#water where he likely wouldn't be able to get it back. and he's still SOMEHOW willing to show up to your house to speak in person and u

[dbphantom]

[H2O s2 spoilers] Charlotte has literally done nothing wrong up until now and yet the show STILL paints her as such a bad person in Pressure Cooker.

She admits if she knew Don was Cleo's dad she wouldn't have shown up and looks visibly uncomfortable (but still trying to be polite) when she realizes it's Cleo's house and has to sit there and watch Cleo openly be rude to her mother by giving away a gift bought as a gesture of goodwill.

Charlotte KNOWS Lewis and Cleo are talking about her and instead of being rude and nasty about it (LIKE CLEO WAS IN EPISODE 3 WHEN SHE MADE ASSUMPTIONS) is just like "yeah, your dad is really struggling right now, you probably wanna go back in there and help him..?" like OMG that was so sweet of her. Yeah she interrupted their conversation, but come on she was trying to be nice. Characters interrupt each other all the time on this show- it's a teen drama, that's how it works. Despite everything Cleo had already done to her, Charlotte was still looking out for her dad.

Then Charlotte accidentally knocks a thing of flour into Cleo and goes up to her room after Cleo storms off to personally apologize for even BEING THERE because she can tell Cleo is Absolutely Furious about her showing up, and openly asks her if she can spend time with/date Lewis because she understands the two of them were together and she SEES how Cleo is reacting, and CLEO GIVES HER THE GO-AHEAD, BUT STILL TREATS HER AWFULLY ANYWAY. She didn't HAVE to ask for permission, but she does anyway!! AFTER APOLOGIZING FOR SIMPLY SHOWING UP TO HER MOM'S WORK EVENT.

and THEN at the end of the episode Cleo is like "even if it IS Charlotte (who I hate for literally no reason other than she stood up for herself when I tried to shame her in public for hanging out with my ex-boyfriend who I broke up with), it's Lewis's choice" but then gives her an actual death glare at the very end of the episode when Charlotte is literally just looking at her and evil music swells all because Charlotte smiles. WHAT!!!!!

IF YOU WANTED ME TO HATE CHARLOTTE SO BAD WHY DID YOU MAKE CLEO SO UNREASONABLE AND MEAN THIS SEASON AND CHARLOTTE AN ACTUAL SWEETHEART WHO HASN'T DONE ANYTHING WRONG OTHER THAN ACCIDENTALLY KNOCKING A BOWL OF FLOUR INTO SOMEONE AND PINING AFTER A GUY WHO IS- I CANNOT EMPHASIZE THIS ENOUGH- SINGLE!!!

anyway brb making a list of all the times the girls openly use their powers or are just straight-up reckless in public SOLELY IN SEASON 2 so i can compare it to them getting really mad at Charlotte and holding her to a huge double-standard because she used her powers to mess with Nate a little bit because HUUUUUUH??? if you have any examples hit me up because im currently doing a rewatch and im on ep 6 and already have a few... most notably Emma using her powers during the soccer game to dunk on a seven-year-old, but also Cleo using her powers at school to [checks notes] take a shortcut across a field with a sprinkler instead of just walking around. I have a few from memory as well that i just haven't gotten up to yet (like Emma and Rikki harassing Lewis at his job and almost getting him arrested because they left the gate open)

>>>>>oh i see... tumblr desktop does not warn you if you have over 30 tags. noted... rip my essay on how Lewis also isn't 100% in the right here [with Charlotte. with Cleo he did nothing wrong (being overbearing... ok i get it, but she could have sat him down and talked to him abt how she was feeling before immediately jumping to breaking up) and even took her aside more than once to ask her if she was okay, if this is what she really wanted, and where he stands with her- to which she lies to his face during and says everything's fine, she's just protecting the secret, she isn't jealous At All, she doesn't want to get back together] because he unintentionally is leading Charlotte on bc he's not communicating the best, and then when they DO get together he's clearly not as invested in their relationship as she is, or how Charlotte was kinda jumping the gun a little but while their relationship is kinda messy in itself, it just doesn't compare to how annoyed Cleo makes me this season, i won't lie. also i did rant about the marine park incident again. it still really bothers me lolol

[lymtw]

Thinking of an argument with Toji that leaves you mute by choice towards him. He still talks to you and asks you questions, and while you don't turn away from him, you don't respond to him either. He ends up having to figure out whatever he needs on his own because after a minute or so you huff and walk away from the conversation.

"Mama," he calls from the bedroom, rummaging through his clothing drawers. "Have you seen my gym shorts?"

If he was able to get a word out of you, he would know that you washed them for him. Though you were still sizzling with anger towards him, you pulled them out of the dryer and walked them over to the room. He could hear your little footsteps as you approached the room, and when he turned to look at you, he noticed you were holding his shorts in your hand.

Your eyes were vacant towards him. You didn't want them to be because it sucks when you can't look at him with the endless amount of love you have in store for him. It's still there, but it's being masked by a poker face.

You toss the shorts onto the bed and leave. Toji sighs, irked by the fact that it's actually starting to sting now. Your disregard for him because you're ruled by your emotions and he lets things go too easily because he can't hold a grudge towards you, even if he feels you're in the wrong.

Toji never knew how much he depended on your voice until you wouldn't let him hear it. He depends on you to tell him where things are because without you they would be scattered all over the place. He doesn't know your method of organization, but somehow when he needs something and looks to you in order to find it, you pull it out from right under his nose. He depends on you to tell him he's doing a good job, and to tell him you love him, and just reassure him in general. It makes him feel good to know that someone thinks he's good enough, but recently the one person who feeds him affection like it's as important as food and water, has left him to starve. You haven't said a word to him in almost two days, and he feels like he's starting to go crazy. The sound of his own voice is driving him insane. It's gotten so bad that he had to make a mental note of how he's going to get you back that same night.

Toji leaves for the gym and texts you during his time there. He includes some images because it's now an unspoken rule that he always has to send you gym pics.

[ Attachment: 3 Images]

... 😳🤐

Yeah, I know you like those. I'll be home soon.

You take the time to doll yourself up while he's still out. It's for him, but you won't tell him that until you come back from your "night out". Really, you're just gonna go get dinner for both of you from his favorite little restaurant. You just want to see how far he's willing to let this go, because you're caving. You're ready to apologize even when you know he's not upset at all. You're ready to spoil him in order to make up for those severe feelings you held towards him. You're ready to hear about how stubborn and unbelievable you are for this little act you pulled.

You spray on some perfume and walk out of the bathroom, just in time to catch Toji walking through the door.

"Woof, where're you going, ma?" He asks, setting down his gym bag before absorbing everything you were gracing him with. His eyes flit up and down your body, lingering on the very bare skin of the legs that come out from under your skirt. He can smell your perfume from where he stands, its elegant scent masking even the smell of his own potent sweat.

You didn't answer his question, and left him to wonder why you're all dressed up at seven o'clock at night. Was it a girl's night or were you openly showing him that you have options? Did he miss a message or a call from you?

You grabbed your wallet and scooted past him. You walked halfway down the corridor of your apartment building before realizing that maybe this was a bit much. You would make him worry over you going on a five minute walk to grab some food? All so you can show him you're mad? You cracked.

🥟🥡🍜.

Toji was staring at his screen, waiting for anything from you. The screen flashes like some sort of miracle and your message is seen by him. He chuckles, feeling a sense of relief wash over him at the sight of your little emoticons.

You came back home as fast as possible, bags of food in hand as you patiently waited for the elevator to bring you up to your floor. You took your time walking through the corridor, this time, not knowing how you would react once you saw Toji or if you would immediately say something to him. You're ready to talk to him, you want to talk to him. You miss him, you love him, and you hate the passiveness you threw yourself into around him as an act of retaliation.

There you were, standing in front of the door, nervous beyond belief for what was behind it. You collected yourself and twisted the doorknob, ready to face anything that came to you.

Toji stood from the couch and walked over to you to take the bags from your hands. The smell of his body wash wafted into your nose. There was an imaginary white flag hanging out of your pocket, and it was about to fall out to signal your surrender to Toji.

He pecks your cheek and watches in real time as color floods into your face. It's one of the most adorable things he's ever seen—you standing there so rigidly afterwards. He gives you a soft smile and resists the urge to coo at you for being so cute. Instead, he heads to the table to put the bags of food down.

You shut the door, and within a split second, Toji was in front of you again. "Ma," he says, sounding a little more desperate than he thought he would. "Say something." You stand there like a statue—unmoving, but unlike a statue, you are easily moveable. Especially, by Toji. "Anything, mama, please." He crouches down at your feet, his warm hands resting on the backs of your knees and his cheek resting on one of your thighs. This position made it look like you were being worshipped by him, and anyone who ever saw him do this would know that it was true, because he worshipped everything about you. From the top of your head, to the ground your feet stood on.

"Don't you miss having my hands on you?" They glide up and down the backs of your thighs. He looks up at your stunned expression. You won't look down at him, so he gets to see the way you swallow the words dying to leave your mouth, and the slight widening of your eyes as he lets his hands roam your lower body. "I know I do. I've been in hell these past couple days." He presses a soft kiss to your knee, then one more on your thigh. "I didn't mean what I said. I don't think you're selfish, baby. Maybe i'm just a greedy asshole," he says, rekindling the subject of what led to your silence towards him. His hand maneuvers around your leg so that his palm is on your thigh, making its way up towards the inner part of it. "But, I know something," his lips trail further up your thigh, softly kissing your skin. "I'm greedy about you. That can't and won't be changed, even when we argue like idiots."

You put your hand on his head as he starts kissing up your inner thighs, making his way even further up beneath your skirt.

"Come on, my sweet girl," he murmurs, his lips meeting the front of your underwear. "Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me you hate that my filthy paws are on you, right now."

Your legs tremble at the lightness of his touch, and you internally cringe at how sensitive you've always been for him.

"Toji..." you gasp. You feel his warm tongue flatten between your legs, a slow upwards drag of the muscle makes your thighs quiver before him. You whimper at the damp warmth his saliva leaves on your panties. "Fuck..." you moan, breathily. "Don't stop. Stay there, please."

The first word you reintroduced yourself with being a moaned out rendition of his name was heaven reaching down to pat him on the back for knowing exactly what to do to get you to talk again.

"Open wider for me, baby. Let me see," Toji says, your skirt still veiled over his head. You take a step back so that your back is against the door and widen your stance a little more. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and you shudder when his tongue returns to slide through your clothed folds. He doesn't even need to produce that much saliva to drench the fabric of your underwear because you've done that for him already with your leaking arousal.

You shut your eyes and rest your head against the door as Toji continues his act of filth between your thighs. You can hear him panting below you, your taste pleasantly coating his tongue every time he sucks on the garment that clings to you.

You cry out his name with sharp breaths following, your fingers tangling into his locks, gripping and tugging as his lips catch onto your cunt. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," you grit out, whimpering at the contrast between his mouth and his hands. His hands offer a gentle massage to your thighs, softly kneading the plush between his fingers. His mouth moves purposefully because he knows exactly what it takes to make you fall apart with it. He coats his tongue with your essence every time he laps at the wet patch on your underwear, sticky webs of arousal connecting him to you.

"T-Toji!" You squeal, your cunt throbbing with every brush of his tongue. "I'm gonna cum... Fuck, i'm gonna cum..." you whine.

Toji pushes your underwear to the side, and glides his tongue through your generously slicked folds once and you're instantly arching your back off the door, squirming in his hold and moaning carelessly as he sloppily makes out with your cunt. He desperately chases the sound of your pleasure-ridden voice, wanting to hear the way it raises in pitch when he strokes you just right. He doesn't want it to stop, it's been too long. Two days way too long. You tug at his hair with one hand, dragging the nails of your other hand down the door. You breathe heavily as Toji manipulates your pleasure until your thighs are trembling.

Toji pulls away and lifts your skirt off his head. He lowers your leg back down and stands up from his crouched position. He faces you with glossy lips that shine with all the juices he collected from you, some of it drooling down his chin to give him an even more messy appearance. He presses his lips to yours, making slow movements to allow you to realize what is happening while your eyes are closed. You can taste yourself on his lips as you catch the rhythm.

There's a loud smack in the last kiss before he releases you, a feral look in his green eyes as he dotes on your blissed out appearance. You look too pure for someone who's just experienced something so sinful. "Hey, look at me," he coos, cupping your cheeks in his hands. "Look at me," he repeats, staring at you as you try to catch your breath with closed eyes.

You hum, rolling your eyes open to lazily stare back at him. Your eyelids felt so heavy as you looked at him, but you liked how vigilant he was being. It made you crack a grin, a small gesture that had Toji's heart thudding a little quicker, now.

"I wanna fuck you so bad, mama." His eyes trail yours as they look away from his gaze. "If this is your reaction to my mouth, I don't even know what to expect for when I'm inside you."

You look down to see what's been poking your thigh for the past minute or so, and it's the monster in his pants, outlined for your eyes to quickly spot and everything.

"Come on," you say, reaching your hand out to him. He takes it and allows you to lead him to the bedroom.

Toji shuts the door and locks it to give the situation a deeper level of intimacy. There's no one there but the two of you and yet you feel even more secluded by the gesture.

He wasn't aggressive in the way he bared you for his eyes. He pulled you close to him by the waist, your body against his as he peeled your layers of clothes off.

"Stay," he says, when you take a step back. He takes that step towards you again, placing his hands on your hips, and snaking them around to your back to locate the zipper for your skirt. He exhales through his nose, lidded eyes watching the longing expression on your face closely as he pulls down the zipper and allows the article to fall on the floor. His fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt before he fully slides his hands beneath it, and raises it up your torso higher and higher. You put your arms up and allow him to slip it off your head.

He makes haste of getting his own clothes off, a sly smirk decorating his face when he sees you admiring him from where you sit on the end of the bed as you take off your bra and underwear. You're forced further up the bed by Toji as he inches closer and closer to you. You reach a dead end and welcome the suffocating warmth of his body as he cages you onto the bed.

"Don't do that to me again, mama," he murmurs, before leaning down to peck your lips. "Don't let me talk to myself for that long when you have such a pretty voice to respond with."

You laugh, pulling a small grin from him. "I didn't think you'd care, to be honest. I thought you'd tell me i'm being childish or ridiculous."

"Nah, princess. I thought I was gonna die."

You giggle, pulling him close again. "You're exaggerating."

"You wouldn't let me touch you. Not even when we went to bed, so it was like we were friends instead of lovers sleeping together. Especially with how far on your side you slept."

"Oh, baby," you coo, pressing multiple quick apologetic kisses to his lips. He chuckles at the affection, and his eyes close instinctively as your kisses become more widespread on his face. He missed this more than anything. "What can I do for your forgiveness, my love?"

"Just let me fuck you, ma. That's all. Give me my privilege to all of this, again." His hand slowly trails from your chest to your stomach, a touch you longed for dearly during those two days that you verbally ignored him.

"It's yours," you whisper to him. You peer up at him with your constellation eyes, silently begging him to realize how much you need him. "I'm yours, so show me the use you have for the privilege over my body, baby."

He leans down to kiss you, softly. He's desperate for you, but his lips don't falter their delicate synchrony because of it. He guides the tip of his cock through your folds, rubbing up and down the slickness a couple times before slowly sinking into you. Your ability to tangle with Toji's lips slowly deteriorates, and your focus strays to the stretching happening lower down your body, so Toji picks up the slack and feeds you his kisses.

"Come on," he groans out. Not even he is immune to the rebirth of sex with you. You're warm and inviting, and you embrace the pain and comfort he offers every time he craves you or you crave him. This time is no exception. "Kiss me back, sweetheart. Give them all to me," he mutters, before attempting to connect his lips to yours again. You dig your heels into the mattress and your toes curl as you feel his girth continue to submerge inside you.

Toji cups your chin and uses his fingers to squish your cheeks together into a makeshift pout for him to kiss. He can hear your hummed little whimpers in response to him sheathing himself further into you. He was being gentle, because hurting you is a crime in his world.

"Fuck, I missed this, mama," he says, goosebumps rising on his torso as he drags himself out of you halfway and pushes himself back in again. "So warm..." he says over the sound of your pleasured moan. He sighs, a grunt following as he starts a careful rocking rhythm into you. "I could stay inside you forever."

