#wine is so good and i am such a light weight | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

verbenaa · 8 days

Text

to eden | chapter 8

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “You spoil me darling, really. But I am simple man—” Rin stops him off with a look of admonishment, cutting off his sentence to start her own.

“A simple show for a simple man, then.”She hopes her emphasis on the words will speak loudly enough for him to understand the meaning of them as she mockingly bows towards him.

“I take offense to that assessment, you know.” Astarion huffs with a frown, casting his head aside to instead take a sip of his errant goblet of wine, already forgotten beside him.

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F!Tav

𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E, 18+

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 14.8k 😮‍💨

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: mentions of torture/abuse, mild descriptions of blood/gore, striptease (?), fingering, cunnilingus, vampire bites (duh), handjobs, piv sex, multiple orgasms, Soft Dom Astarion returns 😌

��/𝓃: hellooooo, sorry it's taken so long for me to get this written and posted! but it's here now and I very much hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts about the chapter, too!

ao3

masterlist

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

The air is quiet, the ever-present darkness lingering around them like a stagnant weight. Rin finds that she quite hates it, no matter how lovely the promise the warmth of Last Light Inn and its alcohol is to be.

Her fingers are poised on one of the delicate strings of her lyre as she strums it lightly, a low hum reverberating out from the instrument that fills the air with what she hopes will be something that sounds effortless, beautiful, ethereal.

She frowns at the sound of it from where she leans against a conveniently placed rock near the fire, the note falling flat as it dies in the silence of the dark night.

“You’re off.” A familiar voice echoes out from above, the sound of it supercilious and downright annoying, as she huffs out a breath in minute agitation.

With a turn of her head, Rin sends Astarion a withering look from where he lounges, imperious, on the rock right above her; a book held in his hand as he reads by the light of the roaring fire.

“And so is your stitching, but you don’t hear me calling you out on it, now do you?”

His stitching wasn’t, of course. It was always practiced, perfect, and near precise—Astarion as good with a needle as he was with a knife or an arrow.

But, as always, he didn’t have to know that. He has enough of an ego as it is and Rin has no intentions of adding to it unnecessarily.

Astarion flips the page with unnecessary force, his obvious agitation dragging a secret smile to her lips that she hides into the strings of her lyre.

He really made it far too easy to tease him, sometimes.

Astarion hmphs into the nighttime air, looking astutely back down at the book in his lap in an attempt to ignore her as she bites back a laugh that threatens to break free.

Rin turns her attention back to the instrument in her hands, fingers running down the carved edge of it as her mind wanders aimlessly in the silence and she stares out at the utterly boring landscape.

It was pretty, she supposes, if one cared for a setting devoid of most kinds of life. Ultimately, there was just not terribly much for her to look at, leaving her with nothing but the amusement of her own thoughts, much to her frustration.

There wasn’t much left for her to do but think, it seemed.

Rin had already eaten dinner while conversing with Gale; engaged in some gossip over a glass of wine with Shadowheart; discussed the merits of carnivorous fauna with Halsin; indulged Lae’zel in a practice sparring session (which she lost quite terribly, much to Astarion’s joy and Lae’zel’s disappointment at Rin’s apparent lack of skill); shared a nice pint from the inn with Karlach; and then watched on as Astarion drained poor Wyll dry of some gold in a game of cards (she’ll have to try to figure out how to get him his money back, one way or another).

She would probably have to beg Astarion to do it—something she was not eager to do, but would for the sake of Wyll and all his noble, princely goodness.

Perhaps she should try to steal it off of him, instead. It certainly would make for a good challenge, at the very least, provided she didn’t get caught doing it. Rin has no doubt the cost for that particular crime would be steep, one that she doesn’t know if she can afford to pay for.

Astarion already spent enough time in her thoughts as it was, the price nothing more than that of her precious yet dwindling sanity. She already feels as though she is slowly losing her mind every time she replays the events of the other night over in her head, no longer than a mere week ago.

She and Astarion had both quite politely ignored the events of that night, the memory of the closeness of their lips and the things she had said settling into the recesses of her mind as if they were nothing more than a dream, one that haunts her when she lays down her head onto her sad excuse for a pillow.

It was a lapse in judgment, at the very least. The klauthgrass had clearly addled her mind more than she thought when she looks back on it. It’s the only logical reason she would ever had said the things she did—whether spoken from her lips or written down in a letter never to be sent.

She also still needed to burn the damn letter, but that was neither here nor there.

What mattered was that they had settled back into their usual camaraderie, trading cutting words and sly smiles back and forth with one another as they had always done despite a brand new, gently simmering tension that now lay just underneath the surface.

But it was fine.

Rin was nothing if not an expert at ignoring the things that were bothering her, was she not? Their little…situation was simply that.

A situation.

One that was easily forgettable once she set her mind to actually forgetting about it.

Rin trades that particular line of thinking out with a deep exhale, shoving it back into a conveniently placed box in a corner of her mind and instead sets to retuning the instrument in her hands, worn pine both familiar and comforting as its weight rests against her.

Her wonderful, familiar lyre that had been with her for years now, through both thick and thin. It hadn’t helped her make terribly much gold, but it had been a better friend to her than any person had over the years.

She turns the pegs on the back of it little by little, tiny twists of her fingers adjusting the strings in a way she hopes will make her next attempt at song better and not worse.

The night flows by as she sits in the warmth of the fire, the soft crackles of the logs soothing as Rin retunes the instrument until she’s finally happy with what she hopes will be a drastic improvement to the earlier noise it had made.

With a satisfied sigh, Rin moves to strum at her lyre, fingers just about to touch the strings when a biting voice interrupts her.

“I do hope you didn’t make it worse. My poor ears can’t take much more abuse.”

Rin ignores the jab with a serene blink before deigning not to answer as her raised hand closes into a fist, nails biting into her palm as she prays to anyone listening for an ounce of patience.

In lieu of violence—despite him deserving it—she sees a perfect opportunity to turn the conversation from another of her apparent failures onto one of his instead.

She turns to look at him with a sly look, fixing him with clever eyes alight with mischief.

“You know, Astarion, I happened to read something quite interesting in one of the books I found at The Waning Moon.”

Astarion turns another page in his book as he feigns disinterest, but his eyes don’t scan the rows of elvish decorating the page in neatly printed rows. “Oh? Do tell, then. Was it something violent? Gory? Scandalous?”

“Scandalous, certainly. I seem to have come across a small little volume that contained a list,” Rin’s brows waggle conspiratorially. “A list of banned patrons.”

Astarion’s interest is firmly piqued as soon as she says the words, finally looking up from the tome in his lap to focus on her, indifference giving way to a fiendish gleam in his eye.

“You should have said so from the start. Tell me more, darling, what are the offenses? Give me all the sordid details.”

He leans in closer from his seat above her, Astarion and his flair for the dramatic never failing to amuse her and she can’t help the equally wicked smile that spreads across her lips in response.

“Most of them were ordinary—you know, the standard. Bar fights, skipping the bill, unnecessary wanton activity with a pickle. But there was one that really stuck out to me, quite a striking description frankly. I think it said something along the lines of ‘a pale elf with a snide mouth’ that apparently insulted someone of particular importance. Sound familiar?”

“Well, whoever they are sounds like they had a fantastic time to me.” His smile is devious as he smirks. “In fact, I’d say that whoever it was deserved such words.”

“Oh, I have no doubt. I’m sure the insults thrown were of the highest calibre, as well.”

Astarion grin is a roguish one that looks terribly handsome on his features but something heavy intercedes over the amusement in his eyes as the deeper meaning behind that seemingly small and unimportant notation sinks in.

The smirk falls slowly from Astarion’s lips, a slight darkness settling across the features of his face as the corners of his mouth turn down ever so slightly.

Ah. Of course.

“You have no memory of ever coming here, do you?” She softens her voice, only slightly, but she has no doubt Astarion notices the change regardless.

“No. I’ve already told you I don’t have many memories from my life before Cazador,” He snaps. “But clearly I’ve here before. Obviously.”

Rin had given some thought to the presumed Astarion of before in the rare moments of peace that were few and far in between, when her mind was free to wander before sleep overtook her.

The Astarion that existed before the tadpole, before Cazador. Back when his heart still beat and his skin was flushed with life. Astarion, with not-red eyes, wearing finely tailored silks and wools, drinking the richest of wines; for he was sure to have been wealthy.

She had spent many years watching the upper echelons of Baldur’s Gate from her place on the streets, staring up into their windows at twilight to watch them swoon and twirl in their finery, and Astarion moved like the best of them—graceful and elegant, proud and arrogant.

He had been a magistrate, or so he had said.

She could only trust so many of the words that come from his lips, but somehow the image of Astarion in ostentatious robes handing down whatever judgement he deemed worthy is far too easy for her to envision for her to entirely disbelieve the notion.

But he must have had a family, surely.

Parents, siblings, friends—perhaps even a lover or two. Or three, knowing him.

Gods forbid he had sired any children.

But the implication remains all the same. So many questions, almost all of which he may never know the answers to.

“You should be proud, Astarion.” Rin attempts a tiny bit of levity, though it doesn’t seem to help. “An annoyance both alive and undead. Not many could ever hope to achieve such a thing.”

“Well,” he sniffs with an air of put-on pride, smile weak. “It’s nice to know I’m consistent, at least.”

“You did get thrown out of a tavern last time you were here. Perhaps this trip to sweet, little Reithwin is faring much better than the one prior. Your last visit didn’t have me present, after all.”

“My last visit was probably still more peaceful, I’d wager. I doubt I was busy being vexed by a senseless blonde bard all the while having a worm buried in my head.” His voice raises a few octaves as he narrows his eyes at her.

She would rather have his ire than his sorrow, it’s a much better sight than the mournful look beginning to creep over his features.

“Presumably weren’t being vexed by a senseless blonde bard.” Rin shoots Astarion a small smile. “Maybe you have a type.”

He only gives a mirthless laugh in response.

“I am sorry, Astarion. I wish you were able to remember more.”

Astarion sighs, uncharacteristically defeated and the sound of it has her chest tightening.

“Yet another thing I can add to the unending list of things that Cazador took from me. From us.”

“Us?” Rin muses over the word, the answer to a question she had long considered but never managed to ask, not amongst the seemingly never-ending amount of things that popped up on their list to be taken care of. “So, you aren’t the only one, then? Of Cazador’s spawn, I mean.”

She briefly worries she’s overstepped an invisible boundary, that Astarion will shut her down and storm away without another word, leaving her with no answer to the question.

Her curiosity about him grows with every passing day and she simply wants to know more about him.

Not the charming, surface level vanity he would normally put forward for her, but the real Astarion.

The one who tells her and only her small stories about himself and his life, the one who responds to her silly little letters, the one who had thanked her, with actual gratitude, drawing of his scars in hand.

The Astarion who—for some unfathomable reason—no matter how much he may complain or insult her, still chooses her above all others to spend his time with.

Rin turns to look up at him, the straightening of his spine obvious even in the darkness of the camp. Astarion, for his part, takes her question in stride, though there’s a telltale tightness around his mouth that signals his ever-present bitterness at Cazador’s mention.

He nods, the motion stiff as Rin’s brows draw together into a frown.

“There were seven of us, in all. Brothers and sisters, as he liked to call us. Quite the family.” Astarion lets out a derisive laugh, words acrimonious as he spits them out.

Ruby red eyes look ahead, his gaze catching on nothing in particular as he stares at the barren world on the other side of the water, the landscape as bleak as his expression.

“But I was one of his first. He was a monster to us all. Tortured us. Carved the same thing into my back as he did into all of theirs. But Cazador took a special pleasure in my pain. In my screams. He said my screams sounded sweetest.”

And oh, how her heart twists to hear the fragile timbre of his voice as his breath hitches, an undercurrent of agony flowing so readily and truthful from him.

Rin averts her eyes as his voice breaks on the last few words, settling her vision on one of the red ferns flowing in the ever-present breeze in an attempt to let him keep some of his suffering to himself, to leave some of his dignity in tact.

It’s the least she can do.

“And now that I’m gone…I don’t know. I pity the other six.” Astarion takes a deep, bracing breath, his sorrow palpable, and Rin’s chest aches again.

She doesn’t have anything to say, and how could she?

Oh, terribly sorry you spent two centuries being tortured unendingly. That must have been awful. You didn’t deserve it, Astarion.

No, any words of consolation she has only seem to fall flat in the face of his misery. He doesn’t need her to tell him about how horrible it is, how neither he nor his siblings deserved the pain, the anguish, the endless torture that Cazador dished out on a whim to bend and break them all to his will.

The only thing Rin can think to give him is her own paltry attempt at comfort as she leans in towards him slowly until her head rests just against the side of his leg in silent consolation.

He doesn’t like to be touched at the best of times, but somehow she knows he would hate the inevitable pity he would choose to find in her words much worse.

Astarion freezes, muscles tensing as if in wait for something, sending a sharp look down at the messily braided head now resting against his knee. But when nothing other than the presence of her subtle weight leaning against him ever comes, the only movement she makes the easy in and out of her breathing, he relaxes slightly.

Rin doesn’t dare to look up at him, instead returning her attention back to the lyre still in her arms. With a careful hand, her fingers come up to strum at a string, followed by another and another and another; music flowing out from the instrument in a slow, soft melody.

It’s nothing in particular that the plays; no well-known song or tune, only a series of notes and chords she pieces together with minimal thought that somehow manages to sound more lovely than anything she’s had luck playing the past week.

Eventually, she hears the soft rustle of a page being flipped once more as Astarion returns to his book, no words spoken to break the silence between them as Rin keeps her head resting just against him, playing her song just for him.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

She should know better, by now, than to ever be surprised by the horrors they come across—and yet, as she had walked into the operating theatre of the so-called House of Healing, her footsteps quiet over the dark, ornate, and rotting woodwork, she still managed to be shocked by what she beheld as she had peeked over the railing.

She had noticed the man first. It was impossible to not have when his blood, a bright red incarnadine, was splattered across the walls and dripping onto the floors in sickly streams. She followed the trail of it to the source, taking in the carnage of his body; eyes no more than bloodied pits and mouth opened in silent scream as he writhes on the table, somehow still alive despite the butchering of his body.

A moment later, her eyes drifted over to Doctor Malus Thorm in all his horror; elbow deep in his victim’s innards with hands that were no longer quite hands, digits turned instead into some sort of mechanical claws as he lectures aloud to the sightless nurses who stood uselessly around the body.

She had stepped into that theatre expecting a battle, her own blood to be added to all that had already been spilled and soaked into the grooves in the wood over the many years.

Instead, she managed something quite different. Something possibly worse.

She hadn’t assumed that she would be able to kill him with only her words, not when the menace of him spelled violence and promised pain, a Shar devotee to the bitter end.

And yet, it was with words that she had convinced him to sacrifice himself to his nurses, a dark turn of events that somehow seemed to fit the narrative of this terrible place all too well.

She blames the power she feels when his body finally gives its last, miserable breath on the shadow curse, on the innate darkness of this place, on the tadpole.

Any excuse works, so long as it covers up the fact that she had liked it.

It was the very same power she had felt when the other two Thorms fell; silvered words falling off her tongue to bend them to her will and end them both without her having to lift a single, gloved finger.

It had only been a small inconvenience to finish off the remaining Sisters of Mercy after they had done Rin’s dirty work for her, their trepans and bonesaws no match for her rapier, Karlach’s axe, Shadowheart’s spells, and Astarion’s blood thirst.

