you take requests, so I thought I'd put one in. I don't know if you've ever seen the movie "Atonement" (Keira Knightley slays every period piece she's in), but there is a scene that I thought would be perfect for Sebastian. The two love interests are alone in the library, and the female lead is confronting the male lead about a love letter he never meant to send her. He had written two letters, one of them nsfw, and of course sent the wrong one. Smut ensues, lol.

Thank you so much for your kind words! 😀💜

I like this Ask! I haven't copied Atonement, just used the idea and let Seb and MC lead. I hope this is okay for you...

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC 💚🔥🌶 NSFW

The parchment in her pocket was rumpled from far too much handling. Ever since MC had received it via owl it had been a constant presence in her thoughts. When she had first read the words scrawled down in ink, she had clutched it to her chest immediately, scandalised! There had been nobody else in the room with her, but she glanced around none the less, terrified that anyone would see what erotic notions were written there.

The sensible thing to do would be to burn it. Immediately. But her traitorous body had other ideas. Slowly, she had smoothed out the parchment and devoured the words, her cheeks flushing and her thighs squeezing together tightly.

She had lost count how many times she had read it now, the words seared into her brain. That letter had dragged her deepest, darkest fantasies from her secret, put away heart, fantasies about Sebastian Sallow. But what to do? How was she ever going to be able to look him in the eye again and not see the vivid images he had conjured with his words?

.....*.....

He had not heard a reply back from MC yet, and Sebastian was beginning to wonder if he had revealed his feelings too soon. He had been sure that she felt the same for him, and had bravely confessed his love for her, sending her a romantic love letter in order to charm her heart.

But nothing. Anxious doubt clawed at his insides. He paced his bedroom, debating whether to go and seek her out. Could he face the humiliation of her rejection?

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, he thought of her, her soft skin, the alluring scent she wore, and he thought about the other letter he wrote. This one had been just for him, his own guilty pleasure as he poured out all the naughty, passionate things he wanted to do to her. How she drove him wild with want.

He had an urge to read his own words again, refresh his passion for her, and went to where he had hidden it. When he unfolded the parchment, licking his lips, his heart stopped cold in his chest. On the parchment were the pretty, flowery words he had used to confess his love. His eyes scanned the page, panic setting in when there was nothing about what their mouths and lips could do to each other.

Fuck! He had sent the wrong letter!

.....*.....

He had found her. MC stood between the book stacks in the library, the window dark behind her. The light of a single candle illuminated her face, book open in her hands, as she stared at him. "Sebastian," she whispered.

"MC," he said. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, the glow of candle light in his eyes. She felt the tremble in her legs, the pound of her heart.

She couldn't seem to stop breathing so fast. She snapped her book closed and pushed it back onto the shelf, trying to get control of her wild pulse. "Your letter..." Her throat was dry and the words didn't sound like her own voice.

He went to speak and then hesitated. He stepped a little closer. "Forgive me," he said. "I sent on the wrong letter. I never intended for you to see that one."

She put a hand against the bookcase, fingers trailing softly along the spines of books she wasn't really seeing. She couldn't turn around, couldnt look at his eyes without feeling like she might combust into flames.

"What was in the other letter?" She rasped. She felt him come closer, up behind her, and goosebumps spread along her arms.

"A confession," he murmured. She could hear his breaths. "I wanted you to know how I feel about you, how I've always felt, ever since your first day in 5th year."

She closed her eyes, swallowed thickly. "I'm going to need to see that letter," she said. Butterflies danced at the very thought. He had feelings for her, and had all this time!

"And the letter you sent to me, the mistake, is that not how you truly feel, then?"

His breath fanned against her hair. She waited, desperate to hear what he would say, and terrified of it at the same time.

"I feel all of it," he whispered. "Body and soul."

She gasped and finally turned, their faces inches apart, and she could see it. The fire he so vividly imagined in his letter burned hot in his gaze. Her eyes fell to his mouth, what wickedness he had promised with those lips. She squeezed her thighs together, panting, her back now pressed against the bookcase.

"You do not flinch from me," he said.

"No," she breathed. "I do not."

Their breaths mingled, his lips closer, she thought she might actually start begging in a minute, desperate to feel his kiss. She licked her lips, throat dry, he watched the motion with dark eyes. Then, his hand skimmed her hip, smoothing upwards to her waist. The only sound in the quiet of the library were her soft pants of breath as his fingers entwined in the fabric of her blouse.

When his lips touched hers, her eyelids fluttered closed and her bones melted. His mouth moved softly, teasing her, the slide of tongue sending shivers down her spine. His hair was thick and soft, luxurious against her fingers as she ran her hands through it. Her soft moans and sighs floated gently from her mouth as he moved to torture her throat with lips and tongue.

"Sebastian." His name was a sweet worship on her whispering lips as his hands moved to mould the curves of her arse. He guided her even closer, their bodies crushed close, closer, her back pressed against the bookcase.

He ground against her, the stiff press of his arousal drawing a gasp from her lips. The words of his letter swirled through her mind, promises of lust spelled out in ink. Her fingers clutched at his robe, twisting, desperate, as a thick, hot throb pulsed through her.

Her thighs parted easily at the press of his knee, her skirt bunched up at her hips. Instinctively, she bore down against his leg, grinding, eager, the ache driving her insane. He groaned, breath hot against her lips as he claimed her mouth again.

His hand slid up her bare thigh, finger tips caressing her burning flesh. She flexed a leg outwards, opening for him, and he slid fingers beneath the damp cotton of her underwear. The drag of a finger against her folds made her head fall back, banging against the leather bound volumes behind her. She felt the spread of her slick, pulsing need screaming for him to do as he had so darkly described.

"So wet," he panted. "So perfect."

She felt the vicious tugs as he unfastened his trousers, his arm supporting her waist as he tilted her. It was a desperate struggle of limbs and breathing and then she felt the push of his tip, the stretch of her heat as he nudged inwards.

She met his eyes, fingers clasped tightly on him, her mouth agape as he pressed deeper. A low cry, breathless and needy left her at the full feeling of his cock, she clenched around him, trembling.

He gritted his teeth. "Oh fuck," he hissed.

Then they both froze. Footsteps from further down the stacks. "Someone is coming," she whispered.

She looked down at their joined bodies, clothes askew, her legs spread eagerly for him, and flushed hotly. It would not do to be caught like this!

Regret pained Sebastian's features as he withdrew, leaving her feeling bereft, empty and insanely unsatisfied. They hurried to straighten their clothes, MC patted her hair and moved to snatch a book up, flipping it open.

They were the picture of innocence when Madam Scribner strolled past. She saw them and paused to look closer. "It's almost curfew," she said. "Perhaps you ought to finish up."

"Oh, that's the plan," Sebastian said smoothly. "We'll be on our way in a few moments."

When the librarian had moved on, Sebastian met MC's gaze. She smirked. "We have unfinished business you and I," she said. She patted the pocket of her skirt. "I've got the proof."

His smile envoked all the wickedness he had promised.