"I could keep you here forever," you rephrase, gazing up at him with those eyes he unequivocally loves. They've reverted back to the default loving expression you hold for him, the vacancy of your previous gaze now filled with love, excitement, lust, and overall enchantment. It's a beautiful thing to see your hurricanes subside.

He leans down to kiss you again, distributing the kisses on your face and leading them towards your neck. You could feel his abs dragging up and down your stomach with every roll of his hips against yours.

"Mmm... Toji," you moan, bringing your hands to his back. One of them moves up to the nape of his neck, threading through the dampened locks of his hair, the other traces his spine to distract you from how badly you want to dig your nails into him.

"I know," he coos, kissing the spot beneath your ear. "I know, doll. It's always this good with you."

You gasp at the feeling of his cock prodding the more sensitive area within you. "Right there, right there... Oh..." you moan out, inevitably digging your nails into his shoulder blades while Toji directs his kisses back up your neck and towards your face again so he can see the honest expression on it. You're lost in pleasure, vibrating as another orgasm rushes through you.

"Fuck, mama.. let me-" he groans, outwardly losing it at the overflow of your juices. "Let me see those pretty eyes," he pants, gripping your waist a little more harshly as he feels his cock on the brink of expelling into you. "Need you to watch me," he says, taking in the way your lips part to release your sounds of utter satisfaction. Your eyes flutter open to center on his greedy eyes. You mirror his lustful, lidded gaze, the look enough to make him spill inside you, making your cunt even sloppier. "You're gorgeous, ma," he says, mindlessly, as he fucks into you with a little more fervor. "Fucking stunning," he mutters through pants, to which you respond with a sly smirk. The gesture lured a groan out of him and made his cock twitch as he finished releasing into you.

You giggle when he stills his hips. Your combined attempts to regulate your breathing fills the silence that follows. "What're you laughing at?" He asks, massaging your hip with his thumb.

"You tell me that all the time like you're obsessed with me or something."

"And if I am?" he says with a voice so deep you have to blink to see that it's still your gentle giant of a man. "Is it too much for you? Can you handle it? Am I suffocating you, baby?" he purrs, cupping your cheeks while leaning in close to emphasize his points. All it does is allow you to closely admire how handsome he is and really think about what's happening in this moment. This green-eyed, raven-haired man, with the prettiest pointed nose and the most attractive scarred lips, is bedding you, and doing it so well.

"Never. Come closer and bite," you murmur.

He takes your lips in his again, a little more aggressive than before. You asked him to bite, and that's exactly what he's doing. The make out has him rocking both of you a little faster, working you towards yet another orgasm. You nip at his bottom lip and run your tongue over it when hisses. You hum out a little giggle, and moan into his mouth when he jolts into you.

"God, i'll bust again if you keep doing that. I'm serious, mama" he groans, swiping his tongue over his stinging bottom lip. You think he's being dramatic so when he leans down to kiss you again, you bite his bottom lip and suck on it. You gasp, releasing his lip and stare at him with wide eyes as his excessive warmth spurts into your cunt, filling it to the brim and beyond, to the point of leakage.

"F-Fuck... you're terrible," he groans, shuddering with tense abdominal muscles as he lures the entirety of his orgasm out. "Cum," he says, panting as he picks up the pace of his rutting to get you to follow his orgasm. "I can feel you clenching around me like hell. I know you want to," he says, reaching a hand between you and him to stimulate your clit.

Your already labored breathing picks up and your heart is pounding in your ears aggressively as you roll your hips back against his. You whimper as you feel your peak get closer and closer, a cried out and breathy "fuck!" leaving you when it arrives, followed by high pitched moans that make Toji's heart race. You arched your back off the mattress as you reached the zenith of your orgasm with the help of Toji's finger rapidly rubbing your clit while he maintained his satisfying pace inside you.

You whimper, slapping a hand onto Toji's wrist to stop his movements on you. He smirks at the sight of your trembling thighs, your heaving chest, and the sound of your dazed hums. You always were such a delicate thing. So fragile that even with just enough of his attention, he could break you.

"Tired yet?" He asks, admiring your relaxed facial features. You nod with your eyes closed, your lips parted to release little puffs of air. "Thought you'd be. I'll go grab some towels for us to shower." He pulls out of you, taking a moment to admire your collaborative masterpiece.

"Baby..." you whine, sitting up when you feel his weight lift off the bed. "I can't get up." You dramatically let yourself fall back on the bed and stick your tongue out to portray your exhaustion.

"Get up, you faker. That's all you have to do and i'll take care of the rest."

"Too tired to wash myself right now..." you say, waking up for a second before closing your eyes again. Toji can see the sly grin on your face and the little shake of your stomach as you stifle your giggles.

"Guess you're too tired to eat, too, huh? You know i've got a huge appetite, and I could eat all that food you brought by myself."

"You wouldn't," you say, abruptly sitting up on the bed and squinting at him. "There's enough to feed three people in those bags."

"I've got the stomach of three people in one, so you better catch up before you're left with my seconds."

You sigh, too tired to move, but you get up anyway and trail behind Toji. "Baby, can you pleeease clean me up? I'm beat."

He puts his hands on your shoulders as he now walks behind you. "Sure, but don't complain when I take longer on certain areas."

[lassieposting]

Been thinking a lot lately about romanced Astarion post-spawn ending.

Because like. The Funnest™ thing about cptsd is how much of it gets delayed. When you're trapped in a lengthy, ongoing traumatic situation, you do not have the ability to process and start healing your mental wounds. Your brain and body go into survival mode, and all that matters in the moment is that you somehow cope with the horrors. He wouldn't have been able to even begin dealing with the physical, mental and emotional toll of two hundred years of torture, brutalization and dehumanization while he was under Cazador's control; he is in constant danger, surrounded by sharks in the water, and survival means not letting them smell blood. He can't afford to fall apart, to show weakness. He is shockingly functional and competent in-game, partly because he has to be to work as a game character, but also partly because...it do be like that, to some degree. When death, for whatever reason, is not an option, you just have to shut down and keep going. People adapt in order to survive, and when we learn that showing an "injury" (physical or psychological) only gets us punished, we learn to hide it.

Early-game Astarion is terrified - of Cazador, of Godey, of being hunted down by his siblings, of being staked or sold off at the first opportunity by Tav and the other companions, of turning into a mindflayer, of another painful transformation, of losing himself when he's only just regained his autonomy after two centuries, of what Cazador will do to him if he ever finds him - the man is overwhelmed by fear. He's on thin ice as a vampire, and he's not going to give them any more reason to want him gone. Survival instinct is still in control, and in this new situation, crafting some fragile safety for himself means not only selling his body for protection, but also being useful. Clear-headed. Good in a fight.

Endgame Astarion finds himself in a completely different situation. The time-sensitive overarching threats - Cazador and impending ceremorphosis - have been dealt with. He has a loving, supportive partner he's really starting to feel safe with - Tav/Durge has proved that they're on his side, that their affection is genuine, that they don't just want him for the one thing he's been told he's good for. They've told him they're going to help him find a workaround for his sun allergy. He's getting fed regularly. He has time to stop, and breathe, and just. Recuperate.

For the first time in 200 years, he is safe.

And it will probably take a while to catch up, during which time he will seem to be coping really well, but at some point, his brain is going to realise that he's safe, and it's going to finally start processing the sheer fucking horror he's been through. Since I haven't seen anyone talking about this particular fun aspect of cptsd, allow me to offer u some thoughts on issues Astarion and Tav might end up dealing with in the months/years postgame, during the

✨ Delayed Trauma Response ✨

Memory Gaps: Astarion realising, as he opens up to Tav, that there are entire years or decades of his life from which he has only a handful of memories. Great big blank stretches where he has no idea where he was, who he was with, what was happening to him. Some of the gaps cover years at a time where he was so dissociated and shut down that he just didn't retain any memories of what was going on around him. Some are shorter periods of particularly horrific torture that his brain has deliberately blocked out to protect him.

Recovered Memories: At some point, years into the future when he's done A Lot of healing, he might find that every now and then, a fragment of those lost memories will unexpectedly come back to him. He'll catch a particular scent on the breeze, or overhear a specific phrase in the street, or cross paths with someone whose face is oddly familiar, and he'll get a glimpse of an acute horror he'd filed neatly away where it couldn't hurt him anymore. He very rarely remembers all the context to those flashes of his past. He might recall that he was punished, but not what he was punished for, or he might remember words spoken by a greedy conquest, but be unable to recall the man's face.

Dissociation: Tav knows going into this relationship that Astarion has basically made an art out of dissociating during sex. They also know, from their shared encounter with the drow twins, that he's not great at enforcing his own boundaries - he'll always say he'll speak up and back out if he stops having fun, but in practice he rarely does; he's not used to having the option of saying no to his partner, and being punished if he tries. So they know there's going to be some practice and experimentation and negotiation necessary there, to figure out the rough limits of his comfort zone. But once he starts really processing, there may be days where he just checks out completely. Tav will touch his shoulder, and he'll startle and apologise - "Terribly sorry, darling, I was miles away for a moment there." And Tav will gently point out that he's been sat in the same spot vacantly staring into the middle distance for hours. They've been checking in on him occasionally and this is the first time he's responded. It's unsettling, to say the least.

Lost Time: Astarion was very young when he was turned, physically mature but emotionally juvenile. He was basically an overgrown teenager, in the phase of life where elves are just starting to learn who they are and what they want, and figure out their place in the world. But he never got to do that, because he spent his formative young adult years in a world where everyone became an abuser, where his only means of surviving was to smile and charm and obey while even his basic human dignity was stripped away. He learned that communication is based on manipulation. He learned that the powerful can do whatever they like to the weak. He learned an incredibly toxic, abusive way of life, and that was his family dynamic, his everyday life, for as long as he can remember. Now that he's free and safe, he's realising that the world doesn't actually work that way and that he's now far behind even shorter-lived races in social/emotional development. He's grieving for the person he could've been. He's grieving for the life he could've lived. He's grieving for all the years he already lost, and the ones he'll lose in the future as he flounders to catch up. A decent chunk of his life was stolen from him, and that's time he will never get back.

Flashbacks & Night Terrors: Specifically the kind where your brain convinces you that an injury you had a long time ago is actually an injury you have (or are receiving) right now. There are nights where he'll wake Tav in a panic, because his back feels like it's on fire, he can feel every freshly-carved wound dripping blood and he's in so much pain he doesn't know what else to do. If Tav looks, they see nothing out of the ordinary - old, long-healed scars, same as always. But the pain and the fear and the distress are all very real to him, and all they can do is try to comfort him, cover his back with cool damp cloths or healing salves, remind him he's safe now and they're not leaving him.

Boundary Shifting: Sometimes, Tav can come up and hug him from behind, and he'll melt into them a little bit and go all soft and happy. Other times, he might flinch away or go rigid at the same gesture. A lot of the time, it really depends on how he's feeling on the day, but at least a little bit of it is deliberate - he's pushing to find the limit of just how much autonomy Tav is willing to give him. He wants to know at what point they'll stop respecting his "no". Will they accept it if he doesn't want a hug? If he wants to sleep in his own room tonight? At what point will understanding turn to anger at being rejected? From the drow twins four/fivesome, we also know he's got a tendency to push his own boundaries, and jump into things he's actually not ready for, and Tav would be the one holding his hand through the fallout as he tries to figure out what his own boundaries even are.

Frustration! So, so much frustration. He wants to be Over It already. He wants to move past everything that ever happened to him and never think about it again. He hates that Cazador still has a grip on him, even in death - he doesn't want to give the bastard the satisfaction of dwelling on all his punishments, his cruelties. Sometimes, that frustration is going to explode outwards at Tav - he'll get angry at them for coddling him, or find something small to start a fight over, or he'll set an unreasonable boundary and try to defend it because he's still learning what healthy boundaries look like. Sometimes, it will implode inwards, and that won't be about Tav at all, but they'll get the brunt of it all the same - it might come out as self-loathing or self-punishment, and he'll react by doing something stupid, like trying to drive them away, because having a secure, relatively healthy relationship is terrifying and the instinct is to destroy it before Tav can. There will be yelling and angry tears and deeply unhealthy coping mechanisms, and they'd have to work through that. Trauma is ugly, and Astarion is right at the beginning of a very long journey towards healing.

Abandonment Issues: Astarion wants the relationship to be one between equals, but he's kind of got Tav on a pedestal all the same. They saved him. They helped him get rid of Cazador for good. They chose him and love him despite a wealth of better (in his eyes) options, and all his baggage. They stayed with him even when he has very little to offer them. We know his vanity and obnoxious self-absorption is a fragile attempt to obscure the fact that his self-esteem is in the dirt and he has virtually no self-worth, and there are a couple of occasions in-game where it becomes clear that he's afraid of losing the one person who somehow considers him lovable. After seeing Sebastian and all the other conquests, he begs Tav not to hate him, saying that he did what he had to. If he has a rival for Tav's affections, and Tav informs him that they broke up with the rival to be with Astarion, he's shocked and the first thing out of his mouth is, "You ended things with them for me? Why?" And if Durge tries to break up with him for his own safety, his facade drops and he immediately asks if he did something wrong. So while he's not afraid to argue with Tav, if something happens - like an angry outburst - that upsets or angers them, and he thinks he's at risk of losing that one steady, stable person in his life, he might well cling and overcompensate to try and repair what he thinks is a fracture in their relationship. He'll fawn or beg or crawl into Tav's bed to "apologise" and "make it up to them" because, well, very occasionally it worked on Cazador. With patience and good communication and lots of repeatedly driving the lesson home to overcome 200 years of education to the contrary, he will eventually start to believe that "I'm really pissed off at you right now," does not equate to, "You are the worst mistake I've ever made and I am leaving you."

Panic Attacks: I feel like honestly he'd get some symptoms of these on a fairly regular basis, but he's never been given any option other than just trying to power through them. He's used to realising he's shaking, he's used to feeling like he's watching himself from outside his body, or like he can't breathe even though he doesn't need to. He's very familiar with the sickening fear in his gut, so intense it makes his head spin. He's not used to being comforted or reassured about them - he thinks they're normal. Tav disagrees.

Anyway, cptsd is messy and complicated and often looks very different from person to person so these will not represent everyone's but these are just some ideas for what the ongoing recovery process might make them work through, based on the aspects I'm most familiar with.

Projecting? Who's projecting? I'm not projecting. Shut up.

[kairismess]

summer heat.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 description . . .

・:〃➜ with how hot the summer is getting, your favorite boys need some way to cool down and relax . . . preferably with you by their side.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ft. HAIKYUU BOYS – kenma, hinata, and suna.

KENMA.

it doesn't take long for kenma to start heaving, panting, and sweating underneath the heat of the deadly hot rays of the sun. he doesn't think he can last 5 more minutes under the sun with how hot the summer's been, even under the shade of the cute cat-themed parasol you bought for the two of you at the beach, this boy is still sweating an awful lot, reaching for your somehow cool, pool of melted ice for a cooler, for a pack of apple juice.

"is there... any more left..." your pudding haired boyfriend heaved with a raspy voice, clenching to the crumpled, empty plastic juice packet. you look into the box full of melted ice and wince as you break the news to him that he just drank his last apple juice box. the poor boy whimpers silently as he feels the sweat pool on the back of his shirt, and since you felt bad, you got up and dusted the sand off your lap, your hand extended out to him as the heat starts to get to him.

"a swim...?" he meekly repeats after you, his cheeks flushing with warmth rushing to his face, either from embarrassment or from the intense heat of the sun. you nod as you wait for his answer, with him taking your hand weakly, slowly pulling you closer to him with a smile. "...alright, alright, i'll take a dip in the water... but just a few minutes of cuddles...?" he pleads, his golden almond eyes begging for you to hold him to keep him from falling apart from the sheer ruthlessness of the heat.