Her heart still beats too quick, the sound of it loud in her ears as she stands stock still on a bated breath—in fear, in anxiety, in a strange and twisted excitement.

It’s both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.

Rin wants nothing to do with it.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side.” Shadowheart remarks quietly with a laugh from beside her, breaking the silence of the aftermath. There’s a new awe present in the cleric’s voice that Rin hates the sound of.

Rin looks at her friend with a small smile. “So long as you don’t get in the way of me and a good time, we’ll be dandy.”

“I wouldn’t dare after that performance.” Shadowheart laughs, a twinkling little sound, and it breaks up a bit of the nerves that had settled in her chest.

“Well. That was positively sickening. Who knew there would be so much fun to be found here?” Astarion sheathes his dagger with a twist of his wrist, the added flourish elegant as blood flicks off the blade and splatters onto the ground. “Though I do wish for a more satisfying kill. I’m in desperate need of a snack.”

Karlach claps a hand on Astarion’s shoulder with enough force that he only just manages to keep his footing. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we can find something else alive for you to sink your fangs into.”

“Does all that blood not quite do it for you, Astarion?” Shadowheart gestures with a raised brow to the drops of blood still dripping off of the surgical table, a nauseating mixture of both the man's and Thorm’s blending together.

“Hardly.” Astarion crinkles his nose at the thick, dark ichor. “I’ve had worse, but it smells terrible and I can’t imagine it tastes much better.”

Rin glances up at Astarion beside her, taking in his somehow paler than normal complexion and a thought hits her, her brow furrowing in consideration.

When was the last time he had fed?

And what on?

He had been subsisting on a diet of—well, mostly her, honestly; along with the occasional forest creature.

Astarion certainly hadn’t tasted her since their last night on the Mountain Pass, longer than he’s ever gone without her blood since his first feed from her all those moons ago.

Rin had become so used to his little visits, popping into her tent during the evening to have his fill of her—blood and more. The absence of them since has felt surprisingly stark, a loss she didn’t realize she would mourn in the wake of the palpable tension that had settled between them no matter how hard they each attempted to ignore it.

For just as surely as he hadn’t drank from her neck, he had not come to taste the rest of her either; their nights spent instead trading remarks back and forth by the fire.

Not that she was complaining.

Quite the contrary.

She had found herself growing quite fond of this new aspect of their relationship that they had eased into; trading stories and anecdotes with each other over a bottle of wine or a game of cards, he reading his books while she plays her music, Astarion working on his stitching as she looks on and inevitably bothers him with her presence.

It was…nice. Normal, almost.

Or whatever their version of nice and normal was.

Rin snaps herself out of her thoughts with a blink and turns to her companions with a nod, hoping the daze she was in doesn’t show on her face. “Right then. Let’s loot, shall we?”

They meander their way about the rest of the room, navigating their way around the bodies and books scattered about the floor, some of the thin pages now soaked with the blood of the fallen. They don’t find terribly much, some gold here or an interesting text there.

But mostly, it’s all useless.

Rin thinks that at one time, the quatrefoil tiles lining the floors of this place must have been beautiful—crisp, clean white contrasting against vibrant blue.

Now, though, they are covered in long streaks of dark, sticky blood, the ichor long staining tile and grout alike; the corners of them chipping as they step over them on their way out of the long hallway at the entry of the building.

Rin falls back beside Astarion as they make their way onto the uneven cobblestones of Reithwin, gnarled roots threatening to trip her as they grow up in between the grooves. With a small smile and nod, she gestures for Shadowheart to take the lead, the cleric walking ahead as her long braid bounces behind her.

She falls into step with him easily, matching his pace as she keeps her eyes ahead, always on the lookout for what the next danger to jump out at them will be.

“Have you been hunting recently?” It’s a casual question, no accusation in her tone as she stretches her arms behind her back.

Astarion casts a surreptitious glance her way, eyes wandering across her profile as she stays looking ahead. “There’s precious little living here, my dear.”

“Then why haven’t you come to me? You’ve never cared about bothering me before when you would pop into my tent unannounced.”

“I-” Astarion looks away from her for a moment before returning his gaze to her. “I assumed you needed a break to…replenish your sources."

His non-answer has one of Rin’s brows drawing up in skepticism, which he readily ignores. However, the thought of him perhaps not coming to her for her own health is almost sweet, if believable.

If.

She’s not so sure that it’s the truth, but she will take it at face value, for now.

“Astarion,” she leans towards him to give him a slight nudge with her elbow, the touch light. “I think my ‘sources’ have been thoroughly replenished. You can feed on me tonight, if you’d like.”

It would be careless of her, as a leader, to let him continue to starve himself. She’s only doing the most responsible thing by offering herself up to him again. It’s for the better of their entire party and Faerûn at large, wasn’t it? The Absolute wasn’t going to just disappear into thin air, after all.

And if it happened to mean she got to spend a little extra time with him—well, that would be nothing more than luck on her part.

“Well, if you’re offering, sweet thing,” His lips curl up in a smirk, eyes alight with a predator’s gleam at the promise of her blood. “Come find me in my tent tonight, darling, and we shall feast.”

“Feast? Shall there be something there for me then, as well?” Rin releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and glances up at him with a small, secret smile that has a corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

“Only the best for my favorite little treat.”

“Careful, you’ll spoil me.” If only, she thinks, and the thought is terribly traitorous as she bites down on a corner of her lip in hopes of stopping the pink that threatens to rise to her cheeks.

But from the answering smirk on Astarion’s face as they venture further into the into the crushing darkness of Reithwin’s destroyed streets she thinks he must able to glean the thought on his own.

“We can’t have that, now can we?”

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

Rin steels herself outside the flap of Astarion’s tent, readying herself for whatever waits for her inside. She isn’t sure why she’s so nervous. It wasn’t like he hadn’t fed from her before.

Or slept with her, for that matter.

There’s no flickering flame to be seen from the outside of his tent, nothing to give her any sort of hint of what possibly awaits her inside aside from him, his silhouette undecipherable in the darkness.

With a deep breath, she pulls the flap to the side and steps forward, a familiar scent—rich brandy curling together with earthy rosemary and fresh bergamot—swirling in the air as her eyes land on the vampire in question.

“Well,” Astarion lounges casually against his bedroll as his eyes find her own, leaning back on his elbows with enviable ease as a silver goblet rests beside him. “Hello there, darling.”

Her eyes are drawn to the exposed skin of his chest, the sight of him waiting for her shirtless so reminiscent to that first night together that she pulls up short.

It felt like eons ago, now; her traipsing through the forest outside of the Emerald Grove to find him waiting in a picturesque clearing for her and her alone. While there was no soft grass with charming little flowers to decorate the ground and no glittering moonlight to beam down upon them and highlight their skin as they moved together—she feels just as out of her depth now as she did then, when she had discovered him with his shirt already off and honeyed words just waiting to fall from his lips.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long again.” Rin snatches her eyes up from his chest to meet his own, a smirk already decorating his lips at her momentary distraction.

“Oh, I’ll always wait for you, beautiful.” Her eyes roll despite herself as she lets out a huff at such trite words.

“Did you need a nibble or should I see myself out?” She points behind herself to the exit of his tent for emphasis, brow arched.

“Let’s not be hasty, shall we?” Astarion answers a touch too quickly as he sits up a little higher, body tensing as if ready to jump up in the event she were to actually leave. “I would so hate to see you go.”

He must be hungry, then, if he’s so desperate for her presence.

Rin smiles at him as she looks around the tent expectantly, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she spies not a single treat aside from an empty goblet she presumes to be for her. “You know, I recall you promising me a feast.”

Astarion has the audacity to not look even the tiniest bit sheepish as her eyes narrow and her bottom lip juts out into a pout, a noise of frustration escaping from her lips. She should have known better than to trust a vampire when it came to procuring treats.

“I’m short on baked goods, pet, but I can promise you something else delicious instead.” His intent is obvious as he sends her a decidedly suggestive look. “Won’t you give me a show first, though?”

“I didn’t realize you were in need of entertainment, Astarion. I could always bring Volo in to recite some poetry while you dine, if you’d like.”

“A charming idea, to be sure.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “But I was thinking of something a little more…intimate.”

Astarion eyes her form tip to toe as she stands in front of him, but it lacks the casual closeness she’s come to expect from him, something in the forced insincerity of the gesture grating.

“Make yourself comfortable. Stay awhile,” He gestures passively with a wave of his hand through the air towards where she stands as he continues. “Get yourself out of those wretched clothes, for example. You look much prettier without them on, anyways.”

Irritation sparks along the line of her mouth, emerald eyes sharpening as she stares at him. Weeks ago, the words would have had her blushing and the beginnings of desire kindling in her belly; but now they fall lifeless upon her ears, none of the ease and familiarity she has come to enjoy during their little interludes present in them.

The words are merely mechanic—as calculated and practiced as they were on that very first night.

Worse, it doesn’t even seem like he enjoys saying the words, the sound of them hollow as they leave his mouth and the smirk pasted on his lips halfhearted.

It feels utterly obvious once she realizes what he’s trying to do and she can see through his ill-prepared idea with ease, this little power play of his nothing more than a paltry attempt to control their situation, some sort of damage control after the other night.

They’ve both given too much of themselves now to return to the shallow, impersonal relationship they once had whether he likes it or not, and Rin will be damned if she lets him call the shots and force them back to the beginning.

But, if Astarion wants to play a game—well, she’s never been one to turn down an opportunity to win.

Rin looks down at her clothes with a pointed look and while they were perhaps nothing fancy—the oversized linen and worn leather may be simple but they were far from wretched.

“Well. I’d hate to offend your delicate sensibilities.” Her smile is an inch too wide to be believable, betraying her irritation. “Shall I do a twirl for you as well? Or perhaps you would like a little trick?”

Rin holds up her hand, ready to ignis the damned tent if necessary to illustrate her point. Nothing that a few gold and a trip to dear Withers couldn’t fix if she accidentally managed to char him in the process.

“You spoil me darling, really. But I am simple man—” Rin stops him off with a look of admonishment, cutting off his sentence to start her own.

“A simple show for a simple man, then.” She hopes her emphasis on the words will speak loudly enough for him to understand the meaning of them as she mockingly bows towards him.

“I take offense to that assessment, you know.” Astarion huffs with a frown, casting his head aside to instead take a sip of his errant goblet of wine, already forgotten beside him.

His eyes are drawn quickly back to the center of his tent when he hears the soft rustle of fabric, returning to Rin just in time to catch a glimpse of her hands running down the front of her blouse. “It’s a perfectly reasonable one, if you ask me.”

Astarion frowns, opening his mouth to protest before quickly shutting it as her hands reach the waistband of her pants, fingers dipping just beneath the worn leather. Rin raises her brow, a teasing smile forming on her lips now that she has his attention.

Any irritation she feels is tempered by the thrill of Astarion’s gaze so set on her, his complete focus hers and hers alone as honest interest finally sparks to life in those red eyes of his.

With little flourish she begins to pull her leggings down her legs, peeling the pants away from her skin with less grace than she would prefer, but it would have to do. She kicks them to the side once she frees herself from them, uncaring where they land as she adjusts to the cool air of the night against newly bared skin that Astarion’s eyes rove.

“Do you think I should take this off next?” She thumbs at the hem of her shirt, examining the fraying stitching at the hem in desperate need of a mend. She’d have to ask Astarion to do it for her, damn it. “Since you find it so offensive and all that.”

“Be my guest, darling.” He gestures with a hand towards the garment, a corner of his mouth lifting. “I’ll even do you a favor and burn it for you for later.”

“How kind of you to go through all the trouble.”

Rin’s smile is wry as she grabs the hem of her plain tunic and deftly lifts it over her head before dropping it.

It drifts to the ground, fluttering down softly to fall in a graceless heap beside her bare legs, Astarion’s eyes darkening ever so slightly at the sight of her in nothing more than an unadorned corset and plain underwear, upping her confidence tenfold as she lets a corner of her mouth lift.

“I suppose you’ll want to burn this too?” She runs her fingers teasingly across the top edge of the corset, her touch light as she brushes against the cotton and the plush of her breasts where they spill out above the garment.

She hadn’t worn it with the intent of being admired, but when Astarion’s eyes follow every brush of her fingers against her breasts she’s suddenly quite grateful that she had chosen to wear it tonight instead of opting to go without as she normally would have, if only for it to act as a different kind of armor—one last layer to bolster her defenses in a battle she will surely lose.

Astarion swallows, legs shifting slightly as his eyes caress over her curves. “We can negotiate the corset.”

“Your kindness truly knows no bounds.” Her fingers hover over the looped bow that sits at her breasts, tied in a hurry earlier after she had changed out of her armor.

The corset itself was nothing more than a plain ivory cotton—no expensive satin or fine boning—but when she pulls at the laces keeping the pretty little bow tied at the center of her cleavage, the tiniest bit of her full breasts exposed with the motion, the look in Astarion’s eyes could fool her into thinking it was the finest thing he had ever seen.

Little by little, she pulls every cross of the laces, freeing more and more of herself with every delicate yank of her fingers as Astarion’s eyes obediently follow every inch of skin exposed until she reaches the last one, tugging it gently to loosen the final cross.

It hangs loose around her form, the curve of her breasts just visible with the line of skin exposed down her chest. Rin wills her hands to steady under Astarion’s study as she brings them up to the straps on her shoulders, pushing each one off so she can shrug out of the garment.

With one last push, the corset falls to the ground at her feet and she steps out of the circle of it before sending it aside with a soft kick.

Rin’s breasts pebble in the cool air, heat beginning to curl deep in her stomach under Astarion’s watchful gaze. She keeps her limbs loose, relaxed; her face at ease as she meets his eyes.

“You aren’t quite finished yet, my sweet.” Astarion’s voice is tight as he gestures with a brief nod towards her nearly naked form, gaze moving from her bare breasts and down lower to linger on her still-clothed center.

“You know, I think I’ve grown tired of being your entertainment,” She cocks her head to the side, unbound waves of darkened wheat—the color barely discernible in the darkness of his tent—cascading with the movement. “If you want them off so badly, do it yourself.”

He raises a brow in question but obliges her nonetheless, moving from where he had been so indolently reclined against his bedroll as he watches her with keen eyes.

With slow, careful steps Astarion makes his way towards where she stands before him and she is helpless but to admire the way his muscles shift on his lithe form, the grace with which he moves as he stalks closer to her that of a predator on the hunt for his prey.

And what was she, she supposes, if not his prey? It was why she had come here tonight, after all—to let him drink his fill of her blood with his lips at her neck, sucking down her life’s essence to his heart’s content.

She certainly feels like his prey, at least. How could she feel anything but when he moves around her in a slow circle, eyes brushing over her bared skin like a lover’s caress, knowing and intimate.

Astarion moves around her in another perfect circle before he finishes his perusal, stopping to stand behind her close enough to touch, his bare chest almost brushing against her spine. Familiar hands come to her waist as his head lowers to rest upon her shoulder, thumbs rubbing light circles into the skin.

His lips press a featherlight kiss to her jaw that has her catching a breath. “Who said you were in charge here, my dear?”

His touch is electric against her skin, and Rin resists the urge to lean back into him, to press against the coolness of his chest and relish the feeling of his skin on hers. His mouth is terribly distracting where he adorns her with little kisses across the curve of her jaw and down the line of her neck, and she briefly wonders if he means to bite her just like this, held tight in the circle of his arms.

“Whoever said that you were?” Rin counters back with a glance out of the corner of her eye to where his cheek rests against her shoulder, ignoring the wetness that has begun to pool between her thighs.

She has no intention of giving into his every want and demand, or at least not yet.

The hands bracketing her waist begin to move despite his protests, sliding down over her hips with frustrating slowness until he reaches the hem of her embarrassingly simple underwear.

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Astarion sighs dramatically against the column of her throat. “Must you be so difficult?"

There’s an unexpected fondness in his voice, an affection that she can’t remember if she’s ever heard so openly from him before that has the air around them changing; shifting from something practiced and performative to familiar and lovely and absolutely perfect.

The sound of it has a shred of something warm blossoming in Rin’s chest—unknown but not entirely unwelcome, she decides.

He plays at the edge of her panties, fingers toying with the thin cotton where it rests against her skin on either hip, his touch sending another wave of heat straight to her core as she bites back a sigh at the sensation.

“You should be aware by now that listening has never been one of my strong suits.”

“Yes, well,” Astarion’s fingers hook into both sides of her underwear before beginning to pull, the garment sliding down over her hips and bottom as Astarion sinks down with it. “You seem to remember how to follow my instructions when it counts, dearest.”

He drops silently to his knees behind Rin, dragging her underwear down her legs as he goes, each slide of the fabric against her skin only serving to heighten the heat kindling inside her. She gingerly steps out of each leg, desperately wishing she could see what he must look like lowered behind her in such a manner—the sight of him on his knees surely one that she has seen in her dreams of him.

But before she can make up her mind to steal a glance or even just turn, Astarion is gliding back up her body, hands glancing against her skin as he goes, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“You know, I thought I came here for you to feed on.” It’s an effort to keep her voice steady as his arms wrap back around her waist, touch cool against her skin.

His head lowers back to her ear, lips brushing against the shell as a shiver of anticipation runs down her spine. “Oh, you did. But I don’t see why we can’t have a little fun as well. It’s been awhile, darling, and I’ve missed you.”

A hand traces down her stomach in a teasing touch; long, sweeping lines of his fingertips back and forth across her skin brushing down until he reaches the apex of her thighs.

Astarion moves at a glacial pace as his fingers dip lower and lower until they find their way to her center, swiping through her folds to spread her essence on the tips of them as Rin’s head falls back onto his shoulder, a sigh escaping her lips as he explores.

“Miss my blood or miss me?” Rin’s lashes flutter shut as he runs his fingers up and down her, careful to avoid the two places she wants him to touch most as she flushes at the evidence of her arousal he finds.

“Can’t it be both?” His fingers finally find her entrance, tracing around the edge in slow circles as she sharply inhales.

She’s not ready to admit how much she wants to believe him that he had missed her, had missed this—the easy intimacy they had been building together bit by bit. It’s a dizzying thought, one that has her heart skipping a beat that he surely can hear this close.

“With you? Unlikely.”

“Why, you think so little of me, darling.” Astarion punctuates his words with the press of a finger slowly in; and were it any other time, the mock outrage coloring his voice would draw a laugh from her.

This time, however, he draws a moan from her instead as he pushes deeper, seating his finger inside her before slowly withdrawing.

“Give me more to think about, then.” Rin sighs, lips opened as she tries to still her hips.

“Only if you ask nicely.” He smiles into her skin, lips brushing against the column of her throat as he pushes back in, sliding home to the knuckle.

Her mind ceases to a halt on whatever clever words she had been preparing when a hand draws up to her breast and cups it, Astarion’s touch a balm against her over-warm skin as he runs his thumb over the hardened peak.

Astarion’s finger moves only barely inside her, but it’s enough for Rin to feel it, friction building in her core with the simple motion. She should be embarrassed by how quickly he has worked her up, her ire so easily forgotten when wrapped in his arms and at the mercy of his skilled hands.

He’s lucky that she likes him, for she would never allow anyone else such lenience. Though, she would never allow anyone else the opportunity to get quite so close to her, either—a thought that borders on terrifying if she thinks too long about it.

A second finger joins the first, and she welcomes the slight stretch as he finally begins to pump them while he mouths at her neck, moving in a steady rhythm that has a fire burning deep in her core as she moans in relief.

Astarion’s pace is easy and unconcerned as he thrusts in and out lazily, slowly building her up higher and higher with every press forward. Her curls pillow against his pale skin as she sighs at the pleasure coursing through her, that welcome heat billowing deep inside her. His thumb finds her clit and rolls against it in soft circles as her lips open in a low moan, limbs tightening at the added touch.

The hand cupping her breast runs back down to her waist to wrap around the circle of it, fingertips stroking her skin as he secures her closer to him and the outline of his cock presses hard against her ass.

Rin can feel the grin he hides in her neck as he breathes in the scent of her and his fingers curl, searching for the place to make her fall apart under his hands. He moves them just right, finding that one spot, and she cries out as her hips buck into his palm.

“Ah, Astarion!”

“Yes, darling?” He curls his fingers again and she practically melts in his hold, the arm he has wrapped around her waist squeezing tighter to keep her upright. “Did you have something you wanted to say?”

He could finish her off so easily, the bastard; only a few more presses of his fingers and she would be done for, but Rin doubts that Astarion has plans to let her off so easily.

Astarion has never outright denied her the release she craves, but he certainly likes to make her work for it.

“Only that I don’t want you to stop.” The words come out sounding more wanting than she would prefer, but she’s beyond the point of summoning up a care.

Astarion tsks, and as if on cue his fingers slow to a stop before pulling them from her body. Rin whines in protest as she lifts her head to glare at him, narrowed eyes meeting amused ones as he simply smirks back at her.

“Sorry, dear, I didn’t catch that.”

Astarion spins her around in his hold, her breasts pressing against his own bare chest as his hands run up and down her waist. A quick glance down and she can see the evidence of his own arousal, his cock pushing urgently against her stomach, still hidden by pants that she needs to rid him of preferably sooner rather than later.

“Liar. You heard me just fine.” Rin’s arms wrap around his shoulders as she leans in closer to him.

“It’s neither here nor there.” Astarion begins to walk her back, the two of them stepping together as he leads her towards his bedroll. “There’s no need to rush. Now, lay down.”

Rin arches her brow at his bossiness, but doesn’t argue as she lowers herself to the ground and spreads herself out on his bedroll. She frowns when she sits, the surface not nearly as soft as it should be, an unfamiliar hardness beneath her.

“Astarion, what in the hells is it that I am sitting on?” She shifts to peek underneath the blankets, spying some sort of wooden thing underneath her.

“Are you really going to ruin the mood to ask me about something so stupid? You are truly impossible.” Astarion looks down on her with a pointed scowl as he moves to kneel down before her, his lithe muscles shifting as he crawls over to her in smooth movements.

“I’m not the one sleeping on a plank of wood every night. Have you no standards for good night’s trance? No wonder you’re so touchy all the time.”

He’s upon her in mere moments, an elegant hand finding the space just below her collar bone as he only answers her with a stern look. This thumb runs along the line of it, brushing against the skin as his eyes follow the motion.

Rin looks down at the hand poised on her chest, so pale against the sun-warmed gold of her own, and brings her own up to run fingertips down the back of his. She swears she can see him shiver at the touch, a barely noticeable intake of his breath as her hand rests on top of his.

Astarion’s eyes cut up to hers, and with a raise of his brow, he pushes her backwards.

Rin lets him do it, lowering herself back with the help of his little push until her head hits his pillow, a rush of his scent surrounding her as she lays. His hand still rests on the skin of her chest, the weight of it like a scorching brand as she stares up at Astarion as he cages himself above her.

She doesn’t know what he sees when he looks down upon her, hair most likely curling in an unruly halo around her head and cheeks undoubtedly colored an unbecoming shade of pink, but his eyes run over what feels like every inch of her face before his hand begins to move, tracing a featherlight line down her skin.

Her stomach jumps underneath the drag of his fingertips as his touch stops low, their eyes meeting together in a heated glance as Rin waits with bated breath.

Astarion’s head lowers towards her, and her heart beats a little faster at the thought of his lips meeting hers, the want she has been blatantly ignoring the past week begging to break free from its confines safe in the corner of her mind.

But instead, Astarion’s lips find her neck, placing a kiss on the two pinprick scars that decorate the column of it before running them across her skin—kissing over her collar, upon the peak of her breast, down her ribs one by one.

She gasps at the feeling as he drags his lips down her body, her skin flushed with desire.

He’s kissing the sensitive skin just below her stomach with teasing presses of his lips when she speaks, breathless and wanting. “Astarion, don’t you want to feed?”

Cool hands travel down the curve of her waist and over her hips before reaching her soft skin of her thighs, palms running over the tops of them as he settles himself in between her legs.

“Oh, I do.” Astarion makes to spread her thighs further, pushing them wide. “Don’t you worry, my dear, I’ll get my fill.”

Rin’s cheeks fill with heat as he moves his gaze to her bare center, running claret eyes over her as she sucks in a breath. With little ceremony, his head moves forward and his tongue glides along her center, lapping at her wetness.

Her hips buck up into Astarion’s face as she reaches down to grab at his soft, downy curls as he circles the pearl at the top of her sex, the tip of his tongue light as he traces shapes along it.

He laps at her clit as she tries to quiet her mouth, holding back her moans and cries as best she can as he works her up ever higher. With a last circle, Astarion’s tongue ventures further down, abandoning her clit to instead run through her folds, groaning at the taste of her before exploring the wetness that has collected at her entrance.

“Asta—” Rin gasps sharply as his tongue traces around the edge of her, so like he had with his finger earlier—ever teasing. He dips in her entrance, the tip of it whorling against her before pushing deeper.

Her hands scrabble for purchase in his hair as he licks inside her, eating her out in earnest as her thighs tremble around his head. She swears that she can feel him chuckle against her as he tastes, tongue curling inside her as she grasps his soft curls harder between her fingers.

He thrusts his tongue deep and she keens, back arching off the bedroll as her hips roll against his mouth, chasing the heat coiling deep inside her with every press of his tongue. It’s a different sensation than that of his fingers, but no less welcome or wonderful as the feeling in her belly tightens more and more.

She’s terribly close when his mouth leaves her, and she mourns the loss of his tongue for mere seconds before he fills her with fingers that press urgently, curling just right as his lips kiss their way to her thigh.

“Do it.” She spreads wider for him, and she can hear his satisfied hum against her skin before he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth in the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

The familiar ice of his bite hurts far too good, the frosty pain warring against the heat surging through her limbs as he drinks from her, blood running in scarlet rivulets down her thigh to stain the worn blanket beneath her.

Astarion’s messy as he drinks, her hips writhing in time with the fingers still artfully working inside her. Her back arches as she tries to quiet her cry, a fist curling into the threadbare blanket below her.

The metallic scent of iron tinges the air of the tent as he drinks and Rin can’t help the moan that falls from her open mouth at the feeling of his lips on her skin, sucking and licking and—gods, kissing.

“There, please.” His fingers hit perfectly, over and over again, and her thighs tremble. “Please don’t stop.”

Astarion sucks hard at the bite as she begs, fingers keeping pace with the movement of her hips as he drinks down another surge of her blood. With only a few more presses of his fingers, curving just right to hit exactly where she needs him, Rin comes.

A hand unclenches from the blanket to cover her mouth as she muffles her moan into her palm, back arching as precious heat courses through her limbs and her hips writhe.

Pleasure whites out her thoughts as Astarion fucks her through her orgasm with his fingers; lips and mouth still pullings sips of her blood from her thigh all the while.

She comes back to herself as his fingers slow and he peppers kisses to her leg, lapping up any stray drops as they fall from the wound. Astarion pulls his fingers from her gently, another hum of satisfaction breaking free as he brings them to his mouth and sucks, tongue licking her come clean from the digits.

She’s still floating in a euphoric haze when Astarion finally rises from between her thighs, appetite sated and pale skin flushed with the slightest hint of pink from the blood that once belonged to her now flowing through his veins.

His mouth is glistening with her—her blood, her arousal, her scent. She’s entranced by the sight of it as Astarion licks his rouged lips, tongue swiping at a small drop of blood at the corner of his mouth that threatens to roll down his chin.

“Did I taste as good as you had hoped?” Rin’s chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath in the aftermath, the words no more than a whisper.

A corner of Astarion’s mouth lifts upward as he runs his eyes over her; from his mark on her thigh, over her sex, and up her flushed form beneath him until he meets her eyes. “Better.”

Rin’s breath hitches as he kisses his way back up her body with warmed lips, leaving a trail of red upon her skin with every touch of his lips, small blooms of her crimson blood like stains of watercolor.

He kisses up the valley between her breasts before turning his head, lips running over the plump curve of one before capturing her nipple, sucking at it before flicking his tongue against the bud. Rin’s back arches at the unexpected touch, more heat already kindling as he gives it a hard suck.

Astarion pops off her breast to kiss towards its twin, her hands burying back in his hair as he sucks at her other nipple, laving it with his tongue as a whine breaks free from her lips before she urges him higher, fingertips running through his curls.

He obliges, placing one last kiss upon the tip of her breast before moving to bury his head in her neck, licking a line up the column of her throat, the very tip of his tongue tracing a thrumming vein.

Rin wraps her arms around his shoulders, hands running over the corded muscle as he slots himself between her legs, his still-clothed erection brushing against the too-sensitive skin of her thighs.

It simply wouldn’t do, she decides.

“Let me touch you. Please,” she runs her hands down his chest to dance over his skin until she reaches the waistband of his pants, his cock painfully hard as it strains against the fabric. “I want to touch you, Astarion.”

She’s taking a chance by asking, but it’s one she’s willing to try her luck for.

Despite how many times she’s enjoyed the feeling of him inside her or how well he’s come to learn her body, he’s never quite allowed her the same opportunity to touch or taste him.

She knows enough of his past—he’s told her plenty of the many different people he had taken for Cazador against his will and under duress, his body used without the ability and choice to say no.

“I want to make you feel good too, Astarion.” Rin peers up into his eyes, fingers no longer trailing along him as she pauses, waiting patiently for a real answer. “Do you trust me?”

His gaze is intense as it meets her own, the heated desire in his eyes tempering for a moment to give way to a tentative vulnerability that crosses over them as he considers her words.

“I-” Astarion speaks softer than she had expected as he breaks off, gaze intent on hers as the weight of the implication that he has a choice—one that is his and his only to make—bears down on him. “—I do.”

“Only if you want me to. You have to promise me that you want it.” She urges, hands flattening on his abdomen as excitement stirs in her chest.

“Fine. I promise that I want it.” Astarion snaps, but his words lack any real bite as a corner of his lips quirk up into a crooked smile. “Show me what you’ve got, then, if you’re so eager.”

Rin moves slow as her hand slides back down his pants and over the curve of his hardened length, caressing him over the fabric as she feels him, cupping his length softly before flitting back up to join the other still at the waist of his pants.

Astarion’s breath catches at her touch before on his own hands comes down to help as she pushes the barrier down, freeing his length from the confines of his clothes. In a smooth motion, his pants and underwear are down his legs and off, baring his erection.

Precome shines at the tip of his cock as she runs her fingers down him in a barely there caress from top to bottom, his length twitching with the motion as Astarion draws in a harsh breath.

Her eyes stay on his as she grazes the soft skin again, watching for any sign she should stop as she runs her fingers along a prominent vein that runs along the side of him.

He’s velvet soft under her palm as she wraps her fingers around his shaft, giving him an experimental pump of her hand, touch gentle as she revels in the feel of him.

“Is this alright?” Rin looks up at him from under lowered lashes.