HINATA.

hinata isn't usually one to complain about the weather, but with the rise of the past week's temperature, he's been pretty much exhausted every time he goes out; and it's a big bummer, because he so badly wants to take you out on a date and enjoy some sceneries together, go to the beach, have a nice dinner with you... but the heat makes you both too lazy to get out of the house.

he can't emphasize to you how much he wants to go out with you, while being in front of the fan, sweating a storm. you try to reassure him and tell him you two don't have to go out to enjoy each other's company, but your little tangerine wants the best date for you after being abroad for a long while and having to focus on his volleyball career and training months prior.

while your sunshine sulks about not being able to take you out, you scoop up a couple of bowls of ice cream for the two of you, handing one of the bowls to him. you explain to him that, even though you also want to go out with him, you don't need all those fancy outings to be happy with him–you're more than happy sharing some ice cream with him on a hot day.

you have no idea just how happy you made him, because it was like the clouds parted from the sun, and the room got five times warmer with the growth of his shining smile. "y-yeah! i guess i feel the same way too... i mean, all i want is to make you happy, the where doesn't really matter, all that matters to me is your happiness, love." he beams, and though you try to warn him his ice cream will melt, he doesn't mind, because his ice cream will stay sweet no matter how melty it'll get; for now, all he wants to focus on is you and how adorable you look eating up your ice cream... maybe hoping to feed you some on your spoon.

SUNA.

your boyfriend suna is usually calm, cool, and collected; making it hard for you to know what it is he wants or is feeling. but the nasty highs the temperature outside is reaching brings out the hidden character of your usually composed boyfriend, though in a manner you wouldn't expect.

it's a no-brainer that the heat can make someone a bit lazy to move their body to get things done, and your boy understands that too much, that he wants you to give yourself a break and cool off for a little bit from your chores at home and suffer from the intense heat.

and how would he get you to do that? by offering the perfect at home date between you two in your room–with a tv show to binge, a closet full of snacks, a minifridge full of cool drinks, and the AC on blast with him and your pillows and stuffed animals waiting for you.

"hey, um..." he calls out to you in his gravelly voice, gently grabbing your wrist, pulling you closer to him. his pale green eyes gazing at you, with neediness in those orbs of his. "i turned on the AC, and since, y'know, that recent show you've wanted to binge just released all episodes available, and the snack bar we have in our room is stacked up... why not take a break from the chores and just chill out with me, babe?" and how could you say no to his desperate pleading face?

[selineram3421]

*is now craving sushi* Dang. 🍣

Other Worldly

Part 2

Part 1

Alastor X Shy Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ selectively mute reader, food mentions-seaweed, song lyrics Drift Away-Trillian ⚠

Alastor took the mer up to their hotel room, the halls empty as he made another water pun, which earned him a fin slap to the face.

"I could drop you, you know?", he said but continued to carry them towards the bathtub.

Setting them down gently, he made sure to get a towel and put it somewhere within reach for them to take when their legs returned.

"There you are dear!", he said before standing up straight. "I'll leave you here now. Don't try to get up too soon, you'll just flop right over!", he laughed and turned to leave.

"Wait.", they spoke softly.

Like an exciting rush, he felt chills run down his back as his body followed the command.

"Don't tell anyone about what you saw..", they paused. "Or what you heard from me. Please."

As soon as they were finished, the 'spell' had broken and he was able to move again. Glancing over his shoulder, the Radio Demon snapped his fingers and his coat was clear of the water spots they had left on him.

"Very well.", he said and began closing the bathroom door. "This will stay our little secret~", he placed a finger over his lips before shutting the door.

He stood there for a moment, hearing the mer let out a sigh before the water turned on.

Satisfied with his findings, the deer demon left their hotel room, making sure to lock the door before closing it.

As he made his way to his radio tower, he thought of ways to get the aquatic demon to sing around him.

I should ease their worries somehow.. He thought. I wonder if there is a way to lure a siren.

.

You hated the transition of your legs returning.

Every time, you felt like your tail was being torn apart. Your scales felt like needles piercing into you when they sunk back into your skin. The webbing on your fingers was the only thing that didn't hurt much, but your hands would cramp a few times the day after.

This is annoying. You thought as you dried yourself completely after taking a bath.

Next was the hard part.

Grabbing the edge of the tub, you slowly stood up. Your feet feeling like you walked many miles without rest, aching as you stepped onto the tile floor.

It hurt.

Step by step, it felt like you were walking on glass, thorns, or hot coal as you made your way into your room to get dressed.

As soon as you could, you dropped onto your bed with a whine, staying there for a moment before crawling under the covers. After turning off the lamp on the nightstand, you hoped that the red dressed demon wouldn't say anything of what he saw.

Yes, you told him a command but the other half was a plea.

Let's not worry about it. He did say it would be our secret. You thought before going to sleep.

The next day was a little odd.

After getting breakfast, the smiling demon began talking to you like you were old friends.

It confused you.

What did he have to gain from talking to a quiet person? There was nothing you could say without hypnotizing him.

.

It was simple.

All he had to do was get them used to him and they'd be comfortable enough to let their guard down.

What better way to do it other than talking?

Food.

Throughout a few weeks, the Radio Demon experimented with all kinds of food. Taking notice of their expressions and the amount of food that they left on their plate. Later, he noticed that they enjoyed snacking on seaweed.

He wasn't sure where they had got it from, but it was something that he made sure was kept stocked in the kitchen and at the bar.

"The fuck? Why seaweed?", Husker grumbled.

"One of our guests enjoys it and the Princess ordered a surplus of the snack.", Alastor said as he watched the cat demon put the box under the bar counter.

Of course, it didn't really work out like he wanted. They were still quiet, still just out of reach, wary of him and his every action.

So he tried a different tactic.

Continuing to talk to them in open spaces but once they left, he hid in the shadows and observed them.

And then it happened.

It was exactly what he was waiting for.

Though he was hiding within the shadows of a dark theater room, he still was able to catch them, to listen to them sing.

Dark brown wood and red velvet from the room had made the area darker than it really was, but they still managed to find a ledge to sit on. They started off with soft hums before a real note came out from their lips.

"Here in the garden

Let's play a game

I'll show you how it's done

Here in the garden

Stand very still

This will be so much fun"

Like before, he felt the pull in his chest, the daze their voice submerged his mind into.

"And then she smiled

That's what I'm after

A smile in her eyes

The sound of her laughter

Happy to listen

Happy to play

Happily watching her drift away"

His shadows held him back from crawling out of the darkness. Something he was quite grateful for as he didn't want to disturb their singing.

"You keep on turning pages, for people who don't care

People who don't care about you

And still it takes you ages, to see that no one's there

See that no one's there

See that no one's there

Everyone's gone on with out you.."

Such a peculiar thing. To feel what they felt through their song, waves of sadness brushing against his mind.

"And aren't I the fool to have

Happily listened

Happy to stay

Happy to watch her drift

Drift

Drift...away."

They finished their song and sighed, wearing a frown.

Something Alastor couldn't just stand by for.

"You have such a lovely voice.", the deer demon spoke up.

They let out a noise of surprise and stood quickly , looking around the room like a frightened animal.

"It's a shame you hide it.", he continued.

He could hear how quick their breathing became as they backed away towards the nearest exit. Before the mer could touch the door, the Radio Demon came out of the shadows behind them and took their wrist.

They gasped and froze, not daring to look at him as he held them close.

Now is his grasp, he hummed in content and put a finger under their chin, lifting it up so they could look him in the eye.

His smile grew wider once they made eye contact.

"Let's make a deal~"

I did not have sushi but I did get to eat seaweed.

~Seline, the person.

Part 3

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @preciousbabypeter @poppingaround @bishiglomper @darifes @random-3455 @+?

ML I Alastor🎙 | ChL OW🦀

[l0vely-sturniolo]

PANIC

matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: panic attack

summary: matt invites you to be the ‘point keeper’ during the versus tour, and that leads to a panic attack.

——————————————————————————

i was on tour with the triplets right now. they had officially just started their versus tour. they're first show was in San Francisco, and that's where we were currently heading. i was sat on the little couch thing, next to matt, with my head on his shoulder when he spoke up.

"you know what i was thinking?" he said to me. "what's that?" i smiled at him. "what if you came on stage with us? and you were our point keeper," he said. "really?" i asked him and he nodded. "okay," i smiled.

eventually it was almost time for the show. the boys were finishing up the first round of meet and greets, and i was starting to stress myself out about being on stage in front of everyone. there was so many people and i don't do too good in big crowds, even though i wouldn't be in the crowd, they would all be looking at me eventually, and that thought made me sick to my stomach.

i tried to distract my mind by going on my phone, but that didn't help. all i could think about was having hundreds of eyes on me and that somehow i would screw up, and then it would be all over the internet.

i set my phone down, taking a deep breath, but that didn't help. my breathing became uneasy, and my hands started shaking. "y/n?" madi asked. she was backstage with me. i just shook my head, and tears started rolling down my face. "mom! we need matt!" madi ran over to laura.

"she's having a panic attack i think," i heard her say, and next thing i know, laura was in front of me. "honey, what's wrong? what do you need?" "w-water," i stumbled out. "okay, i'll go get some," madi said and ran off. "what's wrong sweetheart?" "too... too many people," i breathed out.

madi came back over with a water and i was able to drink it, even though my hands were shaking like crazy. "i think the boys are almost done, let me go check," laura said, and madi sat next to me and grabbed my hand, and rubbed my back.

a few minutes later i heard footsteps running over to where we were, and someone bent down in front of me, putting their hand on my knee. i looked down, and i immediately knew it was matt's hand. "baby, look at me," he whispered, and i looked up at him.

"what's the matter?" he asked. "too many people," i whispered. "okay, okay, come here," he opened his arms, and i immediately went right into them. "you're okay, take deep breaths baby," he whispered, rubbing my back. "ready, 1, 2, 3," he said, and took a deep breath, and i took one with him. "couple more," he said, and we took some more deep breaths together.

my breathing went back to being okay, but my hands were still shaking. he sat me down and sat on the coffee table in front of me, grabbing my hands, rubbing them with his thumbs.

"matt, i don't think i can go on stage," i told him. "i know, even if you could i wouldn't let you. you need to relax after that, maybe even take a nap, you're just gonna stress yourself out more thinking about it baby, it's okay." he told me, still rubbing my hands.

i looked up at him and tears were still rolling down my face, and he reached forward and wiped them. "i didn't wanna disappoint you," i looked down. "disappoint me? baby, i'm not disappointed. i'm worried for you right now, you just had a panic attack baby. i'm not disappointed in you one bit, i'm actually glad you told me how you felt." he said to me.

"it's okay to be nervous baby, and it's okay to change your mind about doing something. you absolutely do not have to do this, i still love you, i'm not mad, i'm not disappointed, everything's okay baby. you're okay, i'm okay, we're all okay beautiful," he said. i let go of his hands and moved up on the couch, wrapping my arms around him. "i love you," i mumbled into his shoulder. "i love you princess, so so much." he kissed my head, rubbing my back.

——————————————————————————

tags:

@stayingstromboli

[nanaminokanojo]

Between 7:00pm and 8:31pm | gojo x you

TW/CW: mentions of death/dying | shibuya arc | misanthropic thoughts | just angst | strong language

"For the greater good? Fuck that."

Four pairs of eyes simultaneously darted towards you, devoid of judgment. More or less, they understood what you were getting at, but you knew what they meant without words. You weren't supposed to say that. Such was your duty and purpose as a jujutsu sorcerer. But you did anyway, giving a voice to the white elephant in the room, acknowledging what everyone was afraid to even give a single moment's thought.

The greater good? Who does it serve anyway? At whose expense? Your friends' lives? Why? Because you were stronger than the rest of humanity? The strongest for the preservation of the lives of the weak?

You were strong. That should be the end of the conversation. You didn't owe anyone for it. You chose to be strong, and those who were born like you weren't there to play the role of anyone's savior just because they have the means.

Fushiguro Megumi was right: you weren't heroes. You may choose whom you want to save. Your addition to that was the fact that you can choose whether to save others or not. That's the cold, hard truth you wanted to live by without having to apologize for it, but that would shake the very foundations the jujutsu society stood for.

You looked towards Gojo. You knew he was looking at you even with his blindfold on and the lack of physical indication that his attention was on you. And somehow, it seemed to weigh more than any of the looks every one else in the room gave you. It angered you that he was resigned to it all when he was the best out of all of you, the strongest, the honored one. He can do whatever the hell he wants and yet he was there with you, wholeheartedly accepting orders to deal with whatever was happening in Shibuya at the moment.

Alone.

"Now isn't the time to –" Nanami spoke, and you usually wouldn't dare with the degree of respect you held for him, but you interrupted him.

"No, seriously. What does this have to do with us?" you asked, stunning them further. You looked at Nanami who was able to escape this life but came back anyway, confusion and rage glimmering in your eyes despite your calm manner. He could have a good life away from everything, but what the hell was he doing there?

And now they're thinking of sending Gojo alone to play along with whatever schemes the enemies are brewing? They're letting him walk into something that – although he was possibly capable of putting an end to – was, by all means, a trap? You refused to stand for it.

You didn't understand. Ever since you were a child, you were taught and trained to become what you are: a jujutsu sorcerer before you were a human; a tool for this greater good – whatever that meant – before you're a feeling, living being. But as time passed by, watching all the people you knew, good ones, lose their lives for this one-track cause, the less you knew. Why do you have to save them? Lives begin and end. It's just there. Why should those people's lives matter more than yours did? Because they're good? On whose standards?

"Y/N," Yaga warned, evidently seeing the ghost of someone he thought he knew well from last year. "This has already been decided by the higher-ups."

"And nobody dared question it?"

"You're treading dangerous waters there," the principal stated, raising his voice. "This is what we do. It's what you chose to do. Have you come to resent it?"

"There lies my mistake."

Shoko placed a hand on your shoulder. "You don't mean that."

"Geto was right." There, you said it, distabilizing the very principles you all stood for.

"Don't go there –"

You gave everyone a sweeping glare, silencing even Yaga. "His methods will never be right, but he knew what he was talking about." You chuckled bitterly. "He always did. And now he's gone."

You started walking out of the room but paused by the bench where Gojo was seated, still looking unbothered. "I never cared that you were the strongest. To me, you're just Satoru."

You looked behind your shoulder. "That applies to you all."

"Where are you going?" Nanami asked.

"You will excuse me if I do not wish to have a hand in murdering my friends or myself for that matter."

**

"You underestimate me."

You blew the cigarette smoke you were holding in as you stared at the clear signs of veils laid out over the busy streets of Shibuya from where you stood on a building rooftop. Without acknowledging the presence behind you, you finished the last drag of smoke, the burn in your throat and lungs feeling better than all your bitter thoughts and feelings towards the world you've come to know.

"'Just Satoru', eh?"

"You're purposefully being an idiot if you didn't understand what I meant by that." You glanced at Gojo when he came close enough. "Even more so if you think I'll ever underestimate you."

He chuckled. "So, you don't want me to go?" he asked in that melodic, carefree voice, slightly bending down towards the side as if he needed that to take a better look at you. "You have so little faith –"

"Faith, I have too much in you, not because you're strong, but because you are you. What I don't have is sympathy or trust for anyone who thinks they can rely on you all the time to straighten things out."

"And proud?" You let out a humorless laugh. "There's nothing to be proud of in death. There's never any ounce of dignity in it whether you die saving others or if you get snuffed out meaninglessly. It all ends the same way."

His weirdly glossy lips protruded at your sentiment. "Aren't you proud that people are able rely on us?"

"This is wrong." Everything was conveyed in those three words you uttered without any need for elaboration. Gojo merely smiled.

"So, you're scared of dying?"

"No. Dying is easy. That's all where we're headed at one point. You know what's terrifying though?"

"What?"

You finally looked at him. "Giving your life to this cause knowing it changes nothing."

"How very nihilistic."

You shrugged. "A hundred years from now, curses will still be around, kept alive by the very beings we're fighting for at present. And for what? For future generations who will produce curses, stronger and harder to fathom and defeat? All because they can't accept they're just products of a chance in their search to have higher purpose and superiority in life.

We ourselves are cursed. We control that very form of energy to prevent it from evolving into monsters, but it eats us up for the very same reasons."

"Those reasons being...?"

"We're stronger so perhaps we should be responsible for protecting lives around us. Whoever thought of that was fucking cocky, but really, who are we kidding, Gojo?"

He snickered, no doubt thrilled by your unfiltered thoughts. After him, you were probably the biggest thorn on the higher-ups' side with your radical thoughts, at least by their standards. But he still wanted you to jump all the hoops. "Thus your belief that Suguru was right?"

"I'm worse than him. I just don't act on it. I'm super sold on the fact that humans are the scum of the earth, sorcerer or not."

"You're human and a sorcerer?" he pointed out, trying to vex you.

"Exactly."

Gojo patted your head. "And yet you're still here for the very purpose you dare spit on."

You smirked at him. "I don't want you to have to kill another one of your friends for insubordination and subscribing to the ideologies of our realm's Lord Voldemort."

"Suguru had hair and a nose though?"

"He's prettier, too, that cult-leading fucker, but not the point, dumbass."

It was both funny and sad how you speak of the fallen Geto Suguru so fondly as if he didn't kickstart the most massive chaos in recent jujutsu history. But like Gojo, to you, he was just Suguru.

Just then, Gojo pulled you into his long arms, giving you a bear hug that annoyed you more than anything. "You've always been our sweetest Y/N even if you act like Ryomen Sukuna's spawn."

You pushed Gojo off of you, straightening your hair out in irritation. "He's my ancestor after all."

You both made disgusted faces at that little detail about you, but as always, Gojo was quick to recover into his cheerful façade. "Don't worry. I'll be back."

He said that, but not even an hour later, you were hearing Itadori Yuuji screaming from the top of a building in the middle of the deserted Shibuya.

Gojo Satoru has been sealed by none other than the very person – or at least whatever now resides in him – whose beliefs you agreed were right.

[anonymous-dentist]

Or: Once upon a time, a man turned himself into a demon for the sake of his husband's soul. It's been a long time since then.

-

Demons don't really need to sleep, but Roier likes to do it, anyway. It's relaxing, and it reminds him of better times back when he was human and his husband wasn't... well.

Well.

Jaiden doesn't get it, but that's because she's never known what dreams are. Because demons don't sleep and, unlike Roier, she was born a demon. Her and Bobby both were, leaving Roier as the odd one out.

...That's fine! Their loss! Because sleep? Great. Dreams? Even better.

Because, in Roier's dreams, he sees him.

-

(They're in bed, because that was Roier's favorite place to be. He's on his back with his husband laying next to him tracing patterns into his shirt with one finger. Rain patters on the ceiling, and some leaks through into the kitchen and lands in a pot placed conspicuously in the middle of the floor. Their blankets are warm, and so are their hearts.)

-

Roier has been married for almost 500 years. His husband has been dead for 499 of those years, give or take a few months.

They were never legally married; that just wasn't something you did back then. Didn't matter, though, because they wouldn't have been able to afford a wedding even if they could get married.

They were farmers- well, Roier was a farmer. His husband just liked sitting and watching Roier work shirtless in the fields. He'd sit with a pitcher of water waiting by his side should Roier need it, and he'd watch shamelessly for hours at a time, and he was horrible.

And now he's dead.

-

But, see, the first thing Roier asked when arriving in Hell was whether or not the Devil was cool with gay marriage.

"Uh," said Jaiden- and this was their first real conversation post-demoning, okay? So she obviously wasn't as cool as she is now. "Maybe? I don't know. I'd have to ask?"

"Could you?" Roier had asked, freshly deceased and still bleeding from the temples where his horns had just finished growing in. "I'm expecting my husband."

"Right," Jaiden tensely replied. "Your husband."

"Yeah," Roier said, and he tried saying his husband's name, but it just. Wouldn't... what was it again?

-

But that's fine, being a demon is a pretty sweet gig. All Roier has to do is go up to the Mortal Realm and do a few jobs for a few witches, corrupt a few souls. In return, he gets badass magical abilities and immortality.

More importantly, he gets his husband's soul. As soon as he reincarnates back in the Mortal Realm, and as soon as he dies again, he goes to Hell with all of the memories from his previous life with Roier intact, and they finally get their happily ever after.

It's what he would've wanted. Hell might sound terrible, but it's no worse than the Mortal Realm, and its public transportation is actually better, somehow. The busses all run on time, and the subway is free.

More importantly, Roier's husband was the one collecting all those books on summoning demons and making deals with demons and communing with the Devil. Roier just... completed his work for him.

It's the least he could've done, and it was his last chance at seeing him again.

-

Fuck, but what was his name?

-

(They're in the fields, because that was Roier's husband's favorite place to be. Roier is shirtless and bent over a row of seeds that are going to grow up to be corn in a few months, and his husband is on the ground under the apple tree watching him shamelessly. It's sunny out, and there's the smell of smoke in the air.)

-

It's been 500 years since Roier's husband died, and Roier has spent that time trying to remember the name of his husband's killer.

Because, once upon a time, there was a farmer, and there was a witch. Ah, but witches were illegal, you see. They communed with the Devil, and they brought chaos into a world of order.

All Roier remembers is that the person who tied his husband to that pole was in all-white. Not a priest, just someone boring.

That same person was the one who lit the straw at Roier's husband's feet on fire. And they smiled doing so even as Roier dove towards the flames as if he could put them out with his bare hands.

It didn't work. Big surprise there.

-

"So the Devil's fine with you two getting married," Jaiden said after a few days of dealing with demonic bureaucracy, "but I have some bad news for you."

Roier, for the first time since Jaiden slit his throat and converted him, felt fear.

"What is it?" he asked.

She let out a breath, slow, and said, eventually, "Your husband's soul isn't here. He isn't in Heaven, either. Or in any of the other gods' realms."

Roier blinked. "What."

It was not a question.

She threw up her hands. "I don't know! It's like he just... disappeared!"

"Is that why I can't remember his name?" Roier asked. "His soul is fucking gone?"

His hands shook. Jaiden reached out and took them.

"We'll find him," she promised, kind despite her whole 'Is A Demon' thing. "Even if it takes five hundred years."

"Yeah, well, it won't," he scoffed. "I'm going to find him. He promised me a wedding."

-

Souls don't just die. They go to someplace that Roier has only ever heard of: Purgatory.

Once in Purgatory, souls get judged by the Eye of Justice. He asks them questions about their life, and they have to answer truthfully, or he'll feed them to his children.

There are a few options for what comes next.

One: they pass the Eye of Justice's judgement and are allowed to move on to whatever afterlife they believe in.

Two: they pass the Eye of Justice's judgement and are allowed to reincarnate into another life.

Three: they fail the Eye of Justice's judgement and are forcibly sent to reincarnate into the life of a bug or a blade of grass or something else boring and tortuous.

Roier got to skip out on Purgatory entirely because he took the direct line to Hell. But maybe, just maybe, if he had died regularly, he could have seen his husband in Purgatory, and they could have reincarnated together.

...Ugh. Hindsight is a bitch.

-

(Roier is visiting his grandfather when the church bells ring.

"A witch!" he hears a woman scream, and his stomach fell right into his shoes.)

-

It's been 500 years, and Roier has gotten a bit of a reputation among modern witches for being one of the easier demons to work with. He'll help with their problems in exchange for information on a certain lost soul: if they hear from his husband's soul, they summon Roier. Or he'll help in exchange for some book recommendations for his son; Hell has many things, but it does not have a public library.

He isn't a particularly strong demon despite what his only angel friend, Etoiles, might say. Etoiles is just a silly little guy, don't listen to him!

-

(He never even got to say goodbye. They locked eyes as the flames rose, and Roier screamed his name one last time, and he hasn't been able to feel anything since.)

-

Jaiden was the first demon that Roier had ever met.

He was on the floor surrounded by the ashes that used to be his home. His husband's books were in charred tatters around him, but one managed to survive the fire. It was almost supernatural, but, like, yeah. Demon book, of course it was fireproof.

He was bleeding. He had offered his blood, and his soul, to the demon in exchange for his husband's life back.

She sat on the floor with him.

"I can't do that," she gently told him. "Demons can do a lot of things, but we can't perform miracles."

Roier's throat burned: smoke inhalation and grief.

"Oh," he said, small-sounding.

"But I can get his soul to Hell," she offered. "In exchange... you have to go to Hell."

His answer was immediate: "Yes."

She blinked. "I wasn't finished?"

"The answer is still 'Yes'. As long as I'm with him again, I don't care what happens to me."

"You'll have to turn your life over to Satan. You can't just go to Hell. That isn't how it works."

Roier shrugged. "That's fine."

Jaiden gawked for a moment before nodding and standing and extending her hand.

He took it.

And then he died.

-

But it's been 500 fucking years, and now Roier is being summoned by another witch for another deal. He'll probably have to help supply additional magic for some big important spell, that's basically all he's used for these days. He's more than a battery, thanks! He's a demon, he should be out, like, stealing souls and shit.

He goes, anyway, because he has to. If he doesn't, his contract is void, and he won't get to see his husband because he himself will be sent to Purgatory to be judged and, really, he does not want to deal with that. (The Eye of Judgement is fucking creepy, okay?)

There's the familiar pull at Roier's core, and the familiar blinding burst of light as he's yanked into the Mortal Realm, and the familiar smell of brimstone and evil that follows him wherever he goes outside of Hell.

The room is filled with blood red smoke as he appears- his trademark.

(The most important thing to a demon these days isn't evil, it's marketability.)

The witch in front of him, nothing more than a shadow hidden behind the smoke, coughs and wheezes and fans their hand in front of their face.

They're kneeled on the ground in front of a pentagram drawn in... what the fuck is this, strawberry jam?

Roier crouches and sticks a finger into one of the circle's markings. Careful not to break the circle, he pulls his finger out and licks the red stuff on it.

Shocked, he looks at the witch, and he asks, "Dude, what the fuck? Is this blood?"

What happened to chalk!?

The witch coughs at him indignantly. "I needed to make sure I got someone powerful."

Roier rolls his eyes and plops fully onto the ground, criss-cross applesauce. He wipes his blood-covered fingertip on his jeans. Newbies...

"Well, you got me," he says, humble to the core. (He may be a super evil demon now, but he isn't a dick.) "So... what's up? What do you need?"

The smoke in the room slowly starts dissipating, revealing the witch to be a man in what have to be the previous day's clothes. His head is still ducked, and his face is still hidden in his elbow as he coughs, but Roier could almost call him objectively handsome. Shame Roier's married, this guy would be fun to mess around with.

"I need to- fuck-"

The witch coughs one last time before finally managing to get a lungful of clean air. He raises his head, and Roier finally gets a look at his face, and-

"I need your help," the witch says, voice rough and rugged and absolutely heartbreaking. "I need to kill someone, and I need your help to do it."

"Okay," Roier agrees. He doesn't have a choice, being a summoned demon and all, but he doesn't think he could turn this witch down at all, because...

-

("Cellbit!" Roier screams.

He can see his face in his husband's glassy eyes, and then he sees nothing but the flames as they rise over Cellbit's head and drown him whole.)

-

The man with his husband's face frowns, suspicious.

"What," he asks, "just like that?"

Roier grins, fangs and all. "Just like that."

After all, he doesn't think he'll need any payment for this one.

He's finally found what he's been looking for.

[aphroditeinthesea]

can you do connor stoll x reader where the reader got to camp a month ago and they havent talk yet. there personalities are both loud and defined and over time they become really good friends. then they start to realize they like each other as more then friends... but the reader is a child of Poseidon and has to leave with the argo two.

“ i’m such a fool for you ”

connor stoll x daughter of poseidon 🐍

reader comes to terms with feelings for her best friend while trying to deal with the disappearance of her brother

tw none

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Y/N found herself befriending the younger of the Stoll brothers after a prank he had pulled on her only a little after she had arrived at camp. On a morning where her brother had left the cabin early, so she was alone in cabin 3, she found her cabin surrounded by cups of water as she tried to leave. At first she thought she thought this was the dumbest prank to pull on her, after all, she could control water. However, when she tried to empty the cups, the water wouldn't budge. No matter how hard she tried, the cups stayed still, unaffected. She began to panic, wondering if she had somehow lost her powers overnight. So, she grabbed the cup closest to her, just to find that it wasnt water at all, just clear jello.

“Hey, L/N!” she heard called. She looked up to find Connor Stoll standing in front of her, holding a cup identical to the ones that surrounded her, “how’re the water works going?”

She huffed, “Did you two do this?!”

“Actually,” he smiled, “I did this one myself.”

“Good to know,” she watched him take a sip of his cup, “by the way,” she began.

“What?” He asked before his drink was entirely splashed onto his face.

“You're cleaning this up, Stoll.”

Despite her initial annoyance, she had to admit the cleverness of it. She only wished she could find a way to return the favor.

Which she did, as she was somehow able to get Travis on board. During a game of capture the flag, she snuck back to camp and hid in the Hermes cabin, where after the game, while everyone was still celebrating the winning team, Travis would tell Connor they needed to talk in private.

She watched Connor follow behind his brother as they walked in, “dude, is it something serious or like-” Before he could finish, a puddle of water that had been floating above him, poured down like a rainstorm.

“So,” Y/N laughed, walking over to him, “how’re the water works going for you?”

He wiped his eyes, “good one, L/N,” he sarcastically sighed.

She nodded, beginning to walk out of the cabin, “by the way, thanks for the help, Travis!”

“You helped her?!” She could hear Connor exclaim on the other side of the door as she giggled to herself.

The joy of her revenge was short lived though. The day after, she found her older brother to be missing.

She sat on the sandy beach, asking her father for help, but hearing nothing in response. She tried to calm her anxieties by drawing circles in the sand.

“Y/N?” She heard a familiar voice call from behind her.

She took a deep breath before forcing a smile and turning her head, “hey, Stoll.”

“I heard about your brother,” he sat down next to her.

She nodded, “yeah, I’m sure he’s fine, but still…”

He bit his cheek, “you know, if you weren't all upset and everything, I would have totally gotten you back for yesterday.”

She chuckled, “You’d really start a prank war with me?”

“You bet,” he smirked.

“Try me.”

So then on, the only thing that could cheer her up through the months that her brother was missing was the same person who annoyed her most. Or so she said.

“Seems like Annabeth’s pretty stressed about that one shoe boy, huh?” Connor mentioned as they walked through the forest.

“Yeah,” Y/N answered. She didn't want to admit how hopeful she was about the prophecy. She was sure there were lots of demigods who could lose a shoe, gods know she has plenty of times.

“Pretty embarrassing for him though,” he joked, “you get back to camp after months and you're a mess.”

“Connor,” she spoke as she stopped walking.

He paused, “yeah?”

“I know it’s not gonna be my brother,” she added, “I just know. And I really just don't wanna think about it right now.”

He nodded, “oh, sorry,” he awkwardly responded, “but you gotta admit, it’d be embarrassi-”

She grabbed a stick off the ground and poked him in the side, “shut up.”

He raised an eyebrow and grabbed his own stick, “make me.”

“You!” She yelled, trying to stab him with the stick again, but he instead began running.

He ran backwards, looking back at her, “you have to admit, I’m pretty fast.”

“You're such an idiot!”

“What do you mean-” he asked right before slamming his back into a tree.

Y/N cackled as she reached him, “that’s what I mean,” she smirked, poking him with the stick.

“Kick me while I’m down, that’s real nice.”

She smiled and helped pull him up. She lingered her grip on his hand for a little too long before letting go, but she noticed his hand not even budge enclosed in her fingers. They both awkwardly stayed silent for a moment, feeling like there was something on the tip of their tongues that they both wanted to say.

“Y/N!” Annabeth’s voice rang through the forest. Annabeht stopped as she stared at the two of them, “Y/N, he’s here, come on.”

Y/N nodded, “right,” she began walking towards Annabeth, “see you later, Connor,” she waved.

He stood still for a moment, “bye.”

She walked alongside Annabeth, trying to shake the feeling in her chest.

“Let me get this straight,” Connor questioned. He was in the middle of training with Y/N when she told him about the plan, “you’re going to the Roman camp with Annabeth, Jason, Piper, and Leo?”

She nodded, resting her sword down, “yeah.”

He shook his head, “you can't just go like that, L/N.”

“What?” She breathily laughed, not believing what he had just said, “it’s my brother, I have to go with them.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, “but that’s- what am I supposed to do with that?”

“You have friends other than me,” she replied, “this isn't about you, Connor.”

He sat down on a nearby bench, “I know but…”

She sat next to him, “but?”

“Y/N,” he egan, “I’ve been really wanting to tell you something and I can’t yet.”

She nudged his shoulder, “you're my best friend, Connor. Come on, hit me.”