Her hand glides up, brushing over the head of him as she collects the precome leaking from his slit, running her fingers over it before caressing down to the base once more.

“By all means, please continue.” Rin knows he means for the words to be casual and unaffected, but there’s already a telling breathiness to Astarion’s words that has her smirking.

The weight of him in her hand is nothing short of perfect as she gently wraps her fist around him, stroking him. Astarion moans and it’s the easily one of the most beautiful things Rin’s ever heard, the sound of it sending a spike of heat to her core.

She brings her other hand to her mouth, running her tongue over her palm before it joins the other around his cock and the added bit of glide has Astarion gasping as his hips jump.

His head falls heavy onto her shoulder as she works him, careful pumps of his length bringing him closer to the edge far faster than she ever thought possible with only her touch.

His cock weeps as Rin glides her fingers over the crown of him again, collecting more of the precome that glistens at the tip. Her hands move together, one carefully massaging the head of his cock while the other strokes at the base, the breathy moans leaving Astarion’s lips only serving to spur her on further as she works him closer to the edge.

“Does this feel good, Astarion?”

“Gods, yes.” He shudders in response, lips open against her skin as he presses a messy kiss into her shoulder.

Her palms move faster, intent on his undoing, his pleasure at her hands nothing short of exhilarating.

Gods, she would let him come wherever he wanted. Onto her stomach, across her breasts, down her throat—the thought is enough to send another spark of electricity to her empty core.

“Ah, darling,” Astarion’s voice is tight as he buries his face deeper into her neck, hips bucking into her hand as she works him from the crown of his cock to the base, his breathing getting harder with every stroke. “Much more and you’ll spoil the main event.”

“I’ll stop, if that’s what you want.” Rin slows her motions as he catches his breath against the column of her throat, so close to his own completion she can practically feel it in the way his body shakes above her own, muscles quivering with the want of release. “But would it be so awful if you were to come like this? On my hands, all over my skin?”

Astarion raises his head from her neck, pupils blown wide and hair thoroughly disheveled as he pants. “Decidedly not, but I think I want to fill that sweet cunt of yours tonight instead.”

“If you say so.” She brings one of the hands that had been stroking him to her mouth, the tip of her tongue peeking out between her lips to lap at a shining string of precome still sticking to her skin, savoring the flavor of him for the very first time.

Astarion swallows hard, eyes fixated on the pink of her tongue as she wraps her mouth around the tip, sucking lightly. She smiles sweetly around it, lips pink and plush, as she sends him a wink.

With a soft pop, she pulls her finger out of her mouth before moving to twine her arms around his neck, running through the soft curls at his nape. “I wouldn’t mind getting to taste more of you, either, if you’d let me.”

“Salacious girl. Whatever am I supposed to do with you?” That same fondness from earlier sneaks back into his words as she gazes up at him with as much innocence as she can muster.

“Hmm,” Rin muses, pretending to think through her answer as her fingers toy with his hair. “Whatever you want, I suppose.”

“Whatever I want?” Astarion’s brows raise in mock surprise. “You might come to regret those words, darling.”

“I find that sometimes I don’t mind being at your mercy.”

“Your self-preservation instincts need some reevaluating, my dear.”

“Is that what you think?” She laughs as her fingertips abandon his wild curls to dance absentmindedly across the lines of his shoulders.

“What I think is that these wandering hands of yours are trouble.” Astarion leans down to whisper into her ear, a smirk decorating his lips as they brush against the point of them. “It’s a pity I don’t have any pretty ribbon at my disposal to tie them up with.”

Nimble fingers move to find and circle her wrists with surprising delicacy as he removes them from around his neck to instead guide her arms up to rest around her head.

Desire pools deep in her belly at the mere mention and she doesn’t even try to fight against Astarion’s hold, not when there’s nothing she wants more than to be at the mercy of his hands.

“So, you’ll just have to be a good girl and keep these up here for me.” His hands encircle her wrists so very easily as he applies the slightest bit of pressure on them to illustrate his point. “Can you do that? I know you have a very hard time following directions.”

“I’ll try my hardest, but I make no promises.”

His hands slide down from her own where he left them resting above her head as he rises back to his knees, running over her breasts to anchor at her waist before he takes in the sight of her—warm skin and eyes bright and utterly alive.

He fits perfectly between her thighs as he moves his hips to slide his length through her folds, her slick coating him with every pass.

“No touching,” Astarion tuts. “Don’t forget.”

“Like I said, no promises. But I’ll give it a fair shot.” Rin grinds her hips against his erection, still gliding up and down her slit.

Astarion’s only response is a raise of his brow as he positions himself at her entrance, the head of his cock barely pressing against her as he smirks, moving his hips away every time she tries to move hers forward.

Teasing. Always, always teasing.

Rin rolls her hips against his own as Astarion finally pushes forward, hilting himself inside her warmth in a smooth thrust, twin moans escaping from their lips at the feeling as he fills her completely.

His hands caress down to her thighs where they open for him, thumbs running up and down soft skin marred only by the red of his own bite, the marks smeared with still drying blood.

Astarion’s hips finally move, pulling away from hers only to push forward again until he bottoms out, burying himself deep. Rin relishes the feel of him moving inside her with a soft moan as she throws her head back against his pillow, back arching as he settles his hands on her hips to pull her deeper onto his cock.

His thumbs grip into her skin as he thrusts into her, hips meeting her own with long, deep strokes that have her trying and failing to hold back the little noises of pleasure that loose from her lips.

She yearns to move her hands from where they still rest above her head—yearns to drag her fingers across his skin or wrap her arms around his neck to draw him closer to her—but she resists the temptation, settling on moving her hips instead.

Rin grinds against his cock buried deep inside her as she moves her hips to match his own, thrust for thrust, the slide of him achingly flawless as they move together.

“Gods, you’re absolutely perfect.” The words slip out of Astarion’s lips, murmured low on a hard thrust. She tightens around him as the praise washes over her, lips opened on a barely restrained whimper as her lashes lower.

He’s more than beautiful in the darkness as he throws his head back on a moan, the drag of his cock smooth as he hits deep and she craves more—more closeness, more of his touch, more of his lips.

“Kiss me,” she gasps and instantly regrets the words and the desperation of them as her hands still lay obediently above her head, her back arching with every thrust.

Astarion’s hips stutter, losing their rhythm as he looks down at her, fixating on the petal pink of her lips, and Rin’s heart practically stops at what she sees when he looks at her.

A hand traces its way up from her hip to grab hold of her chin, touch firm as Astarion’s eyes move away from her lips to stare into her own, searching for something in the verdant depths of them. His gaze is alight with a precious heat that threatens to burn every inch of her—the fire she’s secretly dreamed of seeing there in his eyes when he looks at her.

His lips crash into hers with no words or preamble, meeting her half way as she surges her head up and their lips press together. Her arms lift, leaving their resting place above her head to wrap around his neck as Astarion’s tongue runs against the seam of her lips in askance, her own parting eagerly for him.

She can taste the remnants of herself on his lips, both the richness of her cunt and the metallic tang of her blood; and it’s heady, it’s divine as his lips chase after her own as they kiss and kiss and kiss, his hips still joined with hers all the while.

The hand that had been poised on her chin strokes upward, running over the plane of her cheek in a barely there touch that has her heart stuttering as their lips move.

Gods, she’d been wishing for the feeling of his lips on hers, and if the only way she can get it is when he fucks her, then so be it.

It’s not the only kind of kiss she wants from him but it’s the kiss she will take, desperate despite her every wish otherwise.

She’s gasping when Astarion finally breaks the kiss, taking in precious breaths of air as his lips lift only just away from hers. His hips slow and Rin looks questioningly up at Astarion, arms still twined tightly around his neck.

A small burst of panic bubbles up in her chest as she feels him slide out her, hips pulling away from hers to leave her empty; and worry that she had perhaps done something wrong or said something she shouldn’t have fills her mind.

“Astarion? Is everything alright? Did I—” she cuts herself off as the hand at her cheek brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear while its twin travels up her thigh to curve around her waist, urging her body upwards with a gentle pull.

“Let’s try something a little different, hm? Now, up.”

His hold is tight—secure—as they both shift to sitting, Astarion helping her along the way until she is upright in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs as she hovers.

“Now, tell me, sweet thing. Have you ever been fucked like this before?” His eyes pierce into her own as a hand curls around the back of her head, fingers tangling in her curls.

“No.” Rin shakes her head from side to side, biting her lip as his length finds her entrance once more, pushing with the barest hint of pressure against her.

“Good.”

With a swift thrust, Astarion sheathes himself inside of her as his lips capture hers, swallowing her answering moan as Rin arches against his chest. The hand wrapped around her waist travels down, fingertips squeezing into the flesh of her ass to help guide her hips up and down his cock.

They’re on equal footing like this, noses brushing against each other’s as their bodies work, Rin’s hips meeting Astarion’s own in a smooth cadence. The closeness—the intimacy of it—is intoxicating as their lips meet again and again, arms wrapped around each other as their fingertips dig into each other’s skin.

It’s not as fast or as hard as she’s used to, but somehow it’s better—the lack of quick thrusts is made up for instead by hard rolls of their hips, Astarion reaching the deepest part of her core as they hold each other close, not an bit of space between them.

His length brushes against what feels like every inch of her walls, sending sparks through her body as the heat coiling in her stomach rises higher with every move they make.

Rin is only mildly aware of the marks he left on her thigh breaking open once more, tiny drops of her blood leaving ruby red smears against both her and Astarion’s flesh as her hands map the planes of his face and their lips press.

Any other time, she would be blushing at the noise of their bodies moving together, the wet glide of his length driving in and out of her and the sound of skin on skin audible in the confines of Astarion’s tent; but instead she’s unabashed as she moves up and down his cock and he thrusts up to meet her, moans falling freely from both of their mouths as their kiss breaks.

She’s getting closer and she can tell he is too, the intensity of his thrusts only getting harder and deeper as every roll of his hips has his length brushing against her sweet spot as she loses her rhythm against him as her body begins to quake.

“Eyes on me.” Astarion’s forehead presses into hers as her lashes flutter, the height of her pleasure curling around her, ephemeral and just out of reach.

The heat burning inside her reaches a crescendo, his name whispered from her lips on a broken gasp as her hold on him tightens, fingertips digging into his skin.

She’s tremulous as she tightens around him and he kisses her moans from her, quieting the sound of them as her hands grasp for purchase around his shoulders and he pumps his cock, hitting the very same spot that never fails to have her falling apart in his arms.

Rin sees stars behind her eyes as she tumbles over the edge of the crest, constricting hard on him as she comes on a near silent cry. Her hips writhe as Astarion holds her steady despite the ragged moan that falls from his lips as he watches her fall apart with half-lidded eyes.

She’s clinging to him as she rides out the rest of her orgasm on the hardened length still thrusting inside her, Astarion working her through the waves of pleasure that suffuse through her limbs.

A dreamy, hazy euphoria descends over her like a fog as she finally comes back to herself, her first thought to press another kiss to the pair of lips that still brush against hers.

Rin takes a lungful of air on a deep breath, beginning to move her hips against his once more despite the contented exhaustion blanketing her as she speaks with a soft, teasing lilt. “I thought you were going to come in my sweet cunt, Astarion.”

“Still the plan, darling.” Astarion’s lost in his own pleasure as he speaks, eyes fixated on her own as his hips snap hard into hers.

The hand on her ass tightens, fingertips near bruising as Astarion’s thrusts begin lose their rhythm in the wake her orgasm, the feeling of her cunt spasming around his length as she had come only serving to drive him closer to his own completion.

Her fingertips run down his cheek as he looks at her, his control breaking on every push of his hips that she meets readily.

“Then do it,” She whispers. “Please come for me, Astarion.”

Rin presses her mouth to his in a hard kiss, gasping as he changes the angle of his thrusts to hit the very end of her cunt.

At her words, Astarion follows her over the edge, moaning his ecstasy into her lips as he comes. His hips rut frantically against hers, spilling himself inside her with unrestrained thrusts.

Rin grasps him tighter as his orgasm rushes through him, taking each and every sound that falls from him as he works through the waves of pleasure coursing through his limbs.

Finally, Astarion’s hips slow to a halt as their chests heave, still locked in their embrace, the haze of the aftermath floating around them. His lips press against hers one last time before he ducks his head to fit against her neck, breathing in the scent of her.

Rin’s not sure how long they stay like that, both catching their breath as her arms hang loose around him, Astarion’s face still buried in her neck as his fingers grip around waist.

Eventually, it’s Astarion who moves first, gently pulling his softened cock from her as he lifts his head and leans back towards his bedroll, taking her down with him.

They lay next to each other on the ruined blanket, a light sheen of sweat sticking to their skin.

“That was—” Astarion starts, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to push it out of his face.

Rin finishes the sentence for him, her heart still beating in a staccato rhythm. “Amazing? Fantastic? The best sex you’ve ever had?”

“Well, you think quite highly of yourself, don’t you?” Astarion turns his head to face her, brow raised.

Rin leans in, bumping their foreheads together in a light touch before whispering her reply on a smile. “That wasn’t a no.”

Astarion rolls her eyes and she laughs, and she swears she can see the slightest hint of pink coloring his cheeks, no doubt from the help of her blood still running through him.

He sits up, stretching his arms above his head, the muscles in his back shifting and Rin lets out an appreciative hum at the sight.

“Oh, and Astarion.” Rin smiles as she rolls her shoulders, settling further into the blanket. “If you burn my shirt, I will be forced to take action. Possibly with a knife. Just so we’re clear.”

His head whips back to glance at her, a wicked look in his eye. “Flirting again already? Give me a moment to recover, dearest.”

Astarion’s eyes skate down her naked form, still lying in a boneless heap upon his bedroll.

“Gods, look at you. You’re an absolute mess.” She can feel the blood drying on her thighs and on the spots where he had left bloodied kisses up her body, his come threatening to spill out of her with even the slightest movement. “Get ahold of yourself, darling.”

“An absolute mess that you made.” Rin peeks down to look at herself, skin still flushed and dotted with red marks in the vague shape of his lips.

“I’d gladly make it again, too.” Astarion turns back to the side, reaching for a spare decanter of presumably water and grabbing a piece of soft cloth.

“I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”

She takes in the bloodied blanket beneath her as she hazards a stretch, reaching her arms above her head as her feet point, back arching as she comes up to her elbows.

“Has anyone ever told you that your bedroll is absolutely awful? How you manage to sleep on something so hard is beyond my ability to imagine. We should steal you a new one.”

Even with the awful plank beneath her, it would be so easy to stay on a night like tonight. Too easy to imagine settling into his side, the now familiar contours of his body beside her own as they rested together, limbs tangling. She’s never slept in anyone’s arms before that she can remember, and she wonders how it must feel to spend hours simply wrapped in Astarion’s embrace and then to wake up next to him at first light.

Please ask me to stay.

The words come from a deep, dark part of her mind unbidden; but the wanting they bring with them threatens to ruin her as her heart beats harder.

“Or you could always come share mine, I guess. I promise I’ll keep you nice and warm.” It’s a risk speaking those kind of words, Rin crossing a line they’ve never dared to before.

Astarion’s body tenses slightly, the line of his shoulders stiffening.

He dips the mouth of the decanter over onto a spare cloth to wet it before turning back to her, expression strangely blank. The sight of it puts her ill at ease, as if the warm intimacy they had shared had been snuffed out like a candle’s flame.

Astarion runs the cloth over her form, erasing any evidence of him from her skin. His spend, the blood on her thighs, the messy kisses up her chest—all of it gone with a simple brush of water on cloth.