He sighed, “you're really going?”

“Yes,” she muttered, “now, will you just tell me?”

He stood up, “can we talk somewhere else?”

“Alright,” she obliged. He suddenly grabbed her hand and led her away. She might’ve said something if she didn't enjoy the feeling of his hand in hers so damn much. When he walked into her empty cabin she knew whatever he had to say was important.

He hesitantly let go of her hand, “Y/N, I- uhm- I really, really like you,” he whispered, “I get that you have a lot going on right now, but-”

She smirked, grabbing his face and kissing his lips. She couldn't tell how long this went on. All she knew was that he immediately relaxed into the kiss, his hands finding her waist to pull her closer to him. She knew that she could feel his lips curled into a smile that mirrored her own.

When they pulled away, their faces were still only centimeters apart and a trail of saliva reached between their lips, “I kinda like you too, Stoll.”

He just smiled even more, quickly pulling her into another kiss.

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Two

Summary:

You really want to get Astarion back for making you feel so flustered, but as a result you find yourself in a bit of an uncomfortable position.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 3.7k Tags/Warnings: unprotected p in v sex, under-the-desk blowjobs, semi-public sex, vampire bites, modern au, college/university au, urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, poor gale doesn't deserve this

Oh shit she's writing? I had like six other things planned but I can't keep away from this world. Once again thank you @zipzoomzaria for the beautiful screenshots and also the inspo for Professor Astarion, and @aw11tht33tha for the beta!

You don't need to have read part 1 for this part to make sense, but it does help.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

Ever since you slept with Astarion - or, perhaps more accurately, he fucked you mercilessly over his desk - you haven't been able to get him out of your head. It's been a little embarrassing, frankly. Every time you pass him in the hallway, a single glance over those round wire frames has you suppressing the moan that bubbles in your throat. One whiff of his fragrance and your pussy clenches in a Pavlovian response.

You're standing in front of your mailbox in the main office, reading some memo from the chair about season selection for next year. It's always a tedious process where no one can agree and you somehow all end up with shows you hate.

You smell him before you hear him, and you can feel your ears grow hot. He comes up behind you, standing closer than is probably necessary, and reaches above you to empty his own mailbox.

“Pardon,” he says politely, but you feel like he’s going out of his way to brush against you. A shiver runs down your spine as he very gently grazes the back of your neck while shuffling through the papers. 

He turns and starts chatting amicably with Grace. How can he stay so cool when you're practically in shambles? You pretend that you're still reading the short memo just to collect yourself. When he finally leaves the main office, you manage to turn around and imitate some semblance of a normal person. Grace catches your eye and frowns.

“Are you feeling okay? You're looking a little flushed,” she asks, genuine concern coloring her voice. You twist your face into a smile, hoping that it reads like gratitude rather than annoyance.

“Yeah, I'm fine, thank you. Probably just a little dehydrated,” you say, putting a little extra rasp in your voice to sell your story.

“I’m about to leave for lunch, I can grab you something from the student union, if you're thirsty.” She smiles sweetly, fully unaware of the double entendre.

“I'm good, I have some water back in my office. I appreciate the offer, though.” The smile is now plastered to your face as you move to leave the office. You bump into Karlach while trying to make a hasty exit.

“Gods, soldier, you okay? You look like you just got out of a sauna.” She claps you on the shoulder and your knees buckle. The technical director had spent 10 years in the army, so you can't really fault her for the nickname, or the smack to the shoulder, for that matter.

“Just a little thirsty, is all,” you reply, continuing to scoot your way out of the office. 

“Yeah ya are!” She points two finger guns at you and flashes a big suggestive smile. You freeze for a half second, then realize she’s making a generic lewd joke and not pointedly calling you out for your current condition. You awkwardly finger gun back as you finally slip through the doorway and book it to your office.

You sit down at your desk and grab your water bottle, taking a long sip. It's unbelievable how much of a hold he has on you. What you wouldn't give to be able to fluster him as much as he does you. Have him struggle for words. Make him look like an idiot in front of your colleagues.

You think back to your bathtub fantasy from a few days ago. You could not have predicted the dynamic more incorrectly. You really thought that you'd be the one in control, that you could have him coming undone for you. The image of him whimpering beneath you still sets your heart racing, though it can't be further from the truth. Your breath hitches slightly as the scenario plays out vividly in your mind, like your own personal erotica.

“It must be rather exciting, whatever's got your blood going that way.” His sultry voice interrupts your debaucherous thoughts and you yelp in surprise. You glare at him leaning in the doorframe, hands in his pockets and collar casually unbuttoned, looking like an absolute treat. He chuckles and saunters into your office, settling into one of the chairs across from your desk and crossing his lithe legs. Despite your newfound attraction, he's still an arrogant little shit.

“I thought you couldn't come in uninvited,” you scowl, keeping your voice low for fear of someone overhearing.

“I don't recall being invited last time, but you didn't seem to mind,” he says with a laugh, and you squirm under his piercing red gaze. “Regardless, the rule only applies to homes, not individual rooms within a public university.”

Your frown deepens, unsure if he's being condescending or not.

“Is there something I can help you with, or are you just here to frustrate me?” You lean back in your chair and cross your arms, trying to imitate his casual authority. You're not terribly successful.

“You seem to be doing that perfectly well yourself, the way I could hear your arteries pumping from down the hall.” His smile widens, flashing just a hint of fang, and your resolve weakens. He stands and stretches his arms above his head, his shirt raising just enough for you to see a sliver of porcelain skin. You’re positive he’s just doing this to annoy you.

“Well, when you have a free moment, stop by my office, I have something to show you,” he drawls, an almost bored lilt coloring his tone. “And do try to keep that pulse of yours under control, it’s distracting to the point of vulgarity.” He glances at you over his glasses one more time before retreating into the hall again.

You cross your legs, trying to ease the ache between your thighs. He's absolutely insufferable. And he’s so much worse now that he knows he has this power over you.

You gather your materials for Voice and Speech, plotting ways to enact your revenge.

***

Against your better judgment, you find yourself walking toward Ancunín’s office after class. You take a moment before knocking on the door, smoothing down the front of your dress and tousling your hair to give it a little more volume.

Suddenly the door opens and Mol comes barrelling out in a huff.

“D’you believe this berk? Gettin’ on my tail for ‘academic integrity.’ Ain't nobody more integrous than me!” she grumbles, adjusting her bag angrily. She turns her heated gaze to you.

“Can you talk to your boyfriend and tell him to leave me alone?” she spits and you splutter involuntarily.

“Mol, we’re not–”

“Come off it, miss. Everyone sees the way you look at ‘im. Just work your magic so I can get back to gettin’ a college education.” And without another word, she's off. You blink, trying to make sense of what just happened. Are the students talking about the two of you?

Shaking your head, you knock on the door frame as you walk into his office. It's just as cozy as last time, warm light emanating from lamps in every corner to compensate for the blackout curtains over the windows. Honestly, how does anyone not know he's a vampire? You can almost hear his excuse, something about how “direct sunlight is ruinous to one’s skin.”

“Destroying students' lives by keeping them academically honest?” you smirk as you gently close the door behind you with your foot. He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I swear, that girl is too clever for her own good. I'd almost respect it if she didn't get on my last nerve,” he sighs, putting his glasses back on and glancing up at you. His expression softens for a second before quickly shifting to mischievous. You slide over to him, leaning against the edge of his desk as you face him.

Any animosity you may have held dissolves as he looks up at you, his hand absentmindedly stroking your thigh just under the hem of your skirt. You shiver as you try to keep your voice steady.

“You said you had something to show me, professor?” You emphasize the title with the gusto of a young porn star. He smirks and pulls you down until you're straddling his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and grind your hips into him, feeling the beginnings of an erection. He lets out a little puff of air that can almost be mistaken for a moan. He buries his face into your tits, running his nose along the neckline of your dress and slides his hands under your skirt to cup your ass. You breathe in sharply, your breasts rising to meet his lips.

Then a knock at the door.

You both freeze and stare at one another. You hear a muffled voice on the other side.

“Dr. Ancunín, do you have a minute? I have something extremely important to tell you,” Dr. Dekarios from the School of the Weave shouts through the door.

Astarion instinctually replies, “Just a minute!” and the two of you share a wordless exchange.

-What the fuck are you doing?

-I don't know, I panicked!

-What am I supposed to do?

-Hide, perhaps?

Without thinking you slide off his lap and under the desk. Just in time, too, as Dr. Dekarios doesn't wait for Astarion’s permission to open the door and waltz right in.

“Dr. Ancunín, thank goodness, I hope I'm not interrupting anything.” You can hear the Arcana History professor rush in and eagerly sit down in the red velvet lounge chairs across from Astarion’s desk. You groan internally as you realize that you might be stuck here for an unbearably long time.

“Actually, Dr. Dekarios, I was on my way out,” Astarion says as he starts to stand before quickly reversing that decision. You realize with a smug sense of satisfaction that he’s still slightly aroused.

“Completely understand, I'll keep this brief, then. So, the other day, you and I spoke of the use of bardic magic and its position amongst playwrights in Renaissance England.”

“Yes, I recall,” Astarion responds through gritted teeth. He sinks back down in his chair,  resigned to sitting through this conversation.

“And how it was common practice at the time to use magic from the college of swords as decreed by Elizabeth? Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Beaumont and Fletcher, they all used college of swords magic.” Dr. Dekarios’ voice increases in pitch with his excitement. You suppress a sigh, preparing yourself for a long wait in this cramped space. It’s not particularly comfortable, especially with trying to keep out of the way of Astarion’s long legs.

Although…

You might not have to keep out of the way. Maybe if you just… brushed your hand along his leg…

Astarion coughs to hide the sudden intake of breath your touch causes. He crosses his legs and you smile knowing it's to give himself a little reprieve. A feeling you know all too well.

“Yes,” Astarion says, his voice frustratingly steady, “I recall your enthusiasm in telling me this.”

You're trying to read his response. Is he into this? Is this a game he wants to play? You test your luck again, dragging your fingers up his thigh more deliberately. His leg quivers and he shifts his posture as the Arcana professor continues.

“Well, I had a thought. Consider this: Shakespeare brought about a major shift in how we think of the Western theatrical canon as it pertains to bard magic, correct?”

You scooch forward and press your tits into his knees that are now pinched tightly together. You slide your hands up his inner thighs, prying them apart slightly. You lean into his legs further as your hands continue their journey upward, squeezing as they get to the top of his thigh.

He kicks suddenly, a soft thump into the back of the desk. Is he telling you to stop? You pull back and glance up at him, the top of the desk obscuring most of his face. He's stiffly nodding along to Dekarios’ rambling.

“And remind me, what other major storytelling convention did Shakespeare also shift during this time?” You honestly can't tell if he’s actually asking, or giving Astarion a mini exam in his own specialty.

You wait for a response from him. He lets his thighs fall open and gently nudges your hip with the side of his shoe. No, his foot.

This mother fucker is playing footsie with you?

Oh he is definitely into your little game.

You push his legs open again, this time sliding your hands all the way up to his cock, and you feel it twitch beneath the wool of his pants. You gently stroke him and his hips give a subtle twist into you.

“I'm not sure–” Astarion begins, but stops short when his voice cracks. You nuzzle his bulge,  running your lips across it as it hardens. You slip a hand under him and give his balls a gentle squeeze. You can hear his breath stutter, but it's unlikely Dekarios can as he quickly answers his own question.

“The humors, correct? My understanding of non-magic literature isn't fully up to snuff, but I am correct in remembering this, yes?”

You lick a fat stripe across the fabric and you hear a metallic click above your head, like his watch just made sudden contact with the surface of the desk. You can imagine the veins in his hands bulging as he clasps them together tightly.

“Hm, no, ah yes, you are correct. Most English Renaissance playwrights understood characters as a balance or imbalance of the four humors.” Astarion manages to keep his voice relatively even, and you know you need to up your game. You reach up to undo his belt buckle as quietly and efficiently as possible. Luckily, you’re able to hide the noise within Dekarios’ exclamation.

“Yes! That's exactly what I was thinking! So, hear me out. What if these two shifts were related? In moving away from college of swords magic, Shakespeare felt less constrained by the four humors. Or perhaps the other way around?”

You reach into his pants and free his cock, now fully hard, and tease your fingers along his shaft. His hips buck a little more forcefully, as though controlling his movement is growing more difficult. You grip his pelvis tightly, holding it in place, and relishing the fact that you have the control for once. You flick the tip of your tongue across his slit and his hips twitch again under your hands.

“Could be…” is all Astarion can manage to reply. Hopefully at this point Dekarios is in a full-on oration and he won't need to contribute much, if at all.

You pop the head of his cock into your mouth, working the underside of it with your tongue. You clamp your arms down on his thighs, pulling them closer to you and pushing them into your tits. Your inner thighs grow damp as your own arousal quickens. You squirm as a miniscule moan works its way into your mouth. Not loud enough for anyone to hear, you hope, but you're certain that Astarion can feel the vibration because his hips jerk again. His torso and face above, or at least what you can see of it, gives little away.

“And this could even,” Dekarios continues, showing no sign of awareness of anything else happening in the room, “signal the shift into realism, could it not? Beginning with Shakespeare and culminating with Chekhov and Ibsen in the nineteenth century?”

You take in more of him, relaxing your tongue and letting him fill your mouth, discovering his taste. He almost lifts off his chair in his attempt to thrust into you, and you use it as a way to take him in deeper. Your jaw is beginning to ache with how slow you're going, but it's worth it to feel Astarion’s frustrated discomfort.

You can hear him take a slow breath before speaking again.

“You know who would absolutely love this discovery of yours?” His voice is low, smooth, as you bob your mouth on his cock. “Tav, the classical theatre professor. Her office is right down the hall.”

You choke and he deftly covers the sound of your gag with a cough.

“Bless you,” Dekarios says after a fraction of hesitation. He continues as though there was no interruption at all.

“Then I shall share my findings with her! Down the hall, you say?”

“Room 208.”

“Excellent!” Dekarios stands and you wrap your hand around the base of Astarion's shaft, letting some saliva dribble out of your mouth to lubricate it. You can hear the wizard quickly make his way out the door.

“Gale!” Astarion yelps as you twist your hand and swirl your tongue in tandem. He clears his throat and corrects his decorum. “Dr. Dekarios, the door, please.”

“Oh, of course! Apologies,” he says with slight chagrin, and then you hear the latch on the door click. Astarion rolls his chair back and grabs your hair, pulling you out from under the desk.

“You saucy little minx,” he growls and you stumble forward and into his lap, your lips crashing into his. He easily tears through your leggings and underwear, exposing your dripping cunt to the open air.

This man is wracking up quite the clothing bill.

He slides two fingers into you, roughly stretching you out and you groan into his ear. 

“You didn't seem to mind,” you manage to squeak out, repeating his words from earlier with significantly less dignity. You grind onto his fingers with his cock trapped between you, and your clit slides against his shaft. Another shuddering breath rockets through you as your whole body clenches around him.

He yanks his hand out of you and you whimper at the sudden emptiness, but you don't need to wait long for him to grab your waist and sink you down onto his cock. You can feel the skin toward your perineum tear slightly but the stinging pain is nothing compared to the delicious stretch that comes with him bottoming out. He shoves his fingers in your mouth and you arch your back into him, the taste of your own juices flooding your tongue.

He keeps his other hand firm on your lower back as he thrusts up into you. You cling onto his neck, pulling his mouth toward your breasts as they rise and fall with your stuttering breaths. He takes his hand away from your mouth and slides the hem of your dress all the way up to your chin. His lips latch on to your nipple poking through the soft cotton of your bra.

“Gods, fuck,” you groan as you continue to roll your hips into his, and he flicks his tongue against your tit. You push down even further onto him and pull the cup down, pushing your now bare breast into his teeth. His eyes flicker upward, glasses sliding down his nose slightly. You bounce harder on his cock and grip the back of his neck tightly.

“Fuck, please, bite me,” you whine, aching to feel every part of him in you. He doesn't need to be told twice and he sinks his fangs into the sensitive flesh around your nipple. You cry out but try to stifle the noise by pressing your open mouth into his hair. You can smell that citrusy fragrance he wears and your fingers claw into him.

He sucks your blood out from around your tit, and with every swallow he laps his tongue against you, over and over. You're certain his devil tongue will be your demise.

Your pace increases and it becomes harder to suppress your moans. You clamp your mouth shut and bury your face into his ear. He releases your breast and roughly kisses you to keep you quiet, the taste of iron filling your mouth.

You come with an explosive cry that gets swallowed into his kiss. As you're still riding the wave of your orgasm you can feel his, his hips rutting as his dick throbs with the pulse of his semen.

The two of you finally slow, the sticky mess between you squelching lewdly. You listen intently past the sound of your heavy breathing to try to hear any indication that someone overheard. When you deem it safe, you let out a sigh of relief that dissolves into giggles. He drops his forehead into your shoulder as the hem of your dress gets overtaken by gravity and slides down your front

You disentangle yourself from him, wincing slightly at the feeling of him sliding out of your sore pussy. You get a better look at him, your blood still smeared on his lips and chin, his now-flaccid dick slumped above his waistband. You're certain you can't look much better, dress rucked up around your waist, hair mussed and sticking every which way. 

You methodically put yourselves back together, Astarion stuffing his wet dick back into his pants, you straightening your dress and hair. You catch his gaze again and somehow he still manages to make you blush, his crimson eyes peering over his frames. He reaches out to tuck a wayward lock behind your ear.

“Maybe next time we’ll have sex in your office,” he chuckles. You swat his chest playfully only to find yourself drawn into him, not wanting to pull your hand away. It's strangely romantic, and if you were able to think clearly, his hands snaking around your waist might bother you. But your head is still spinning and your cunt is still throbbing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and little could upset you right now.

That is, until the doorknob turns and Dekarios pops his head back in.

“Looks like she’s not–” His voice dies off quickly when he realizes what he's walked in on. He coughs, mumbles an incoherent apology, and backs out quickly.

“I swear to the gods I'm getting a scroll of arcane lock for that damn door,” he growls under his breath, and you lean your forehead against his chest in deflated embarrassment.

[acourtofthought]

Lucien when it comes to Elain:

"Don't just leave her on the damned floor!"

Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain.

Water poured forth, Lucien hoisting Elain in his arms and out of the way.

"Where is he keeping her?" Tell me anyway. List all of them." "I I need to find her."

Given that his own status as a mated male made him uninterested in any sort of female company these days.

"I'm a mated male now."

"I'm getting my mate back."

"Tell me about her - about Elain."

"Is....is there anything I can get for you?"

"Too thin. She must not be eating at all."

Looking at her now....She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But she couldn't breath as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen.

Her eyes were the brown of a fawn's coat.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"She needs fresh air."

"Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two."

"It wasn't just about what he thought - it was the ... feeling. I sensed no ill will, no conniving. Only concern for her. And ... sorrow. Longing."

"Let me do something. About Elain. I heard - from my room. Everything that happened just now. It wouldn't hurt to have a healer look her over. Externally and internally."

"I think she went through something terrible."

"Please tell me," Lucien said when I crossed the threshold into the foyer, "What the healer says. And if - if you need me for anything."

Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye—the longing and sadness.

Lucien. It was Lucien. Lucien, haggard and bloody, panting for breath. As if he'd run from the shore. His gaze settled on Elain, and he sagged a little. "Are you hurt?" he asked, coming toward us. Spying the blood speckling Elain's hand.

"I heard - what happened. I'm sorry for your loss. All of you. "He was a good man, he loved you all very much."

Elain fell into step beside me, peering at Lucien. He noticed it. "I heard you made the killing blow," he said.

To where Lucien now stood in the sitting room, close to Elain's side.

"How is she?"

"Does she still mourn him?

Lucien had encountered him, I realized. Somehow, in living with Jurian and Vassa at the manor, he'd run into Elain's former bethrothed. And managed to leave the human lord breathing.

"The bigger box is for you. The smaller one is for her."

"The pain etching deep into Lucien's face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

Lucien as Lucien:

“She refused, and … Lucien told her to go back to the shit-hole she’d crawled out of. She took his eye as punishment.

I wondered—wondered if being emissary also meant being spymaster.

he’d already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people,

I found that he was running—fast. Faster than anything should be able to move.

“I thought you would have learned your lesson, Lucien. Though this time your silence will damn you as much as your tongue.” Lucien kept his eyes shut. Ready—he was ready for Rhysand to wipe out everything he was, to turn his mind, his self, into dust.

Then, shattering the silence like a shooting star, a voice—Lucien’s—bellowed across the chamber. “TO YOUR LEFT!”

Didn’t you realize I would help you after that? Oath or no oath?”

“Please,” Lucien said, bowing his head gracefully. “The effort to rebuild is our burden to share. It would be our honor.”

Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.

Lucien cleared his throat. “She meant no harm, Tam.” “I know she meant no harm,” he snapped. Lucien held his gaze. “Worse things have happened, worse things can happen. Just relax.”

Lucien had gone on, his tone pleading, Tamlin. Tam. Just let her train, let her master this—if the other High Lords do come for her, let her stand a chance …

a pattern of thinking and feeling that was old, and clever.

“I did it for you, too, you know.” Cold, hard words. “I went with him to get you back.”. “That day you—went away,” he said, struggling to avoid that other word—left. “I beat Tamlin back to the manor—received the message when we were out on the border and raced here. But the only trace of you was that ring, melted between the stones of the parlor. I got rid of it a moment before Tam arrived home to see it.”

Believe me, I’ve asked.” “For me—you asked them for me.” “Yes. I went last winter to inquire about breaking your bargain with Rhys.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I—we didn’t want to give you false hope.

I begged him for more time, but you’d already been gone for months.

My blood chilled. “You didn’t stop him.” “I tried. I begged him for mercy. He didn’t listen. He couldn’t listen.”

Lucien loosed a heavy sigh and slid an arm around my waist, the other threading through my hair to cradle my head. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm sorry.". He held me, stroking soothing lines down my back.

Leave him. I should and could leave him. But to a fate perhaps worse than death. His russet eye gleamed. "Go."

But Lucien was there. / Lucien's sword refracted the light of the sun leaking through the canopy. And then met flesh and bone.

"I could train for as long as I liked, since no one believed I’d be dumb enough to kill my way up the long list of heirs. And when I grew bored with studying and fighting … I learned what I could of the land from its people. Learned about the people, too.”

He waded into the stream, boots off and pants rolled to his knees, and caught one with his bare hands.

Lucien picked them up by their tails as if he'd done it a thousand times. "I'll clean them while you start a fire."

"I had the element of surprise on my side." "No," Lucien said quietly. "That was all you".

Of all the sounds that Lucien so carefully sorted through while he kept watch.

I dreamed that he removed his cloak and added it over my blanket. / I'd been wearing my cloak but he'd indeed given me his.

I think Lucien shouted my name.

Like Rhys, he usually opted for words to win his battles,

He knew how to handle a weapon. How to kill, if need be.

Lucien, to his credit, didn’t back away a step. From Rhys, or me, or the Illyrians. The Clever Fox Stares Down Winged Death.

I counted the heartbeats, debating how much I’d interfere if he said something truly stupid, when he at last murmured, “There is a longer story to be told, it seems.” Smart answer.

He added to Lucien, who did not balk from those writhing shadows,

His talent was wasted in the Spring Court. There was a reason he had that fox mask, you know.”

He’d always had a casual grace about him, but here, tonight, with his hair tied back and jacket buttoned to his neck, he truly looked the part of a High Lord’s son. Handsome, powerful, a bit rakish—but well-mannered and elegant.

Lucien considered. “Can I offer my unsolicited advice?”

Lucien is loyal—fiercely so.

Especially since Lucien had left before breakfast for a library across the city to look up anything in regard to fixing the wall, a task I'd been more than willing to hand over. I might have felt guilty for never giving him a proper tour of Velaris, but.... he seemed eager.

Lucien had offered to make himself useful while we were gone by reading through some of the texts now piled on the tables throughout the sitting room.

"Let me guess: they said yes, but picking the location is now going to be the headache." Mor frowned, "Any suggestions?" Lucien tied back his hair with a strip of brown leather. "Do you have a map?"

“You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—” “I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.”

“It will be—very dangerous.” A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.”

"It was time," Lucien said quietly, giving me a squeeze. "For me to do something."

Cassian had given him free rein yesterday afternoon to loot his personal cache of weapons, though my friend had been economical about which ones he’d selected. The blade, plus a short sword, plus an assortment of daggers. A quiver of arrows and an unstrung bow were tied to his pack.

Rhys extended a hand to Lucien. Lucien studied it—then my mate’s face. I could nearly see all the hateful words they’d spoken. Dangling between them, between that outstretched hand and Lucien’s own. But Lucien took Rhys’s hand. That silent offer of not only transportation.

Seems like Lucien can still play the fox.

Lucien had remained behind to help with any of the human wounded still needing Fae healing, but had promised to come here when he finished.

Lucien had come here out of pity. Mercy.

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

The male was somehow able to move between his three roles - an emissary for the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin - and still dress immaculately.

"Set up the handsome one as High Lord of Autumn"

Perhaps you'll get a handsome fae lord as your mate, too "

"Lucien's cruel beauty"

Sculpted chest

Hard muscles of his shoulders

Broad hands

[stevebabey]

and on the final day on august (not where i am hehe) i bring you my fic for @thefreakandthehair summer fanwork challenge! my prompt was nightswimming, its steddie (duh) and she's a baby 2.2k piece <3 | ao3

— hold my hand and tread the water

The water ebbs around his ankles gently and the ripples move across the lake surface like black slicks of ink, twinkles of moonlight catching on crests of the small waves.

Steve swallows thickly.

Why did he think this was a good idea?

It's not Lover's Lake. He knows it's not— he knows that Hawkins and all its crawling rot, through roots and beneath lakes, is miles away from him.

Steve knows that even with the gate closed, if something slipped by- somehow, he can't think of how- but it doesn't matter, if it did, it surely wouldn't be able to reach him here.

It looks an awful lot like Lover's Lake in the shadow of night.

Steve blinks harshly and curls his toes in the sand, grounding himself by burrowing his feet into the soil. The sound of lapping water was once a sound of comfort, connected to a bout of nostalgia — the sort of comfort that can only come with a routine of familiarity.

Swimming used to mean... it was the exhilaration of the dive. It was the pleasant burn in his muscles and the blaze deep in his lungs as he held his breath as long as possible, pushing the limit every time.

It was the gasp, the relief of breaking the surface, a moment of loud noise before he submerged once again, muted rushing water the only sound. It was the long and solid strokes that he carved through water with. Swimming always used to to make him feel strong.

And now... there's this new fear rooted within him.

But, hell, there's lots of things that the years of fighting and surviving the Upside Down had taken from him. Steve will be damned if he adds swimming to the list.

"—Steve?"

Eddie's voice is suddenly beside him, right in his ear, and Steve flinches, dragged abruptly from his wandering thoughts. He tears his eyes from the swirling lake surface to find the other man beside him, brown eyes searching with that glaze of concern. There's a furrow in his brows. Steve feels the warmth of his hand before it lands on his shoulder, tentative and wary.

"Are you okay?" Eddie asks quietly, like speaking any louder might spook Steve more. He has this tone to his voice, the one that Steve thinks might be reserved just for him. He hasn't heard Eddie use it on anyone else. His usual loud and raucous voice, so normally used for jeering and loud heckles, completely softened.

It softens Steve every time Eddie uses it.

"We don't gotta do this tonight, if you don't wanna."

"I want to."

The words rush up his throat and stick a little on the way out. Steve clears his throat and digs his feet further into the sand.

One of his hands creeps up his chest til his fingers brush against Eddie's own hand, still holding his shoulder. He meets Eddie's gaze for a moment before an intensity seizes his chest and that recognizable lurch in his heart forces his gaze away.

That lack of courage is new too. Though, that's one thing he can't seem to blame on the Upside Down.

"It's the last one." Steve murmurs, eyes back on the lake ahead of them. Faint crickets fill the orchestra of the night around them, an occasional frog tuning in with a ribbit! Something splashes in the distance.

It is the last one. The last fear to conquer to reclaim back that piece of himself. Through out their whole silly and impromptu road-trip, they've pushed that slimy fear further and further down in Steve. Burning it away, making it smaller, til Steve was feeling bigger and better. They started in a pool, in the daylight, Eddie's open palms and soothing eyes coaxing him back into the water.

Here is the end. The last one. A lake in the night time.

Steve can feel the fear curdling in his gut, the tenseness in his muscles, every single instinct that's kept him alive for the past five years screaming at him to not get in. He feels like a house of cards, ready to topple in the slightest breeze, just drinking in the sight before him. Eddie's hand on his shoulder might be the only thing keeping him steady.

He could leave, could avoid swimming during the nighttime, could retract into himself every time that sticky fear licked up his spine— bringing back memories of vines tight around his ankle, pulling, tugging, drowning him, and— Steve clears the memory with a violent twitch, muscles jumping in their tenseness.

He's so sick of being in survival mode.

Eddie's fingers on his shoulder flex, gifting a comforting squeeze. Steve can see the chipped black polish on them in his peripheral, bare of their usual rings, prepared to swim because Eddie always gets in with him. They always swim together. God, Steve's not sure what he'd do without him.

Steve swallows again, the stone is his throat budging this time as the want surges up deep in his chest; he wants to make some goddamn new memories too.

"Can you..." He murmurs, finally turning his head to peer at Eddie beside him.

"Of course," Eddie answers his unvoiced question easily, beginning to wade into the lake a little further.

The water sloshes around his ankles, climbing up his calves, and Steve's gaze drags up with it, lingering on Eddie's milky white thighs. There's another tattoo there, a sphinx-like character, curled up and stark in it's dark colour against his pale complexion.

Steve hadn't been able to hide his staring the first time they'd swum together — a tiny bright-tiled pool in a motel, one or two states back — completely entranced by the swirling ink and the bareness of Eddie's thighs.

Eddie had caught his gawking with a smug sort of grin and ribbed him for it, tugging the fabric of his swim shorts up higher to show off the full piece. Mercifully, he didn't point out the flush it brought onto Steve's cheeks. Steve had apologised, both for his staring and for doing it in one of the more improper places, but Eddie had only given that wicked beautiful smile.

"M'used to stares, Steve." He said, not nearly as bitter as Steve thinks he's entitled to be considering the man-hunt set on him. "You don't look at me like them."

Looking at the stretch of his thigh now, tattoo partially hidden away, Steve ponders Eddie's words to keep the itch of panic at the back of his neck away. What had Eddie meant? Just how he does look at him?

Some girls like long looks, like feeling eyes raking them up and down hungrily but most of them like skirting glances, always glancing away if they've caught Steve watching. Eager glances at thighs and down chests are certainly not encouraged. It's a game of back and forth. One can't be seen to be too eager, too ravenous.

Except for, Eddie seems the complete opposite. He catches Steve's keen gaze, he spots the staring and relishes in it — like Steve's attention is something is something divine and Eddie will drink in all he can get.

It doesn't feel like it's a prize the way it did in high school, girls vying for King Steve's attention. It feels... Eddie makes it feel like something to revere.

"C'mon, sweetheart." Eddie croons, beckoning Steve into the lake and away from his distracted thoughts. He's got his hand outstretched, palm up, calloused fingers relaxed and inviting Steve to hold them with his own.

He does. He's not sure when it became a thing, holding hands — probably sometime when they upgraded from pools to rivers and lakes — but Steve's grateful for it. Eddie's fingers blanch beneath the tight grip but if it pains Eddie, he makes no move to show it on his face.

Steve grips tighter. When Eddie drifts back a step, the dark water licking an inch higher on his legs, he lets himself be pulled along. Step by step. He keeps his eyes ahead, even as the other peers down into the dark water momentarily.

Eddie gasps and a jolt of fright fires off, deep in Steve's gut. He clutches Eddie's hand tighter and Eddie's head pops up, squeezing Steve's hand back.

"Fucking chilly, is all, okay? My balls are freezing, Jesus. H. Christ."

He does this silly little hop like it's going to help the chill of the night-time lake-water. It's a funny enough sight that Steve doesn't try to stifle his shaky laughter and some of his panic melts away with it. He still doesn't look down.

Eddie scrunches his nose up and then narrows his eyes at Steve. "You're laughing now."