She nods her thanks, her heart sinking as regret burns in her throat.

“Well, it’s been lovely. You’re always such a treat.” Astarion summons a veil across his eyes, an empty smirk on his lips as he sets the cloth to the side. “You should go get some sleep, darling. Who knows who else you’ll need to convince to kill themselves tomorrow.”

It’s like a slap to the cheek—cold water to wake her from the warm embrace of a dream. It wasn’t the first time he had said such words to her, but this is the first time she realizes that she hates them with every fibre of her being.

“Oh.” She bites her lip, hoping she hides her disappointment well enough; but from the way Astarion averts his gaze to focus on an invisible point on other side of the tent, she doesn’t need to worry much. “I suppose you do need your beauty sleep, don’t you? Far be it from me to get in the way.”

Rin doesn’t want to hear what he has to say, she decides, as she pulls herself up to sitting beside him. She’s not certain she can look at him either, not at the cool and aloof expression that seems to have taken residence across his features.

He hadn’t looked like that when he kissed her.

No, he had looked the exact opposite, his expression mirroring the longing she knows had been etched onto her own as their lips had met.

Without a word, Rin stands and walks over the blankets heaped along the floor to where her clothes lay discarded in a heap, her footsteps soft against the ground.

Silently, she redresses, not bothering with the corset as she leaves it unlaced at her feet and pulls the rest of her clothes back on with perfunctory ease. Her tunic is partially over her head when she dares a look back at Astarion, the collar floating down to rest against her skin as she turns her head.

His face is imperceptible as he watches her, sitting still as stone. She forces a small smile, hoping that the dejection she feels doesn’t come across as she speaks to him one last time for the evening.

“Sleep well, Astarion.”

Astarion nods his head, a clear dismissal if she’s ever seen one. “Until the morning, darling.”

Until the morning, indeed.

Until the morning, where they’ll pretend everything is fine and nothing has changed as they play around each other in some sort of tiring, endless game.

And maybe Astarion can. Maybe, for him, nothing ever did change.

Rin doesn’t know quite what it is that they are building towards; but between the little bits of their lives shared with one another, the tiny little secrets that bare ragged pieces of their souls, the long evenings spent by the side of the fire laughing and talking and playing games, between the kisses and caresses and the meeting of their eyes—it feels like something.

Something more than simply being bedmates.

With a single, deep breath she reaches down to grab her corset, collecting it in hand as she turns and walks out the front flap of his tent without another look back, unable to promise she can keep her expression even in the face of his seemingly cold indifference.

Rin keeps her eyes ahead as she walks by the campfire, Gale politely looking the other way, not commenting on how she must look or what he must have heard—her hair is undoubtedly a mess, corset rumpled in hand, lips still too swollen to be confused with being anything other than readily kissed.

She withholds the sigh that threatens to break free as she makes her way towards her tent, and she’s grateful that at least there is no one else by the fire to witness the utterly pathetic sight of her as she keeps her eyes straight forward.

“I hope you know what you are doing.” Gale’s voice stops her before she can step into her tent, and she freezes, shifting the corset in hand in hopes of hiding it better, though she knows it’s useless. “I say this with the utmost respect, you understand. As your friend.”

Rin can hear the slightest bit of judgment in the words despite the kindness of them but she shakes it off. She probably deserves his judgment, in the end.

She pastes a weak smile on her face, squeezing the corset tighter in her hand as she turns to look at the wizard where he sits by the fire, a familiar spell book in hand.

“It’s all good Gale, nothing to worry about. I promise.”

“I trust your judgement, then. Sleep well, my friend.” Gale gives her a polite nod, but the look on his face says that he’s thoroughly unconvinced by her words.

Such aspiring confidence her companions have in her, it seems.

Rin certainly doesn’t blame him for it.

She can barely convince herself of the fact, after all.

With one last sigh she walks through the flap of her tent, letting it flutter shut behind her as she steps inside the familiar surroundings she now calls home.

It smells like it always does, jasmine and honey hanging in the air, and not a one of her possessions is out of place—however few of them she has.

But as she drops the corset on the ground, she can’t help but feel that something is missing.

Hands come up to cover her eyes as she presses the heel of her palms into them, hoping to rid her mind of such thoughts, however there’s no comfort to be found as shapes swirl on the back of her eyelids.

If she had any sense at all, she would quit while she was still ahead and could leave somewhat unscathed from whatever this thing growing between them is.

But she knows herself better than that.

She knows that, instead of stopping this and sparing herself the almost inevitable promise of pain that their little affair will bring, she will pull herself back together just in time to face the darkness of the morning and pretend that everything is just fine—all the while knowing deep down that she will keep making the same mistake over and over again and relish it every single time.

#this chapter wrecked me lmao it's so goddamn long #but I hope you all enjoy it!!#astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #astarion bg3 #astarion fanfiction #astarion smut #verbenaa writes things!

45 notes · View notes

writingsofwesteros · 1 year

Note

can you write a story where Viserys has an older daughter from a previous marriage to Aemma and decides to take her as his wife after Aemma's death?

daddy!viserys fucking really hard 🥵

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

NSFW

“And you wouldn’t allow me to marry my niece.” Daemon hummed in his brother’s ear as he settled beside him. The king only stared ahead; those eyes of his following you. A shiver ran down your spine at the weight you could feel of them. As well as the rest of the stares coming your way from the Lords and Ladies of the realm.

Viserys ignored his brother whose dark chuckles continued to echo from behind as the King moved closer to you. The shyness that seemingly plagued you for so long had you ducking your head for a moment; hiding yourself. Your fingers itched to read for the Dornish wine just in reach. Those golden rings of yours shining in the candle light.

“Hmm, my wife.” Viserys purred as his hand gently cupped your face; his thumb stroking your cheek for a moment. A soft gulp escaped you as you locked eyes; a blush as ever coming over your face. “Ignore them.” His hand slowly moved up and down your sides. The material hardly separated you and him before he rested his hand on your hip.

“It seems Daemon has returned home.” The words fumbled from your lips before you could stop them. The rogue Prince had been missing from your wedding; not that you could blame him. Sometimes, you wished you had also been missing. Not that you shared those thoughts with anyone but yourself in the darkness.

Gods, you hated how your body was melting at the smallest touch coming his way. “Is the feast enjoyable?” Gently, your hand raised to settle on his chest. “Of course.” You hummed; a soft smile tugging on your lips. “I am glad.” The King whispered and slowly leaned in. Your heart was pounding in your ears now.

His soft lips were soon on yours before you could react. A sweet gasp escaped you as his hand reached for the back of your head and deepened the kiss. The passion the King had was easy to see as you melted into his chest. His smirk tugged on his lips as his hand slowly moved down your back and kept you close.

Those soft, ample breasts of yours pushed against him had Viserys groaning. His desire for you was never ending. “Do you think they will miss us if we left?” Viserys hummed; brushing your noses together as you stared wide eyed. Those soft lips of yours parted to answer him that of course the Lords and Ladies would miss them.

“We will retire…” Viserys left no room for arguments as you gracefully sipped on the delicious wine coming your way. Gods, you hated the desire that was slowly moving through your body as your sweet, pink blush came your way again. The King did not care of the whispers and stares as he locked eyes with you once more.

Gently, he took your delicate hand. His fingers began to play as you sweetly nibbled on your plump bottom lip. His own bright eyes were dark with desire as the music playing around you both began to fall away. He brought her hand towards his lips and pressed a soft kiss. You couldn’t stop the smile tugging on your face as you ducked your head.

Viserys only chuckled and placed a soft kiss to your cheek that you easily leaned into, just like all actions he did.

“My…oh–ah my King.” Your eyes flashed open as the words easily fell from your lips. Your soft, bare body was draped over the bed as he took you from behind. The sound of your bodies slapping against each other echoed around the royal chambers; noises the servants and knights were now used to. His hands were gripping your hips.

“Good girl..that’s it..” Viserys grunted; his hand moving to your back and pushing you into the sheets. Blindly, your hands reached for anything to hold onto as he thrust harder. Your body pushed back against him as you whimpered out. Your thighs are now soaked with your own wetness. The wet, obscene sounds echoing too.

Your eyes were rolling back with the intense pleasure; your stomach already tightening up with anticipation. His fat, throbbing cock only pushed deeper and took your breath away. “Gods, you are tight..” The King continued to comment as you could only blush some more as you bounced back and forth; chasing your release.

“Please…” You hardly knew what you were begging for now as those wet eyes of yours began to fall with tears of pleasure. Your sweet, pretty face ruined. Those soft, ample breasts of yours bouncing with your movements. Viserys’ larger hands snaked around your body and began to harshly palm at your sensitive breasts, pinching your pink nipples.

His grunts of pleasure echoed into your ear as he pushed against you. Your eyes rolled back as you clamped down on him. Viserys pushed your legs apart; his fat cock slipping deeper as you cried out his name. The feeling of his body pressed fully against you had you shivering. Your legs are already shaking now.

The weight of him comforting and only more arousing, if you were honest with yourself. Still, you fought to quieten your cries and moans. Your whole body began to shake as Viserys started to thrust into you at full force. Each thrust brought a cry from you at the feeling of him so deep. The pain and pleasure mixturing together so beautifully.

His free hand moved towards your arse now, spreading your cheeks apart to watch the delicious sight in front of him. A ring of cream formed around his thick cock as you began to spasm. Your toes were curling in pleasure as you began to drool. Your eyes so dark as you lost yourself in the pleasure Viserys seemingly could only bring.

Gods, you were so close to your climax now whilst Viserys only quickened his thrusts. “We should have had a bedding ceremony.” He began to whisper in your ear as you whimpered. “Show everyone who you belong to.” The King hummed as his hand reached into your bright locks and pulled you against his chest. His thrusts never slowed.

“Oh –ah gods..i ..i need….” Your eyes rolled once more as the sound of your bodies slapping against each other echoed again. He darkly chuckled in your ear whilst his arm wrapped around you. You began to bounce on his cock; his fat, mushroom head pushing against your spongy spot again and again. “Such a little whore I have.”

His words were enough to push you over the edge but Viserys only continued. “Look at you…creaming around me..milking me.” Viserys whispered as your arousal gushed; you began to squirt around his still thrusting cock. With each stroke; more of your wetness flooded out and soaked your inner thighs as well as him.

You collapsed against him as his thicker fingers were brushing against your soaked, sensitive clit. He cruelly pinched your clit again and again whilst groaning. Each time had you fluttering around his fat cock but soon his thrusts were becoming sloppy. Still so deep as and you knew there would be bruises on you in the morning.

As his cum flooded you; you were able to collapse back onto the royal, red sheets. Viserys hummed as his softening cock stayed inside your warmth. You were still clamped down; milking him as he gently stroked your back. His smirk only widening as he watched your mind soften as your eyes began to flutter. Oh, he was a lucky man.

#viserys targaryen x reader #requests

377 notes · View notes

madeintheniamh · 2 years

Text

i think she said, 'i'm having your baby,'

stmf one shot #1.

a/n: hey my loves! i'm so excited to be posting the first one shot from my new dadrry series (more info will be coming in a full post soon). i hope you love it much as i am loving writing it! <3

warnings: general fluff, mentions of sick/nausea (emetophobes beware), pregnancy

song: kiwi- harry styles

You looked down at the white plastic stick in your hands, two bright red lines at the centre. You blinked quickly, believing you must have been seeing things, but the lines remained.

“Are you okay in there, darling?” You heard harry knocking on the bathroom door, startling you slightly as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, fluorescent light highlighting the bags beginning to form under your eyes, which had been growing more than ever over the last few weeks. “I was going to order a takeaway if you fancy it?”

You groaned to yourself, trying to make your voice sound as calm as possible before responding.

“I’m okay baby, and I’m not really that fussed,”

“Okay, well I’ll order an Indian then,”

You waited to hear the creak of the stairs as he went back downstairs before you took a deep breath and slowly unlocked the bathroom door, listening to the hum of him talking down the phone. You groaned at the sharp pain in your back, carrying the weight of the permanent bloated state which your stomach was in. You ran your hands over it, sighing softly. If it was right, which you were pretty sure it was, there was a little person beginning to form in there, who would soon be kicking around. You had known something was wrong when that little surprise that you always expected hadn’t come the month before, but Harry seemed mostly oblivious, you telling him that it must have been stress.

You walked through the double doors to find him sat on one of the barstools next to the kitchen counter, the autumn sun still flooding in through the windows, the orange sunset reflecting off of the whitewashed walls.

“Well good evening, baby honey,” he smiled at you, the light now reflecting from his sea green eyes. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, fine,” He noticed the slightly off tone in your voice, laced with sarcasm.

“You sure?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing slightly with concern.

“Yeah, just a bit tired,” you groaned. “Pilates earlier was exhausting. We had a different instructor in,”

“Hmm, okay,”

He opened his mouth to interrogate you more, his eyebrows now raised slightly, but the doorbell rang just in time. “I’ll get it,”

You sat down at the table as he offered to plate up the food. Just the smell of it wafting across the room was enough to make you feel sick.

He placed the plate on the table in front of you, peppering a kiss to your forehead. “For my lady, do you want something to drink?” He walked over to the wine fridge which was integrated into one of the cupboards, holding out a bottle of rose. “It’s a Friday night,”

“I’m fine, I’ll just have some water,” you sighed, his brows slowly raising further up his forehead.

“Hmm, that’s weird, but okay lovey, if that’s what you want,”

You tried to look anywhere but at his wavering gaze, but found yourself feeling sicker and sicker when staring at the food on your plate. He poured himself a glass before sitting down opposite you, and immediately started shovelling food into his mouth, as though he hadn’t eaten in years. You picked up your fork, moving it in circles around the plate, not being able to stomach even a single bite.

“Babydoll, you’re acting weird, and I don’t like it,” he sighed, still chewing on a bit of his food.

“What do you mean? I’m not,”

“Then why haven’t you eaten anything yet,” He glared at you, putting his knife and fork down. “You always love an Indian,”

“I don’t know, I’m just not hungry,”

“Hmm…”

You hated that you knew he wouldn’t let this go, but the words came out faster than expected.

“I’m having your baby,” you stammered, your hands flying up to your mouth as though you immediately regretted saying anything. He stood up from the table, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You repeated yourself slowly, as though you couldn’t believe what had just escaped from your lips. “I’m having your baby,”

“Oh my god, sweet,” he smiled, now turning around to face you, his eyes becoming glossy. “I’m going to be a Dad,”

You were shocked at his reaction, although when you thought about it, it wasn’t exactly unexpected. You’d both been having a lot of fun after your wedding a few months ago, honeymooning across Europe- a few romantic weeks spent in Paris and Venice, topped off with a final surprise trip to an exclusive island retreat somewhere in the depths of Greece. And Harry’s bedroom abilities were never ending, you both discovering new positions each night, him knowing exactly how to please you in all the right places. But you had run out of time to go to the Doctors before the wedding to get your expired implant changed, and were secretly scared to go without Harry holding your hand, but didn’t want to distract him whilst he was busy in the studio, putting the final touches on his new album. So you didn’t go, yet never expected to see the two lines on that test with your own eyes.

He pressed his palms to your swollen stomach, and whispered softly. “I’m so happy, babydoll,”

“But Harry, I can’t- I can’t, keep it,” He jumped backwards suddenly.

“What do you mean?” he gasped.