Steve sticks out his tongue — and bites it harshly as the water sweeps up past his waist, submerging his swimming trunks and everything below. Fucking hell, it is cold. Eddie wasn't lying.

As far as each of their swims have been — there's been six altogether, or seven if you count the high bath they took together, which Steve doesn't — this one is going smoother than what he's come to expect. There's still that prickle down his spine, like ice ghosting atop his skin, but Steve can shake it in a shiver.

The water looms higher, swallowing the plains of his stomach and Steve can feel his neck craning up, trying to get taller. Still, he takes the next step. And the next.

Suddenly, there's a brush against his leg— scaly and mucky and he knows it's not what he imagines it to be but there's no clamping down the instinct built in. His heart slams in his chest and his practiced even slow breaths transform into rapid bursts, this dread clawing deep into his gut. Steve can feel his hackles rise, knows his hand must be twisting tighter and tighter in Eddie's grip.

It all shows as a minuscule reaction on his face. Steve knows because Robin told him once—regarded him with that crinkled look once when the panic attack had crept up on him during a shift, then uttered an oh shit! once she realised what was happening.

You're too good at that. She'd told once he'd managed to calm down, head between his knees in the employee room out the back.

What?

Good at hiding it. Robin said, nudging his shoulder. He can't tell from her tone it's a good or bad thing. Maybe, it's neither. You look so calm all the time, even when you're panicking.

Eddie's come to learn the signs too. The specific pinch in his eyebrows, the twitchiness of his lips.

"Woah, woah, hey, hey," He brings the two of them closer, no longer leading them out. Eddie's dark eyes dart across his face, a wrinkle in his brow as he tries to soothe. "Just a stupid fish, nothin' to worry about, you're good."

His hands travel as he speak, shaking off Steve's tight grip to slide up his tan arms. Steve's hands shoot out, desperate to hold something, to cling to something, his big hands enveloping Eddie's wrists as the other rubs gently at his biceps. Fingers curl around the tanned skin and beg Steve closer, beginning to sink down in the water as he does.

"C'mon, you're safe." He murmurs and Steve, hanging onto tight, sinks down with him. The water climbs higher, lapping at his collarbones. Steve clings tighter, clenching up in preparation. "S'just you, me, and the fishies."

"If you think that's all that's in here, you know even less about lakes than I thought," Steve grits out.

"Shit, really?" Eddie asks. Then after another moment, "You think there's crocs in here?"

"You didn't even check?"

Eddie's grin rivals the moonlight, cheeky and delighted. "Course I did," Then he scoffs dramatically, tossing his head back. Some of his hair hits the water with a splash. "Can't believe you don't trust me at all, after all this time together."

A sly smile fights to reach Steve's face; he lets it win. His panic isn't dissolved completely, just lingering in the back— but it's been beat out by his interest in conversation with Eddie, in the strange flirt they keep seeming to do.

"I don't have any trust in you at all since you picked Motel Evergreen and—"

His words get smushed beneath Eddie's palm, warm and soft against his mouth, as the other boy narrows his eyes. "Shut your pretty mouth, Steve. You promised you wouldn't bring that up again."

Even as he threatens, Eddie's eyes light with a mirth and there's that glorious grin on his face and oh god, Steve wants to kiss him.

Like a vacuum, the panic sucks out of him in a single moment as the tide turns and his nerves turn to that. Fuck. Eddie's hand slips from his face, nervous he's gotten too close, too touchy. And, well, Steve's always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, so he says;

"Make me."

Something glitters across Eddie's face, a bewilderment dipped with glee. For a moment, his expression shutters as he tries to comprehend what's been said. What's been offered.

He lands on an astute, "What?"

Steve sinks into the lake and kicks off the bottom, water swishing as he starts to tread water. His feet kick and he has half a mind to spray Eddie with a face full of icy lake water but he's got that doe-eyed exuberance that Steve adores, like he's daring to let himself believe what Steve's saying.

So, instead Steve holds his hand out. He treads the water and says, "I said, make me."

Eddie doesn't waste another second.

[rea-grimm]

Angel of Death Law

You were lying in bed and couldn't sleep. You had already lived in the dormitory for over half a year and you and your roommate had been friends for many years. Even after such a long time, it was difficult for you to fall asleep there. Maybe the stress from the upcoming exams was also to blame.

Your friend had no problem with that. She lay down in bed and was asleep within a minute. You envied her quite often. You could roll over from side to side but without sleep.

This was one of those endless nights where you couldn't sleep. You lay down and counted the hours until morning. The only sound in the room was the regular loud breathing of your friend.

You were wondering how to fall asleep when a figure in black appeared in the room. You thought it was a vivid dream.

The figure looked around the room and you found out that it was a young man who looked just a little older than you. You were lying with your head hidden behind the table when you looked at him, as it was hard to see your face.

You thought it was a dream for several reasons. Massive black wings grew from his back and he held a scythe in his hand. He also had a skull-like mask on his head. It was something like a dream.

The angel of Death looked in your direction and at that moment you instinctively closed your eyes and pretended to be asleep. After a moment of silence, you opened them again to find him leaning over your friend.

He was mumbling something under his breath, but you couldn't understand what. You were surprised that your friend hadn't woken up yet. She lay there motionless as if nothing.

At this, the angel spread his scythe and slashed through her. Where it crossed it you saw a pale blue light that went towards the ceiling and evaporated.

As the light went out from your friend, the Angel of Death turned in your direction. You immediately covered your head with the duvet, hoping he wouldn't notice you.

You expected that when you took the covers off his head, he wouldn't be there, that it was just a dream. However, when you pulled the duvet down, you flinched in shock and nearly slammed into the wall.

"It's not your time yet," he said sternly, his golden eyes shining like two stars in the darkness. At that, the angel glared and your eyes met one last time before he flapped his wings and disappeared.

You somehow processed the shock, you rubbed your eyes and turned on the light. You needed to make sure it was just a dream.

You had a bad feeling about it and went over to your friend to be safe. You hesitated to wake her up when you noticed that her chest wasn't rising at all.

You addressed her and shook her shoulder. Nothing. She still looked like she was sleeping. You put your ear to her chest. You didn't hear anything. Her heart was not beating.

You immediately panicked. You were able to call 911, but you felt like you didn't know exactly what to say. The lady on the phone calmed you down and sent help.

However, before the ambulance arrived, you woke up your neighbours to help you and you took turns in resuscitation. However, when the ambulance arrived, they also tried, but it was too late.

After about a week of mourning, you had to come back. The school wasn't waiting for anyone. It was still a strange feeling to be back in the same room. Until now, you have seen your friend sleeping there peacefully...

A few days later, you received an envelope telling you that you were due for your regular doctor's appointment. But it also had a change on it, where your doctor went on maternity leave and Dr. Trafalgar D Water Law was there instead. 

You had never heard of him, but you didn't care. You just wanted to get it over with quickly.

You sat in the waiting room until it was your turn. The nurse invited you in, took your blood pressure, and then sent you to the doctor's office.

But as soon as you walked through the door, you were in shock. Across from you at the table sat a black-haired youth with golden eyes. Until now, you've seen that face before going to bed.

His eyes didn't glow like they did at night, but you could see the black wings and the skull mask he had on the side of his head.

You turned on your heel and ran away. You ran into the room where the nurse was and headed for the first door. However, when you opened them, it was a storehouse of cards.

You immediately ran to the next door, but a nurse stood in front of you with a worried look.

“I'll come another time,” You said and were about to grab the handle when the angel of Death came out of the doctor's office. Panic slowly took hold of you and you shaked like a leaf in the wind.

“I don't want to die,” You whimpered as he took your arm. The nurse looked at the doctor and you couldn't understand how she couldn't see it. The mask alone was terrifying.

"I can handle it. They are just a bit in shock,” he told his nurse before locking eyes with you. He led you back to the doctor's office where he sat you in the chair across from him.

"I guess you can see them," he said, pointing to his wings which moved slightly. You nodded your head in agreement, wondering where he left his scythe.

"Normal people like you shouldn't see them," he said, rubbing his eyes. It didn't make sense to him.

"You have no reason to be afraid. I don't kill people on a whim,” he said in a muffled voice when he saw the look on your face. “I took the Hippocratic Oath damn it,” he added.

"Then why did you kill my friend?" you asked when you found enough courage.

“Y/N, right? I know you have questions. I have them too. However, there is no time or place for them now. There are other patients outside waiting for treatment…” he began.

In the end, you had him do a medical check-up and you agreed that when he was done, you would go for coffee and he would tell you what really happened.

At the agreed time, you arrived in front of the hospital, where you waited for him for a while. Within minutes he was out of the hospital. He was wearing a yellow shirt, a blue coat, jeans with black spots and a white hat with black spots.

He looked around before he noticed you and made his way over to you. He apologized for the delay due to a lot of patients before heading to the local coffee shop. There you ordered your drinks and sat down to the furthest corner, where there were a minimum of people.

There you asked him again about your friend's Death. Law explained to you that she had a congenital heart condition that had been passed down through her family for a generation.

When he told you this, you remembered how her grandfather died in his sleep a year ago. Law explained to you that her heart was like a time bomb. Stress, physical exertion, all of this could be triggered at any time. He even explained to you that even if she hadn’t died that night, there wasn't much time left.

In return, he asked about you and your family. If you didn't have an angel or something supernatural, but you didn't know anything about it.

Even after all that, you had questions for each other and agreed on further meetings. However, that slowly changed, as it was no longer just about questions, but about the fact that you enjoyed spending time together. Despite all that, you found your way to each other.

“Law?” you approached him while you were at his house where he had prepared a candlelit dinner for the two of you.

“Hmm, what is it, Rea-ya?” He asked as you sat on the couch and he had one arm around your shoulders.

"Why do you always wear that mask?" that was one of the questions you wanted to ask her in the long house. Law looked at you and removed the mask from his head.

“Each type of angel has some mark that differentiates us,” he explained, putting the mask on his face as he should wear it properly.

"And also so that people don't recognize us," he added and took the mask off his face. He never liked to wear it, preferring to wear it on the side of his head where it wouldn't get in the way.

You nodded your head that you understood and for a moment there was silence again and the only sound was the series you were watching.

"Can I touch your wings?" you asked him after a while. You knew he was pretty snappy about them, to begin with, but now that you'd been together for a while, you were curious.

“Sure,” he said, sitting up better and half a wing so you could touch him. You carefully ran your fingers into his feathers. Law shuddered under your touch and a weak groan of satisfaction escaped his mouth.

You continued caressing his wing and you had never seen him so relaxed in your life. He was completely melting on the spot and wanting more.

It eventually became your little tradition of grooming his feathers and stroking his wings. Especially after a long and hard day.

He laid face down on the bed and spread his wings so you could access them better. He almost fell asleep with it a few times.

For that, he then pulled you close and covered you with his wings, which were much nicer and warmer than a classic duvet.

Law Masterlist

Angel of Death Law art

[life-is-more-than-just-a-game]

Request: nsfw chishiya x female reader. A story where the reader tells or thinks about her dirtiest fantasys with chishiya how she wants a wild night with him or how he satisfies her (s*x, c*mming*,being h*rny, everything can be included)

♠️ "Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to sleep with Chishiya?!" ♠️

A/N: It's really impressive how fast people are when it comes to requests. I mean, no complains, it's just ... wow! 😊

I haven't even posted much and still got contacted by others, giving their wishes, what they would like to read. I actually don't know if it's going to be what you imagined, but I still hope you'll like and enjoy it!

Thanks for your request in that case, my lovely anonymous! That means a lot to me, seriously. 🫶🏻✨

Characters: Chishiya

POV: fem!reader ; Smut!

Warnings: NSFW, please don't read if you don't feel comfortable with sexual content and when you are under 18 years old!

"Okay, I swore I'd never talk to anyone about this, but haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to sleep with Chishiya?"

Kuina and I are calmly walking through the ruined streets of Borderlands after completing a game, while we knock some dust off our respective bodies. I don't know why I'm suddenly blurting this out. It's probably because I've been thinking about it for far too long and I know that Kuina and Chishiya have been hanging out for far longer than I have.

"I mean, come on- as calm and collected as he always is. Sex with him would definitely be extremely … interesting. There's a saying where I think that would suit him pretty well- oh, my elbow is bleeding…" I pause for a moment to consider the wound as best I can. In the end, however, I just shrug my shoulders and remain unimpressed. It doesn't even hurt ... well, so far. "Anyway, there's a saying that I'm sure it describes him very good in bed."

"Are you really talking to me about how you think Chishiya is in bed?!"

"Why don't you hear me out?!" Kuina looks at me, stunned. It's funny how she faces me with those big eyes and that open mouth. I could just laugh, but I pull myself together because there is something I really need to get off my chest:

"Still waters are deep and dirty. Pretty sure sex with him is just like that!"

"What have I actually gotten myself into here …?" My counterpart grasps his forehead in bewilderment.

Believe me, I'd like to stop talking about it myself, but I just can't! And do you know why? Because this man simply drives me crazy. Really, I've wondered what it would be like to sleep with a lot of people at the beach. My thoughts were with Aguni. With Niragi. With some other guys I don't know by name. And no matter what I do, I always end up coming back to Chishiya, who not only creates chaos in my head- but also in my body.

No, not because I have sex with him. That would make things a lot easier, but because I lie in bed at night and start doing it to myself to my thoughts and fantasies with him. I'm lucky that I have a single room and rarely if ever have to share it with anyone else. If that wasn't the case, I would have a huge problem. I wouldn't be able to concentrate on the essentials in games of life and death because I'd be there as a horny, dripping waterfall. Just because I wouldn't be able to put my fingers inside my core, making myself feel good and satisfied. Pah, that's absurd, not gonna lie!

"That guy won't let me sleep peacefully either." Kuina immediately turns back to me before letting out a somewhat annoyed sigh and going on her way. But I don't let her shake me off that easily, which is why I follow her- and eventually just keep talking, whether she wants to hear it or not. I just need to talk about that and then I'll never tell anyone about my thoughts again. "Once I woke up in the middle of the night because I had a fucking orgasm in my sleep …"

"Wonderful." The sarcasm and disinterest of the woman next to me is hard to ignore, but somehow it annoys me a little that she has such a reaction.

A reaction that makes you think that dreaming about hot sex with a man you find attractive is the most normal thing in the world.

"In my sleep, Kuina!"

"All right, I got it, Y/N!" Suddenly she stops and just looks at me.

It's hard to tell what's going on inside her right now. The look on her face is somehow telling. Literally. Not just her face. It's also her posture and her tone of voice. On the one hand, she seems tense, but her verbal communication also gives me the feeling of passivity and inattention. In addition to such patterns, she also grins to herself and seems a little amused by my statements.

"Do you want to tell me what exactly you have in mind for him?" Have I piqued her interest after all? "Maybe … that you'll have sex in the pool while you're surrounded by other people who could catch you at any time? Or … are you perhaps more attracted to the idea of him fucking you in front of a mirror, where he makes sure you get a good view of him penetrating you again and again and again, sometime slower, sometime faster, sometime deeper and sometime softer or harder?"

"I wasn't prepared for that …" Honestly, the way she responds to your words leaves you speechless. "

"But if you ask like that-"

"Please tell me you don't-"

"The last time I masturbated myself to sleep, I thought about what it would be like if he fucked me that night in the hotel lobby." Silence. "I mean, everyone's lying in bed doing their own thing. The couch in the lobby is free, the lights are off, and we're having sex with each other…on the soft fabric of the couch." The silence gets louder. "We're standing in front of it. Making out with each other a little bit. Sticking our tongues down each other's throats, our hands roaming… over every part of the body you can reach." Shit, just the thought of it makes me horny again. "Then he kisses down my neck, I sigh and moan pleasurably to myself as he runs over my curves and tries to drive me crazy by biting my sensitive skin here and there and giving me a few lovely hickeys, to show everyone that I correspond solely to HIS territory…" Now the silence during the breaks is just embarrassing, but I still can't help but grin broadly and enthusiastically, already knowing how the story will continue. "And then we'll have a really good time on the sofa, with the risk of getting caught by someone because I can't control my moans while he plays with my clitoris… slides his fingers into me… licking my pussy with his tongue or penetrating me with the tip of his tongue to drive me completely crazy before driving his cock into my pussy and stimulating my most sensitive spot over and over again~." By now Kuina is making a pretty disgusted face, but if she doesn't interrupt me or even run away, my story can't be that bad, can it? "And if no one looks where the moans are coming from, then the next morning everyone will still know who did it so well for me because I will scream his name through the whole hotel. He fills me with his entire length and with his As he climaxes, his thrusts become more and more irregular and deeper because he wants to inject his sperm into me as deeply as possible…" I'm wet.

I notice how my panties are getting wetter and wetter. How I literally start to drip. It's extremely difficult for me to keep my eyes open because I'm just feeling so much sexual desire again. Again just because I'm thinking about Chishiya and what it would be like to feel him inside me. To be filled by him.

"Are you done now ... ?" Kuina asks after we've been silent for a little more than a minute after my last sentence. "Please, be done now!"

A simple "Yup" is the answer to everything before I bring up another "And now I have to find a toilet real quick". Just walking past my companion, who gave me an unexpected "Are ... you going to masturbate?" which I only responded with an approving “Coooorrect!” before she finally freed from me.

A/N: God, sometimes I was laughing so hard while writing this, I'm so sorry. 😂

[dsudis]

Adaptive Tea Making

For @domaystic Day 5: Learning Something New.

Dream is human now, and determined to learn how to make his beloved a cup of tea. He just has a small difficulty with time to get over.

___

Hob looked over at Dream, who was perched on a stool at the kitchen bench with his ever-present notebook open to a fresh page, his phone unlocked beside it, and an actual stopwatch beside that. He had a pencil in his hand, freshly sharpened, and a second pencil also perfectly sharpened set beside the notebook.

Hob had secondhand text anxiety just looking at those pencils. 

"Ready?" Hob asked, though surely it was not possible to be more ready than Dream currently was. 

Dream didn't even meet his gaze, his eyes fixed firmly on Hob's hands. "Ready. Please show me, one more time, how to make a cup of tea the way you like it." 

As Dream spoke he wrote on the pristine notebook page: Hob's tea instructions. His handwriting was crooked and crabbed but legible. 

"So--there's water in the kettle already," Hob said, feeling like possibly he was the one being tested. However he made this cup of tea, Dream would continue making this exact cup of tea for him forever. 

Hob was fine with that. Hob would frankly have been fine with continuing to get wildly undrinkable cups of tea from Dream forever, but Dream was determined to learn this particular human skill correctly, and seemed somehow convinced that this time he was going to crack it. 

Hob flipped the switch. Dream turned on a timer on his phone and then wrote down the first two steps: water in kettle and turn on kettle. He also wrote to one side, Phone timer: total length of process and drew a little line beside it to be filled in with a number later. 

They had learned, after Dream had committed a series of frankly baffling tea mishaps including "hot water with no detectable trace of tea" and "oversteeped to the point of activating an immortal's gag reflex through sheer bitterness" and "boiled the kettle dry" that Dream had no real sense of how time passed. It passed how he wished it to pass, in the Dreaming, and even in the Waking he had always been able to nudge reality a bit to make the flow of time conform to his narrative sense or personal convenience.  

Now that he was divested of those powers and operating a human body, the linear flow of time had so far made absolutely no impression on Dream. Hob had had to point out to him things like "if you wake up and it is still dark, it is still night, and you will probably want to go back to sleep until it's light out" and how often meals should happen.  

It was the tea that had made it clear that even telling Dream times when things should happen was not very helpful to him. He couldn't seem to hold the numbers in his head or make sense of them when he consulted a clock. Hob had simply started giving him other ways of gauging the passage of time, teaching him about the sun's position in the sky at mealtimes and when Hob returned from work, and about the activity of people visible from the windows, and which programs on the telly corresponded reliably to morning, afternoon, and evening. 

Hob had spent long stretches of time--most of his life, really--without access to clocks. People nowadays were obsessed with them, and with precise timing for everything, but Dream wouldn't need to worry about being punctual to a work shift or keeping all sorts of appointments. Hob could help him with where precision was needed, and could teach him to get along where it wasn't. 

Tea, unfortunately, was a matter of some precision. When the kettle let out the first gurgles, Hob grabbed the tea canister. "Plenty of times I just use bag tea, but my insufferably posh lover seems set on spoiling me, so," Hob scooped tea into the strawberry-shaped infuser. "This is what we've got in place of a tea bag. Time-wise, either should work the same." 

Dream faithfully wrote down prepare infuser (or tea bag).

"The timing for the kettle will change a bit. A smaller amount of water boils faster. There's a bit over two cups in right now," Hob pointed to the line on the side, "so it takes a little over two minutes." 

Dream wrote down kettle boils and then waited watchfully until the kettle hit its automatic shutoff and consulted the time. Kettle shuts off, he wrote down, and then 2:38 with a tidy little asterisk beside it.

"Infuser goes in mug," Hob narrated. "Pour the water over it, leave about an inch at the top for milk. And start your stopwatch, because this is the bit I couldn't tell you, because I do it by feel." 

Dream started the stopwatch and scribbled down more notes, drawing a little box for the all-important steeping time to be entered. Hob watched the mug, wondering once again how he did know when it was done steeping. He'd tried more than once to describe it to Dream, but none of his descriptions had been at all helpful--as proven by the various disastrous cups of tea--and had only frustrated both of them. 

He wanted to fill the silence, but Hob didn't dare mess this up for Dream, when he was so determined to get this right. Most of human life had come easily enough to him, once he set himself to adapt to it, but tea had thwarted him. Hob was a little worried that Dream was building this up into some kind of epic battle of wills he had to win to Succeed At Being Human. 

Dream looked up at him expectantly and Hob looked back down at his mug, a little worried that he'd gotten distracted--he'd certainly oversteeped his tea enough times for one reason or another--but no, a sniff and a glance told him it wasn't quite there yet. "Almost," Hob said. "Not really a bad cup of tea if you stop now, but not quite." He drummed his fingers, waiting for-- 

"Ah," Hob said, "Now." He reached for the infuser and lifted it out, and the stopwatch clicked at the exact instant it cleared the top of the mug. Hob set the infuser in the sink and then swirled the cup of tea, giving it another sniff to be sure, but yes, that was a just-right cup of tea. He grabbed the jug of milk and looked to see that Dream was intently watching before he poured in a dollop. 

Dream's eyes narrowed slightly and then he nodded and wrote down a specific liquid volume that Hob was sure was in fact precisely correct--Dream's spatial skills were laser-accurate and slightly unnerving.  

"And a spoonful of sugar, because I'm feeling like it today," Hob said. "I do honey sometimes. Sometimes two spoonfuls of sugar." He stirred in the sugar and sipped. "And that's--" 

Dream clicked the timer on his phone and recorded the time, then picked up the phone and tapped rapidly at it. "Tell me that the water should boil about now," Dream said, and held out the phone like a reporter's microphone. 

"Water should be boiling about now," Hob parroted obediently.  

Dream nodded, tapped at the phone again, and said, "Now tell me the tea is ready."  

When Dream held out the phone, Hob said, "Tea's ready, love." 

Dream was startled into a smile at that addition, and asked, "How is it?" 

"Just right," Hob said. "But if you--" 

Dream shook his head, still smiling, and went back to tapping at things on his phone. "These things are amazing, you know?" Dream said. "I thought I would have to learn magic, but these are like little prosthetic memories. If you work out all the steps, you can make it do all these things for you. Well, not for you, you don't need it. For me." 

"I mean, I'd be lost without my calendar and things," Hob said. He'd never thought of technology to solve Dream's difficulty with time. He'd thought it was just more clocks all the way down, there. 

"Watch," Dream said, and then, to his phone, "Computer, making a cup of tea." 

"Acknowledged," his phone replied, because Dream had watched possibly too many sci-fi movies with Hob at what had turned out to be a formative time in his life. "When there is water in the kettle, turn the kettle on." 

Dream mimed flipping the switch on the kettle. 

Nothing happened, since Dream was still a good yard away from the kettle. Reminded, Hob ran some more water into it and put it back. He was sipping his tea again and nearly choked on it when his own voice came from Dream's phone. "Water should be boiling about now." 

"Computer, wait," Dream said, and the phone was back to its Computer voice when it said, "Acknowledged." 

"In case there is more water in the kettle," Dream said. "If there is less, I will be able to tell it to skip ahead when the water boils." 

"Computer, resume," Dream added to the phone. 

"Prepare the infuser, then pour boiling water over it." 

Dream mimed dropping the infuser into the mug, then pouring the water. "Computer, steeping." 

"Steeping," the computer said, sounding slightly stilted like it had had to assemble that word from individual sounds instead of having it pre-recorded.  

"I'll be able to use this for anything to do with timing," Dream said, scratching down more notes in his notebook. "I just have to set the intervals and key phrases, and optionally recordings for specific announcements, and then I will be able to do things that need timing. As long as I have my phone. Possibly I should get one of those watches." 

"That's no trouble, then," Hob said, pulling out his own phone to order a watch to sync with Dream's phone. "And you know I'm always happy to be your speaking clock, love."  

Dream came around the bench and kissed him, curling a hand around Hob's on his mug. "I shall feed you your lines when I need them," Dream said, and somehow it was desperately romantic and made Hob so proud he could cry, knowing Dream knew that Hob would always be glad to help him do things in his own way. 

He opened his mouth to try to say it, his heart almost too full for words, and was cut off by his own voice from Dream's phone. "Tea's ready, love." 

[Now on Ao3!]

[futurecorps3]

Hey! I was wondering if you could write a Kaz brekker x reader fic. Where the reader has a nightmare and Kaz comforts them if you can please.

𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

Masterlist<3

Summary: Req sums it up!! Pairing: Kaz Brekker x fem!reader Warnings: Mentions of drowning, death, nightmares ofc and I think that's it, lmk if I missed any Word Count: 674. tiny!! Requested: Yes

There it was. That heavy feeling in her chest. Y/N could recognize it anywhere; it was part of her routine now, and she couldn't be more grateful. Kaz's arm pressed tightly against her, guarding her even in her sleep. She smiled contently and opened her eyes after tilting her head to see her lover's hand.

Or so she thought.

A big rock tied with a rope stared back at her, beginning her descent into some large body of swampish water, as if her stare was its cue to stop resisting gravity. She tried moving her hands in a futile attempt to swim to the surface, to try and overpower the force of the rock against the water and her body, but they were also tied.

Y/N watched as the light got further and further away. She was still holding her breath but soon realized that this was the end of her. Kaz came to mind immediately. God, she'll miss him. Will she even be able to miss? Soon enough, she thought, when water filled her lungs, the mystery of existence would be answered.

She hoped whatever awaited her, whether it was a perpetual calm or a realm filled with endless meadows and a place to rest, would be nicer than the life she led before she met him. He was a lifeline. Ironic, isn't it? She probably would've laughed if she wasn't about to die.

Should she pray for a quick recovery for Kaz? It will be hard for him to get back up. They both knew almost by experience that there was no God or Saint, but like, what if, right? She didn't know any prayers, so she did not pray. Y/N really hoped he got back on track quickly, though. After all, routine was everything for him, and now she wouldn't be able to brew him a nice cup of tea every morning like she had been doing for the past five years.

"I hope he can find his cup in the drawer; it's a bit hidden so Jesper doesn't take it," she thought as she sank even further, just like the pebbles she used to throw on the beach with her sister all those years ago. Tears started streaming down her face, and she could somehow feel them, like they couldn't blend in the water that surrounded her. She was scared. She didn't want to die scared.

In all those years working with the crows, Y/N was certain her life was on the line in every single job they performed, but that didn't scare her. If she died during a heist, she'd die surrounded by the man and friends she loved; there were certainly worse fates than a fatal bullet wound. Fates like this one. She'll die cold, wet, and her body would probably never be found. That did scare her.

Then there was an impulse to move that washed over her. To do anything in her power to at least try and get out of this situation. She kept sinking, now squirming and failing to squeeze herself out of the ropes. Desperation came, and she started screaming, her lungs filling up quickly. She started coughing violently, closing her eyes and then a pang to her heart.

"Y/N, wake up!"

The girl was greeted by a pair of concerned, brown eyes that she wouldn't mind drowning in. She immediately noticed she was sweaty under her nightshirt, and her collarbones were also wet, but from the tears that ran down all the way from her eyes to there.

It was a nightmare.

As she composed herself a little, her boyfriend lit the oil lamp they kept on her nightstand and crawled back to her. "Breathe for me, Y/N. Come on," the girl heard faintly, still in a sleepy stupor. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath. Kaz took her hand and placed it over his chest, just like she did when he had trouble similar to this.

It was rare now, but the first nights they spent together were often filled with sweet nothings whispered and labored breaths in an attempt to calm Kaz's racing heart and mind. She blinked rapidly and tried wiping her eyes dry. "It's okay, breathe with me, love," he whispered, rocking both of them back and forth gently as his girlfriend tried to follow his pace.

The Bastard of the Barrel may have dreaded few things in this life, but seeing his girl suffering, at the mercy of her own mind (which also happened to conjure the most beautiful depictions of love, translated in words and acts that warmed his heart), was almost unbearable. He knew the feeling all too well, and to even think she had to go through it all as well made him sick.

So he did what he knew helped.

He stayed there for long minutes, breathing consciously for the both of them and whispering things like "You're doing so good, it's okay" or "You're fine, love. Steady breaths... there you go." Words of affirmation worked heavily on her, and Kaz was very aware, so he resorted to them immediately.

After a long while, the room stopped spinning for Y/N, and she could breathe normally again. She hugged Kaz in an exhausted manner, whispering a small "thank you" that made her sound almost frightened of breaking her newfound peace. Her eyes felt heavier than before when she first got into bed with Kaz, and she just rolled over and lay next to him, turning to face him.

He had this calming aura to him. She couldn't explain it as anything other than magical, and since both of her best friends were Grisha, she wouldn't be surprised if it was. The girl stared at her boyfriend's eyes and felt safe and warm inside; the complete opposite of whatever was happening in her head just moments ago.

"Bad dream?" he asked, stroking her hand beneath the covers. "Yes. A very bad one," Y/N feebly uttered. "Do you want to talk about it before we go back to sleep?" "You worked hard all day, and I don't feel like—" "You know I don't mind." That was true. Kaz had a horrid sleeping schedule, even when she tried to keep him in check, which meant he spent most of his nights reading or planning their next heist. Truth is, he'd stay up listening to Y/N and comforting her rather than buried in piles of blueprints and books.

"I'm drained, w-we can talk about it in the morning. When there's more light," she nodded, smiling a little bit before closing her eyes, not before grabbing her boyfriend's hand and circling it around her waist. "Wait," he grumbled, getting up and checking if her eyes were open again, the bed dipping behind him. She looked at him quizzically, resting her weight on her arms and contemplating murder if he didn't let her rest after that literal nightmare.

"What?" "Your shirt is wet, you might catch a cold if you sleep in that when you get warmer in a while," he said absentmindedly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, dodging Y/N's side of the bureau fully on purpose and grabbed one of his black sleep shirts, walking with soft steps towards the bed.

"Up," he asked, and his girlfriend's heart melted when he carefully replaced the clothing, making sure the fit was right, even when his would be inevitably longer on her shorter frame. "Better?" the Bastard of the Barrel mumbled, looking at her while folding the discarded shirt and tossing it gently over to the loveseat they had at the foot of their bed.

"Never better. T-thank you, love," Y/N smiled, getting back into her position and receiving a peck on the cheek, courtesy of the man who once broke a man's fingers one by one because he wouldn't tell him where she was, followed by a small "Always" before cuddling back.

They talked about her nightmare in the morning over coffee, and the silliness of her ever feeling anything other than safer when Kaz Brekker was around hit her. She had never known such peace before him, and he promised that no matter what, she'd never die on his watch. Y/N was counting on that.

˚ · • . ° .

Holy shit this is so short and it took so long cause I'm going through writer's block!! I'm so sorry. Hope you enjoyed nonnie<3

Remember, the best way to support writer’s works on here is by REBLOGGING WITH TAGS. I’d very much appreciate it if you did!

Thanks again, stranger. Hope you have a nice day<3

NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO REPOST AS THEIR OWN/TRANSLATE/OR COPY MY WORK IN ANY PLATFORM OR SPACE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT CONSENT.