“Well, you’re so busy with tour, and I’m scared out of my mind, Harry. I’m absolutely terrified, and I can’t do this without you, and I don’t know what to do, and I,”

“Slow down,” he soothed, running his hands through your hair. “What makes you think I’m not going to be there?”

“But it’s your career, baby,” you blubbered, tears beginning to well up behind your eyes.

“Who gives a shit,” he started, lifting you up out of your seat and cradling you to the sofa. “It’s our baby. A baby! All of that can go on hold,”

“Are you really sure?”

“Yes, my love. Of course I’m sure. Whatever you and the baby need, you can have. And I’m going to be there every step of the way, you don’t need to be worried about that. God. A baby. I can’t believe it,”

You sighed, resting your head on his warm chest.

“Okay, Harry,” you sniffled. “Thank you,”

“Don’t thank me, baby,” he scolded warmly, his lips beginning to lift up at the corners. “Thank you, for being brave enough to do this, with me,”

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #dadrry #harry’s house #one direction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #stmf

749 notes · View notes

underdark-dreams · 1 year

Note

Thank you so much for your Tiefling smut contributions! I am so lovesick for Rolan and wanted to request--Rolan x fem Tav at the grove party? I know it's super early in both of their arcs but I can't help but wonder. 💕

Rolan x Fem!Tav (Unnamed)

Good Night For Company

"Would you mind if I kissed you?" Sometimes you need to feel lonely before you notice the person sitting right beside you.

Tags: Fem Unnamed Tav, Kissing, Accidental Cuddling, Feelings Realization | SFW

Word Count: 5,443 [Read on AO3]

Sometimes it was lonely to be the hero, she thought to herself.

Their camp was fuller and merrier than she’d ever seen it. Every last Tiefling she’d met at the Grove had joined them for a night of celebration, bringing along every last bottle of wine and spirits they could get their hands on as way of thanks.

Unsurprisingly, all eyes in camp seemed to be searching for someone else to spend the night with. Who could blame them? Mortal peril and hard-won victories tended light a fire in people, herself included.

Yet somehow she still found herself short on options. Everyone at camp seemed more interested in clapping her shoulder in thanks than joining her for a night of abandoned pleasure. Even her close companions hadn’t taken much interest in what she had on offer.

Astarion was the only one who had made her an invitation. She practically felt grateful to him for it. He would tempt anyone, of course—just look at him. But underneath his beauty, there was a dark edge about the elf that made her hesitate in the end. How was it Gale had described him? ‘A tiger when it purrs.’

Honestly, she wouldn’t have said no to Gale, either. He was certainly attractive, and there was a sad weight to his shoulders that seemed to invite comforting. The kind she wouldn’t mind giving. Yet despite the lonely shine in his eyes, he’d made it abundantly clear to her in his loquacious way that his mind was elsewhere this evening. She left him alone to his private reflections.

She at least expected their own cheerful Tiefling to be smack in the middle of the evening’s revelry. Tonight, Karlach was nowhere to be found. Only when she later glimpsed Shadowheart’s tent standing dark and noticeably empty did she put the pieces together.

Well, good for them. At least two of their group might have a chance at a lay tonight.

No such luck for her, it seemed. She raised the bottle of Ithbank to her lips and tried not to feel too sorry for herself. The last few days had been long, exhausting, positively brutal…her muscles ached from overuse. Really, a good night’s sleep should be more than enough to satisfy her.

And yet—how nice it would feel to be touched and held with tenderness, even if it wasn’t real, even just for one night. Just enjoy a harmless tumble in someone’s bedroll before everything crashed around them again. The thought of the long road that would greet her in the morning made her groan, and she shook the thought away.

It hardly helped her souring mood to see Danis and Bex practically sitting in each others’ laps in the middle of camp, gently knocking their horns together with affection. She averted her eyes and took a rather resentful swig of wine as she trudged past.

“Go on then, give us a show!”

Teasing laughter came from just ahead. At the edge of camp, she happened upon the three Tiefling siblings from the Grove. Rolan, the oldest, stood flexing his hands as if preparing for an impressive feat. As she approached, she thought for just a moment that he glanced in her direction.

His brother Cal heckled him mercilessly from the rock where he and Lia were perched. “Lose your nerve, wiz?”

Rolan sighed, long-suffering. “Have you no respect for showmanship?” Not leaving time for any more smart comments, he flourished his hands upward with a low incantation.

The effect was like tiny stars, or fireflies, or some combination of the two. Sparkling lights spread and popped above their heads, leaving behind a violet mist that gently faded into the night.

She found herself smiling up at the sky. It wasn’t a powerful display, but it was lovely nonetheless. And certainly unique. She wondered how one went about inventing a Weave spell; she wouldn’t know where to begin.

Tucking the bottle against her chest, she offered a little round of applause. Cal looked over at her then and let out a groan of amusement. “Not you, now he’ll keep at it all night.”

"Shut it," Rolan shot at him, positively glowering. Lia was clutching her side in laughter at his expense.

Two against one; that was siblings for you. She was in a newly generous mood after his pretty magic, however, and decided to lend Rolan a hand.

"Surprised you're still here," she said, cocking her head toward Cal. "Last I heard, Lakrissa was looking for you."

Cal's neck practically snapped with how quickly he craned it around camp. Lia turned her mirth on him, aiming a punch at his shoulder.

"As if, you idiot," she chuckled. "She's only about ten times out of your league."

"You don't know that," Cal told her, completely thrown off teasing his brother as he rose to look around the party hopefully. "She told me I had a good parry one time—I could have a chance—"

As he wandered off, Lia threw up her hands and rose to follow him. "Guess I'll go save Lakrissa. Or maybe just watch what happens. Nice one," Lia added over her shoulder, grinning appreciatively at her.

She and Rolan were left standing alone to the side. There was some awkward shuffling of feet; somewhere past the campfire, Volo launched into his third stanza of Tymora's Melody. A song to make people lucky, she seemed to recall. A suggestive choice for the night.

"Drink?" She broke the silence, offering out the bottle of wine. Relief flooded Rolan’s face.

"Gods, please." He accepted and took a generous pull.

"You certainly have your hands full with those two, don’t you." She bit back a grin at the way his brow crinkled in response.

"They are…" Rolan cast around for the word. "Challenging. But I don't have to tell you that," he added, glancing sideways at her. "We were bickering the first moment you met us."

"That's just family, though," she laughed, taking the wine back from him. Their fingers brushed together slightly over the bottle.

“Nevertheless. My thanks.” He waved his hand in a general motion, but she could tell he meant her intervention before.

“Don’t mention it,” she told him.

Seeking a reprieve from the merry music and voices around them, her feet idly made their way toward the edge of the fire's light closer to the riverbank. From the corner of her eye she saw Rolan follow. They settled on a log of driftwood that faced the scenes at camp.

"So, you're finally making your way to Baldur's Gate," she said. It wasn't a question; he'd already told everyone who would listen about his apprenticeship with Lorroakan of Ramazith.

"Finally.” His eyes glowed with pure enthusiasm. "You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. The slightest delay has felt like an eternity.”

“And Cal and Lia? They must be excited, too.”

“Of course” he said, though his lips raised in a little smirk. “They’ve never been to the Gate, so they don’t quite know what to expect. But they’re just as eager.”

She watched him for a moment as she turned the bottle over in her hands. "You're quite sure of yourself, aren't you."

Rolan looked at her with a challenging expression. “Tell me, in our position, what else is there we can be sure of?"

He almost made her regret herself. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just that you’re very—”

“I expect most wouldn’t guess that a hellspawn could earn a position under the greatest archmage on the Sword Coast,” Rolan said before she could finish.

His moods were volatile as a storm; turning this way and that without warning. She was never sure what to expect from him. Before she could protest his assumptions about her, he continued onward.

"We three never had much between us, you know." Rolan’s voice was abruptly low and bitter. "Somehow we've got less now than we started with. Not even our birthplace anymore. The one thing I’m sure of is my magical talent. I'm not going to deny it for the sake of being modest—" he tossed the words out with contempt. "Not when it's the one thing I always knew I had in spades. With the right instruction, I could be inimitable."

She studied his determined profile in the half-light of the campfire. Perhaps there were more layers to his self-important attitude than she'd thought. After all, without him taking on the challenging role that awaited him in the city, Rolan and his siblings found themselves in much the same position as the other refugees milling about camp tonight. A heavy weight despite his obvious enthusiasm. Who was she to judge him, or any of them?

Rolan finally caught her watching him and cleared his throat. "Forgive me, I think I've—had too much wine."

"Oh?" She gave the bottle a swirl; it was still more than half-full. "You're making pretty good sense to me."

"I don't usually speak so freely with strangers," he explained tersely, glancing away.

She pondered the comment over another sip. "Does that make us friends, then?" She asked, not sure if she was being serious or trying to tease him. He did seem like he'd be awfully fun to tease.

"That's a little premature," he said dryly, but he glanced at her with a serious look. "Though I suppose, given recent events, you've earned it."

"A roundabout way to say yes," she laughed. "But I'll take it."

Rolan only made a low, grumpy noise in his throat. But he didn't challenge her.

“I’m really glad you three stayed, you know,” she told him. “I know you were against it. It certainly wasn’t the easy choice.”

Rolan plucked a bit of dry grass from between his boots, twisted it between his fingers. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “Once Lia gets an idea in her head to save some poor thing or other, there’s no arguing with her. And she knows I'd never leave her behind.”

"You say that, but anyone with eyes can see the way those two look to you for guidance. They would've followed you down either path."

"Not like us staying even made a difference," Rolan deflected, tossing the ball of grass onto the dirt in front of them. "We only lost a few more traveling days waiting around while you and your friends took care of everything. For which, I suppose, we owe you thanks," he finished sarcastically.

"I suppose," she said lightly. But she was looking straight at him.

Rolan was clever enough to realize he was being chastised. He let out a sigh, but dipped his horns to her in resignation. "Thank you."

She only smiled at him and offered back the wine in response. He accepted without comment.

Watching him tip back the bottle, she mentally fit another piece to his puzzle. "You don't like feeling powerless, do you?"

Rolan looked sideways at her. "Does anyone? Do you?"

"No," she replied, feeling a little foolish for asking. When he passed it back, she drank deeply from the bottle, grounded by the burn that traveled down her throat.

"That must make your situation difficult." Rolan was watching her almost cautiously, as if the subject should be carefully tread.

"The tadpole, you mean?" She spoke it aloud, not wanting him to feel any suspense about the subject. How the thought could fill her with dread and a kind of dark humor at the same time was beyond her. Maybe the worm in her brain was finally driving her mad after all.

"First I had to talk Nettie out of giving me a lobotomy. Then I thought the renowned First Druid Halsin might be able to heal me, but no luck. I even thought that crazy goblin priestess could have something up her sleeve." She gave a mirthless laugh, starting to feel the weariness closing around her again. "Suppose I just need to keep searching, right? Halsin thinks we might find answers in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Or maybe the cure is in Baldur's Gate. Who knows," she added, glancing over at him. "Maybe your Lorroakan could know the solution, if he's as powerful as you say."

"He is," Rolan answered automatically. His luminous eyes were sharp with enthusiasm as he watched her. "When you get to the city, come see me at Sorcerous Sundries. If a cure exists, it'll be recorded somewhere in the library of Ramazith’s Tower, I'm sure of it. I’ll even research it, if I have time."

Inwardly she hoped they'd all be cured far earlier than that. But she was touched by his sudden helpfulness, even if it was half to prove the powers of his new station.

“Thank you, Rolan,” she smiled. “I appreciate it.”

He dipped his horns wordlessly toward her again. It was a gesture she was beginning to recognize, and grow rather fond of. She offered him their wine bottle in thanks.

From there they both let the moment drift. Seated on their log near the riverbank, she turned to watch how the rest of the revelry was progressing. Alfira had joined Volo in some kind of bardic duel; a rapid-fire melody drifted out to where the two of them sat. Lia appeared to be bravely trying her luck with Lae'zel. Judging by Lae'zel's very non-subtle body language, she was actually getting somewhere.

And to her disbelief, she even saw Cal and Lakrissa sitting together at the fire, engaged in what looked like a very friendly, very close conversation. Was it seriously everyone's night but hers?

She glanced to Rolan's face at her side. He wasn't paying attention to her; his fingers rolled the neck of their shared drink idly back and forth.

It should've occurred to her sooner, honestly. Despite Rolan's initial bluster, she found it surprisingly easy to speak with him one-on-one like this. He had a depth she hadn't noticed before.

And he wasn't bad to look at, either. Golden eyes set against inky black, strong jawline, lips that often curved up in a little smirk that she wasn't sure he deserved but found charming despite herself. She decided to dispense with caution and just try her luck.

"Would you mind if I kissed you?"

“What?” Rolan's head jerked around as he stared at her. "Why?"

"I don't know," she admitted. Maybe this was a bad idea; the shock on his face made her question her own boldness. But then she thought of his pretty spellwork. "Because you're the only person who's made me smile tonight."

Rolan examined her expression as though trying to tell whether she was joking. "We barely know each other," he said slowly.

She gestured her head toward the crowded clearing. "I mean, I didn’t know any of these people a few weeks ago. And now look at us. We’re practically family at this point.” She turned back toward him. "Besides, maybe I'd like to get to know you better?"

Rolan cast around for a response to that. "I suppose you're not…unattractive," he conceded. Although the nervous movement of his fingers gave him away a little.

"Know how to make a girl feel special, don't you," she laughed. "Look, Rolan, say no if you don't want to. I'm not after anything serious. It's just a good night for some company, and honestly, I’ve enjoyed talking to you."

Rolan was considering it; she could practically see his mind ticking between his options. "You're quite tenacious, aren't you?" He told her, the hint of a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.

"When I want something," she agreed.

Something in the words seemed to tip his decision. She watched Rolan's eyes flick down to her lips.

Taking that as a yes, she tilted forward to press them against his. His skin was warm and softer than she expected. Rolan didn't move against her, in fact was practically frozen still. She couldn't tell whether he was inexperienced or just out of practice. Regardless, she pulled away to look at him through her lashes, checking his expression.

This close his golden eyes almost seemed to blaze. She watched them move over her face, taking in her features up close. When he realized she wasn't going to initiate again, Rolan leaned in for another kiss.

Definitely not inexperienced, she decided, as his lips slid and moved softly over hers. She breathed in and smelled smoke and wine and something spiced; a pleasant warmth coiled in her stomach. He sighed into the kiss, apparently feeling something similar.

She felt a tentative hand rest on the side of her waist. Without breaking from him, she scooted sideways to get a little closer, inadvertently pressing her leg up against his. Rolan made no objection, only circled his arm further around her back.

It was the nicest feeling. Being held by a firm yet gentle touch, sharing kisses that flowed from sweet to eager to shy and back again. How long had it been? The longer Rolan's mouth moved over hers, the less she cared about remembering.

She hooked her arms over his shoulders to keep him close. As she tilted her chin for a better angle at his mouth, she took a chance and ran her tongue along his bottom lip. Rolan’s fingers dug slightly deeper into her side, but his lips parted to allow her in.

She felt a thrill run through her as their tongues melted together. They tasted each other softly for a moment; unconsciously, she combed her fingers up through the hair at his nape.

Rolan broke away gently at the feeling. She grew suddenly shy when their eyes met again, and she cast around for something to fill the silence.

"Why do you hide your ears behind your hair like that?” She wondered aloud. “They’re lovely." As she spoke, one of her index fingers went to tuck a lock of his hair back behind the long, pointed arrow of his ear, grazing against it with curiosity. Before she could blink, his hand caught hers to pull it away.

"Don't—" Rolan said abruptly, then let out a nervous laugh to break the tension. “Tiefling ears are…quite sensitive.”

"Oh," she said. His meaning sunk in the rest of the way. “Oh—I’m so sorry, I didn't realize—" The heat of embarrassment on her cheeks could have melted her.

"It’s all right,” he told her, laughing genuinely now. “Gods, your face is almost as red as mine.”

Rolan was even more handsome with a real, true smile on his face. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen one there before. Before she’d found a response, his grip on her wrist was gently pulling her arm over his shoulder, and her body closer to him with it.

She decided another kiss would shut up his teasing nicely. She followed his lead and then some, wrapping both arms around his lovely shoulders, melting against his lips again. He said something against her, but the words dissolved into a hum that sent a pleasant shiver down her back.

Finally, Rolan succeeded in pulling away to glance back toward the center of camp. "Sorry," he said breathlessly, and it sounded like he truly was. "I just—don't want you to face uncomfortable questions in the morning."

No doubt his siblings' teasing was another factor, but she didn't call him out on it. While she appreciated his chivalry, all she could think about was getting his mouth under hers again.

"We could go to my tent?" She suggested.

For all the cockiness he'd spouted from the first moment she met him, she felt Rolan's hands almost seize up around her.

The feeling made her bite back a grin. "I'd just like to kiss you some more," she said, tracing her thumb against his jaw. "We don't have to do anything else. It would just be more private. And more comfortable."

Rolan licked his lips, unsure. “Won’t that be even more obvious?”

“I don’t think this crowd’s going to notice much at this point…” She turned with arms still around him to look over the scenes near the campfire, and Rolan's gaze followed. The generous flow of alcohol was taking a clear effect on most of the faces gathered here and there. Around the fire’s edge, Alfira was leading many of her fellows in a rousing ballad that she didn’t recognize. Most voices were noticeably off-key.

“Come on,” she invited Rolan, rising with one of his hands in hers. He made no protests as she led him around the edge of camp, trying to stay out of the more obvious sightlines, and towards her empty tent. When she held the flap open for him, he ducked in quickly without a word, and she followed.

Inside, the light from the roaring campfire filtered dimly through the fabric walls. She watched Rolan’s luminous eyes glance around, taking in her personal effects, finally landing on her open bedroll. He swallowed hard.

“Just sit,” she told him, guiding him by the arm down beside her. They settled side-by-side on the blankets. Somehow the mood between them was back to the initial uncertainty of before, as if they hadn’t already shared a score of kisses.

“Your tent smells like you,” he said out of nowhere.

"Really?" She chuckled, but the observation somehow made her very nervous. “Not sure if I want to ask what my smell is.”

“Balsam.” Rolan didn’t elaborate, only dipped his head swiftly to place lips under her jaw. Her laughter dissolved into a sigh of pleasure. Clawed hands snaked up around her side and down over her shoulder, tipping her torso into him. She let her head loll to the side to give him all the access he could want.

She’d forgotten all about his sharp incisors. As he kissed down the side of her neck, his warm breath sending a cascade of shivers over her spine, one of his fangs grazed her bare skin by accident. Her sharp intake of breath surprised even herself.

Rolan pulled away to look at her, uncertain if he’d done something right or wrong. She used the moment to capture him in a kiss again, sucking and nibbling on one side of his bottom lip, letting him know how right he was getting this.

She sank sideways into her bedroll, pulling him down with her with hands clasped behind his neck, trying to be mindful of his angling horns.

Rolan's arm rested comfortably over her side, nails whispering against her back as he held her. He was so gentle like this; so unlike the way he presented himself to others. The thought that she was seeing a side of Rolan most others didn’t get to see—she liked that thought very much. She tangled a hand in his hair as their kisses turned soft, and lovely, and almost lazy.

The security of his arms around her in her soft bedroll, the alcohol making its way rapidly to her brain, the exertions of the day straining along her limbs…she felt herself drifting toward a state of relaxation almost like sleep. She roused herself, wanting to kiss him back while she had him here. She wasn't sure when they'd get a chance like this next.

But Rolan gently disentangled their mouths for a moment. "Here," he said, scooting his arm under her neck like a pillow. She leaned against him with a comfortable sigh.

"Your arm's gonna fall asleep," she warned him, making no moves to shift the weight of her heavy head.

Rolan chuckled low in his chest. "I think you'll be doing that first."

She wanted to make a snappy response, but all that came out was a petulant groan against his lips.

This wasn't going at all the way she intended. She wasn't supposed to doze off, she was supposed to kiss the Tiefling wizard until he saw stars, like the ones he'd conjured for her.

Because he had conjured them for her—she told herself that with certainty, whether or not it was true. The sweet thought carried her toward sweet dreams, and the memory of them behind her eyelids was the last thing she saw before she drifted.

—

The call of an owl nearby pierced through her sleep. As her mind surfaced in the darkness, the first thing she was aware of was the pleasant weight of an arm across her. She sighed and settled comfortably back into the warm figure pressed up against her hips and shoulders. The mystery arm pulled her in tighter in response.

Things began slowly filtering back to her; the party the night before, and the wine, and Rolan, and—

Her eyes opened wide then. The interior of her tent was so dark that she could only make out blurry shapes. Outside, she heard nothing but crickets and a few more distant owls hooting; it must be well past midnight. The fire hadn't been tended for hours, judging by the absence of light reaching through the fabric walls. Presumably the rest of camp had all turned in long ago.

With the nervousness of a person who'd fallen asleep from drink, she shifted around a bit to confirm that yes, she was very much still fully clothed. Her toes flexed against hard leather; even her dusty boots were still on her feet. That answered that question, at least. She glanced down at the clothed arm over her stomach.

"Rolan?" She whispered through the dark.

She felt and heard his lips mumble something against her hair, and then Rolan's face nestled deep into the crook of her neck with a happy sigh. The intimate gesture made her bite her lip. She could feel his steady breaths tickle against her collarbone.

However much she might want to let him stay right there, forever, she knew she should wake him.

"Rolan," she whispered a little louder. Twisting a bit to free the arm under her side, she reached to gently pat the spot between his horns. She felt his hair rustle freely under her hand; its orderly tie must have come undone in the night.

Rolan inhaled sharply awake then. He lifted his head from her as if trying to cast around for where he was.

"We both fell asleep," she whispered, stating the obvious. She felt him tense up behind her as he took in his body's positioning: chest pressed against her back, one arm cradling her neck, the other wrapped tight around her waist to keep her pulled in close to him. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she even felt his tail twined around one of her legs.

Every part of him retreated from her at once as he lurched into a half-seated position. "I'm sorry," he apologized in a groggy whisper.

"It's fine," she assured him, wondering why he would assume she didn't enjoy the closeness as much as he clearly had in his sleep. "I think everyone else is asleep by now."

There was a long, quiet pause. Then Rolan began, “Did we…?”

“No,” she interjected with certainty.

"Thank Gods. I mean—" He cast around in the dark for one of her hands, realizing how that came out. "We both drank a lot, that's not how I want—it shouldn't be like that."

"I know." The sweet goodness of him made her heart swell.

Suddenly, Rolan grabbed his head with both hands. "Fuck," he hissed. "Lia and Cal."

"What about?"

"They'll know I didn't come back to our camp last night," he groaned low.

"Oh—okay," she said, trying to think; her brain was still fuzzy from the night's wine. "Well, maybe they'll just assume you got back late?"

“You don't understand, they know that I—” He cut himself off, and finished, “They already tease me about you.”

“Oh." She did her best to ignore the way that made her insides do a happy flip. But she couldn’t resist teasing a little herself. “Then maybe they’ll just assume you finally got lucky?”

His head fell against her shoulder with a groan, horns lightly knocking against her. “Please,” he begged.

“Sorry, Rolan—” She was instantly contrite, holding his head close to place kisses across his hair and forehead. "Listen, we've got an hour or two before dawn. Maybe you can sneak back and they won't know how late you were out. Where's your camp?"

"The bluffs just outside the Emerald Grove, with Lakrissa and the bard."

She knew the spot; they could easily reach there in a quarter hour on foot. But first, she scooted away and undid the flap of her tent to peer out for any signs of activity.

Everything outside was very still. She watched carefully for another moment just in case; near Wyll's tent, Scratch snuffled and buried his snout further against the owlbear cub's feathers. Beyond that, there were no signs of stirring in the camp.

She ducked back inside the tent for a moment. "C'mon—"

With quiet, shuffling feet, they crept out into the quiet moonlit night. Scratch's head raised silently in their direction. She stared into his dark eyes with a silent plea, begging him to be a good boy and stay quiet. He lowered his head back down without a sound. She swore to herself that she would find him the biggest, juiciest bone in the morning.

She grabbed Rolan's hand behind her and tugged him quietly through camp. They passed tent after tent filled with steady breathing, boots padding against the dirt in near-silence.

Once they were outside the ruined wall at the edge of the campsite, she let out her pent-up breath in relief.

Rolan kept his fingers twined firmly with hers as they walked through the moonlight. They talked about anything to fill the air, about things that didn't matter, both trying to stave off the impending end of their short night together.

Far sooner than felt fair, they rounded into a familiar clearing, and she knew his destination was just up the hill to their left.

"Well," she began, as they slowed to a stop.

Before she knew it, she was pulled against Rolan’s chest in a tight embrace. She folded herself into him as completely as she could manage, breathing deep and committing his scent to memory.

When they broke apart, he kept her close so he could see her face in the moonlight. "Which route will you take to reach the Shadow lands?"

"Through the Underdark if we can," she answered. "I wasn't sure about it, but we all took a vote after the fight yesterday. What about you three?"

"I don't know," Rolan said honestly. "It depends how Zevlor decides. We're all going to travel together as far as we can."

"Oh," she said. She ought to say something reassuring about how that was a wise tactical choice, but she was overcome with the realization that she might not see Rolan again for many weeks. Possibly not until they both reached Baldur's Gate.

In that moment, she fervently regretted not fucking this wonderful man into tomorrow when she'd had the chance—wine be damned. From the way Rolan was looking at her, she wondered if he was thinking the same.

Instead, she leaned in to kiss him one last time with everything she had. She wanted to remember the way his shoulders fit perfectly under her arms. Rolan’s grip closed around her middle, and in the next instant she felt her feet dangle weightless as he lifted her off the ground into him.

The kiss had to end eventually. As he lowered her onto her feet, she touched back down to dirt and reality.

“Your hair,” she gasped suddenly. It hung loose to his shoulders, his red ear tips poking from between the locks. It was a very handsome look for him.

Rolan raised a hand up in realization himself. “I’ll figure something—” he began, but she was already tugging at the leather lace that fastened her shirt. She raised it to her mouth to bite off a short length.

Before he could stop her, she stood on tiptoe to gather Rolan’s hair behind his head the way he usually kept it. Her arms circled him as she tied it halfway back with the makeshift string. She could feel his eyes on her face, but she steadily avoided meeting his gaze. She foolishly felt like she might cry if she did.

“There,” she sniffed as she pulled away.

Rolan only gave her a gentle smile. “Thank you,” he said, dipping his horns to her one more time.

Telling him goodbye hurt just to think about. “Good night,” she whispered to him instead.

“It has been,” Rolan agreed. “The very, very best.”

#this one turned out much longer than i expected #how very much i love him #rolan x tav #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #underdark-dreams #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #tav pov for a little change

398 notes · View notes

bleubrri · 2 years

Text

۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ ɪᴛ’s ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ ! — ᴊᴇᴀɴ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

༄ؘ ˑ contains: best friends → lovers , mutual pining , costumes errywhere , dry humping , m!oral , jean whining n whimpering hehe , reader bein kinda bossy >:7 , black coded!fem!reader , vaginal sex , creampie [ maybe more idk bro it’s 3am @_@ ]

༄ؘ ˑ wc: SIGH 4k :/

༄ؘ ˑ a/n: this is for the if you really think that you can stomach me collab by the light of my life @strawberrystepmom !! i wanted to post it in october but i’m useless so forgive me T^T lil talk about protection in there—communication is sexc!! also pls use condoms + practice safe sex xoxo

"these are all awful." you whine, sitting against jeans headboard and scrolling through his 'costume ideas' pinterest board.

he’s got his head underneath the desk, trying to fish out the mario kart disc thats fallen down the back, so his response is muffled. "they’re the most popular ones from the last decade!"

"jean, i am not wearing any of these."

he shuffles back out, dust covered disc in hand and pouting down at you. "there isn't one that you like?"

"not remotely."

"you’re being picky." he says, slotting the disc into the console and tossing you the player 1 controller.

"i’m being honest." you mutter, scrolling past a particularly awful rendition of a cops & robbers costume. he flops onto the bed and rests his head on your shoulder, peeking at the screen.

"y'know I worked really hard cultivating this. hours of research and painstaking decisi—hey!" his head knocks against the headboard when you yank yourself from under his weight.

"you're so annoying.." you mutter, navigating the homescreen and selecting grand prix. the character and course selection are accompanied with jeans babbling (we’ve gotta pick a good one—the standards are high! maybe i should just pick and force a decision on you—) that earns him unconvinced grunts and looks of skepticism.

the subject gets temporarily lost in the chaos that naturally ensues when jean selects rainbow road, 3 minutes of screaming and curses and shuffling onto your knees to get a better vantage point. it isn’t until the final lap when your item box is shuffling that you pipe up, “i guess we don’t have to do something matching..”

jean almost veers off of the track.

he frowns, glancing at your profile as he tries to maintain his first place spot. “…what?” he says. you’ve always dressed up together. since you were kids halloween had been your guys’ favourite holiday, and yet here you were suggesting that you break a years long (albeit unofficial) october tradition.

“i mean we could just go as separate things? if that makes it easier.” and it seems like appropriate timing when you unleash a blue shell and obliterate jeans universe.

you’re glowing, shrieking in triumph as you pass the finish line and leave jean in the dust. he watches your characters parade around the winners podium with a clenched jaw and sinking feeling.

“sure.” he agrees, tight lipped smile making you pause. you didn’t really expect him to agree—you’d only suggested it in case he had a particular costume that he was set on wearing. jean had always been the one to pick your costumes, you just went along with it, and always ending up looking decent so you couldn’t complain. he was always more into the whole idea of dressing up anyway. but you hadn’t really anticipated him ditching your thing in order to.. what, impress some new college friends?

you blink at him, a protest like the cork of a wine bottle, stuck in your throat and threatening to choke you. “cool.” you manage, “just.. let me know what you’re going as, yeah?”

“tryna scope out the competition?”

you give him a good natured shove, rolling your eyes as a smile fights it’s way across your face.

something like that, you think.

this was a bad fucking idea.

as the rhythmic percussion from the speakers gets close enough to rattle your bones, it starts to set in that jean was right. people have taken their costumes really fucking seriously. there are a few token stragglers: eren, in a hoodie and a purge mask and a short, raven haired senior with faux fangs and devil horns. but for the most part all you can see is elaborate sfx gore, girls in animal ears and enough fabric to border on public indecency. and everyone looks great.

you feel pathetic, turning up in a matching costume unbeknownst to your best friend. what if he’s mad? you’d gone from feeling somewhat pretty to utterly mortified in the span of a tacky monster mash-grime remix. your internal debate of whether to bolt back down the road and uber home is interrupted by connie (gruesomely accurate stitches and foam kitchen knife complementing his chucky outfit) who tackles you in a bear hug that reeks of tequila.

“y’look great!” he slurs, clinging to you for so long that he starts swaying.

stifling a laugh, you detach from him and start guiding him back inside. “thanks con, you too.” you shout over the music.

after successfully delivering connie to mikasa (in a very expensive looking black swan costume) you start to navigate the crowd in an attempt to find something to drink.

jean had been developing a steady buzz in the hour or so that he’d been here. he wasn’t having fun. you’d rejected his offer of a ride and for some reason it had given him the urge to drink his blood volume in vodka cokes. he’d made pretty good headway so far, drowning out the compliments on his frankenstein costume with deep gulps from his glass. it felt weird, not having your complimentary figure beside him to admire all night.

somewhere between the fourth beer and third shot of rum he decided that he was mad at you. but it had dissipated pretty quickly—he was refilling his glass when he caught a glimpse of you.

connie was half-slung over your shoulder (gripping you awfully tight and saying something into your ear that has jeans teeth grinding together) but he could still clearly see the monikers of your costume. white streaks in your hair. blackened stitches along your jaw that mirror his own. jean feels the air get punched from his lungs when his eyes scan over your dress. the sheer, pale fabric practically glowing in the dim lighting. there’s a white corset that hugs your waist and follows the curve of your hips that jean can’t seem to tear his gaze from. the whole ensemble.. it’s hauntingly beautiful. you’re beautiful.

jean swallows down a forbidden feeling that claws at his ribcage, tears at the flesh of his throat in its frenzied attempt to escape.

he bolts down the hall to connie’s room, shouldering past vague acquaintances and slipping into his friends bathroom. the white knuckle grip that he has on the sink isn’t doing much to help ground him. his heart hammering in his chest and his head spinning unfortunately isn’t entirely the alcohols fault. scooping some cold water into his cupped hand, jean gulps it down and tries to cool the heat painting his cheeks and swirling in his gut.

bride of fucking frankenstein. is that why you’d asked what he was dressing up as? he groans, pressing the chilled tips of his fingers into his temple, mindful of the black face-paint stitches adorning his forehead. jean has spent almost 2 decades carefully steering you towards costumes that were safe—cute and perfect for the best of friends. jean has long since had his grand epiphany, long since resigned himself to keeping it all to himself, long since mourned the loss of what might have been. but he cannot risk a lifelong friendship with you on a gamble of ifs and maybes. so he straightens his jacket, plasters on his brightest smile and heads straight for you.

“well well well.” he drawls, coming up behind you as you’re mixing a drink. the sound of his voice has you sucking in a breath and turning to him with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth.

“couldn’t help yourself, huh? guess you’re just obsessed with me.”

you grin, glad that he seems like the jean you know and love. “please, this was a last minute ditch effort.” you shoot back, “i just couldn’t find anything else that looked okay!”

“ohh of course. forgive my wildly inaccurate assumption then.”

you chuckle, handing him a drink as you pour yourself another. “seriously though, dyou hate it?”

jean frowns over the rim of his cup, taking in your doe eyes and vulnerable expression that point to you being serious. “hate it? what would i hate it?”

“i don’t know.. you wanted to dress up alone this year so.. i thought you might be disappointed.” he stares at you blankly, cup hovering away from his lips. he’s got such pretty lips, you’ve always thought so. it would be.. weird to tell him that, right? though it’s probably weird how hard you’re staring at them right now and—oh god you’re staring.

“you wanted to dress up alone!” he says, confused.

“wh—i didn’t! i suggested it for you but.. i love our couples costumes.” you give him that shy smile that he adores and jean feels his insides turn to jelly. you have to know what you’re doing. you’ve baited him—hook, line and sinker and like the lovesick little guppy that he is he’s latched on and being stripped of oxygen.

“couples costumes?” he breaths.

“yeah i mean, we’re kind of like a couple.” you shrug, and jean almost faints. “we do everything together.” oh god, you need to shut the fuck up before you ruin everything. before he calls you out for overstepping and—

a whirlwind of colour that takes the form of sasha in a willy wonka costume (complete with crumpled wrappers spilling from her pockets) is suddenly ushering you both towards your group of friends before jean can respond and you can apologise. she pushes you down into the circle that’s forming, empty bottle of corona sitting menacingly in the centre.

jean groans, running a hand through his hair in a way that you can’t look at for too long or you might do something you’ll regret.

“what’re we? 16?” sasha just sticks her tongue out and slots down between macro and an on-the-verge-of-passing-out connie.

the games a hybrid—spin the bottle and 7 minutes in heaven, with people bending over the circle for a peck on the lips while the current 2 victims occupy the storage closet at the end of the hall. you find your eyes are focused on the fascinating items on the shopping list stuck to the fridge as jean locks lips with a pretty little blonde girl—hitch, you’re pretty sure. you don’t notice the glares that your best friend sporadically shoots in reiners direction when the bulky blonde kisses you for a little longer than necessary, earning whoops and cheers from your giddy friends. when the flick of erens wrist dictates that you and jean are next for the closet, the whole group groans.

“what?” floch says, clearly confused as to your apparent reputation.

“these are the worst.” mikasa deadpans, earning a playful shove from you.

“we are not!”

“what, they fuck super loud or something?” floch asks. jeans cheeks are reddening at the implication.

“hardly.” connie mumbles, suddenly following the conversation. “last time they were in there forever, found ‘em passed out after watchin’ a movie on his phone.”

you smile, pushing yourself up and extending a hand to jean. “i’m thinking insidious 2? maybe the conjuring?”

“stop. you know hocus pocus is more my speed.” he matches your smirk and laces your hands together, your friends’ booing accompanying you down the hall as you make your way to the closet.

you’re both settled on the floor, backs against the shelves and scrolling through jeans phone to find a movie. it’s dark, the only light coming from the small screen, but he can still see the outline of your figure in his peripherals, pressed up against him with your head on his shoulder, where it belongs.

“hey.” he finds himself blurting out. it’s the familiarity, the closeness that’s loosening his lips and making his iron resolve crumble.

“hey.” you smile up at him, and as he skims over your face, long lashes swept with mascara, pointed brows and lips sculpted with a dark crimson that almost looks black, jean has the startling urge to confess that he’s hopelessly, desperately in love with you.

“did you mean it? before..”

“what?”

“that we’re like a couple.” he presses.

“oh, i—” theres an apology on the tip of your tongue that somehow morphs under the intensity of his gaze, warm eyes piercing even in the low light. “i mean, we are, aren’t we? strangers always think we’re together. we’re just not, ah.. intimate like a couple.”

jeans ears are ringing. what might have been is beginning to look like what could be, what’s right at his fingertips.

“do you want to be?” it’s barely a whisper, his face so close to yours that when he swipes over his lips you can feel the heat from his tongue. your gaze flickers down, glued to his lips, and without a second thought you find yourself nodding.

“are you sure?” this time, he’s so close that you can feel the syllables against your lips.

“kiss me.”

and jean does not need to be told twice.

it’s a chaste thing, a sweet thing. just skin against skin. you both share a sigh against eachother and it’s filled with so much relief, so much longing that it’s only natural for his hands to make their way to your cheeks, coaxing your head back as his tongue starts to lick into your mouth.

wet smacking and heavy breaths are fogging the space of the closet as your hands curl around his wrists. jeans hands cup your jaw, a breathy chuckle bubbling up when he rests his forehead against yours. it’s so infectious that you find yourself giggling along with him, mirroring the shapes he traces into you on his pulsepoints.

“you have no idea.” jean finds himself mumbling between slow savours of your lips. “god, you drive me crazy.” and you do. he thinks he can feel his fucking brain chemistry altering with every brush of your tongue against his own.

it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore the desire pooling between your legs at the feeling of your best friend cradling your face like you’re made of glass and kissing you until you’re dizzy. your limbs feel phantom as you slowly push him against the shelves, your thighs finding purchase surrounding his long legs and hands slipping into his hair. his phone is still on somewhere, cool-blue light casting shadows over your figure. even straddling him, you’re only marginally taller, but jean loves it, your pretty face there for him to behold and your tits squished against the confines of your corset at the perfect level to latch onto. your cleavage being on display is more of an obvious byproduct of having breasts as apposed to a purposeful attempt at being alluring, but jean thanks whatever deity is looking over him and happily sucks a trail of bruises into the soft skin before him. he can feel your breathing increasing with every graze of his teeth, every violet mark etched into your skin. and when he delivers a particularly harsh nip, your thighs clenching around him and your grip on his nape tightening, jean thinks he has to be ascending.

the tent in his pants is considerable, poking into your core even through the whispy layers of your dress. large hands have settled on your waist when you start to rock in his lap, a sputtering groan spilling into your chest as his dick twitches in anticipation.

“fuck, jean—i need you.”

he’s frantic, bunching up your dress to expose your bare thighs and dampened panties. he perches you over his dick, stifling a moan from the pulsing heat of your cunt radiating against his bulge. the movements of your hips are aided by warm hands settled on them, grinding you against his cock as you gasp and moan at the friction. he almost whines in response, fingertips digging into your soft flesh. “don’t—oh shit—don’t have a condom.”

he can’t form a sentence, let alone a coherent thought. but like the angel that you are, you do it for him, tug his face back from where it’s buried in your neck, smiling fondly at his lidded eyes and parted lips. “i mean, i’m clean. and.. on birth control.” you whisper, as if he wasn’t nursing you day and night after your IUD appointment. tucking a strand of hair behind the reddened tip of his ear, you press your lips to the stubble that peppers his jaw. it’s rough, mildly grating in a way that brings heat to the surface of your skin and has you wondering how it would feel against your inner thighs. “and i trust you.” you smile.

a confession is dangerously close to bursting from his chest. jean might as well just plunge a fist through flesh and bone, part his ribcage and present his beating heart to you. he would do it, if you asked.

“fuck, are you sure?” he’s blindly scrambling for his phone. “i—i’m clean and everything but are you sure?” and suddenly the screen is being lit up in front of you with goddamn test results. you laugh, because it’s so sweet and so jean—giving you peace of mind despite your assurances, checking in on you again and again because he cares. you pull up your own recent results and present it to him, his eyes barely flicking over it before his gaze is relocked with yours. you chuck your phone to the side, palming his bulge in languid strokes with your free hand and shuffling down the length of his legs. “never been more sure of anything.”

jeans so hopped up on endorphins, on the taste of you and the arousal searing his skin that he hardly notices you flicking the clasp of his belt buckle. he’s shook from his stupor when he feels the cool air hit his dick, tip shiny with so much precum that its started to drip down to his balls. you weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the slight curve of his shaft, the bulbous head and mushroom tip, the length of it has your eyes wide and mouth pooling with saliva. you delight in the way his cock twitches and he shivers when you blow against his wet slit. and when you wrap a hand at his base, immediately pumping him with slickened strokes, he reels, arching into your touch and slamming a hand over his mouth to muffle his groans.

oh god, oh god you’re gonna ruin him, thumbing his slit and squeezing his cockhead until he’s leaking into your hand and planning your honeymoon. pink darts from between your teeth and you press the flat of your tongue against him, salty liquid bursting across your tastebuds that has you humming and taking the tip of his dick into the wet heat of your mouth. jeans nails are digging bloody crescents into the skin of his palm as he tries to hold back the sounds of his pleasure, but when you suckle on his slit and swirl your fucking tongue against the sensitive underside of his cock, jean feels his balls tighten and flames ignite under his skin.

“shit—shitshitshit wait!” and you’re pulling off of him with a lewd pop and a ditzy smile. there’s a string of saliva and pre that tethers him to your lips and jean doesn’t think you’ve ever looked so beautiful.

“god you’re so..” jeans panting, scouring his lust-dipped brain for a word that does you justice. his reaction has you preening, dragging down your panties and pecking his lips with a grin. “so’re you.”

your thighs return to their place around his hips, the bare heat of your sexes mingling when you press your clit into the underside of his shaft from its place against his stomach. jeans hands are guiding your mouth to reconnect with his, desire clawing at his chest. “let me taste you.” he breaths.

your pussy flutters at his request, baritone syllables making more slick ooze from your slit. “as much as i would love that,” you link your hands around his broad shoulders, pressing your weight into your knees to position his cock over your dripping entrance. you can see the beginnings of a protest shaping his pretty lips that you’re quick to silence, “i want you to cum.” and when his dick is enveloped with hot, wet softness, jean can’t do anything but gasp.

while the tightness of your cunt is threatening to milk him dry, he knows this can’t exactly be comfortable for you, the wetness of your shared arousal doing little to compensate for the lack of prep. gentle rolls of his hips accompany soft words and presses of his lips to the trail of bruises along your chest. “shh, you’re okay. it’s just me, just focus on me.”

slippery circles are pressed into your clit that have you relaxing under his touch and clenching around his cock simultaneously. “look how good you’re doing, baby.” he whipers, your hazy eyes blinking down to where you’re connected. you haven’t taken all of him, though he doesn’t seem to mind, his thrusts picking up and settling into a pace that has your toes curling. one of your hands slips from around his neck in a stubborn blur. he has to cum first. jean does more for you than he probably realises, doting on you like the angel that he is. they’ll be time for more later. but he has to have the first. your fingers trail the soft skin of his sac, nails grazing the cropped hair at his base that has him shuddering beneath you. you can almost feel his load churning under your touch when you roll the heavy weight of his balls between your fingertips.

electricity is sparking between you—it’s under your skin and in your gut and tethering the beating muscles in your chests.

“i—have wanted you—” his words are choked, impending orgasm a breath away, “—for so fucking long. i fucking—i love you. i’m so fucking in love with you.” his confession comes as he does, searing heat from his release coating your insides and splashing through the depths of your cunt. your foreheads are pressed together as you gasp and whisper against his lips, jeans hips fucking his load into you as he helps you chase your own high.

“i love you. always have.” it’s a little slurred, a little breathy. but when jean feels your pussy squeezing him in a vice, slick sounds of arousal bouncing off of the dark walls of the closet, he doesn’t think it could be any more fucking perfect.

reiner has his tongue shoved down bertls throat when you both emerge, blinking at the harsh light. the group doesn’t even give you a second look, at first. when reiner pulls back, leaving the brunet with pink cheeks and wide eyes, jean is the one to clear his throat and direct their attention to your disheveled figures.

“we’re, uh, we’re gonna head out.”

your hands are intertwined. which isn’t a foreign feeling at all, though his cum dripping down your thighs is certainly new.

“no fucking way.” connie seems to have sobered up exponentially, eyeing your mess of hickeys, wrinkled clothes and jeans wild hair.

“i’ll be damned.” erens smirking with his brows raised as you manoeuvre the little crowd and head for the door. throwing a quick wave over your shoulder, you flash a sheepish smile to your friends, stumbling out a goodbye as jean tugs you out the door.

“uh, happy halloween guys!”

as soon as the door slams jeans pulling you in for a kiss. his lips are quickly becoming your favourite thing so you are not complaining, looping your arms round his waist to pull him further into your orbit.

“so.” you muse, “what’re we now? like.. fuck buddies?” you joke.

jean thinks on it, dramatically squinting his eyes and humming in thought. “i’d prefer the term smash bros.”

the look of disgust that colours your face as you shove him away and head down the street has laughter bubbling in his chest and his hands pulling you flush against his chest.

“you’re so stupid.” you pout, barely masking your adorable smile. “can’t believe i slept with you. can’t believe im in love with you.” you’re teasing him, taking his lips for yourself and giggling against him. but if he’s being completely honest with himself, jean can’t fucking believe it either.

#: @luvkun4 @sheluvzeren @oxygenstarrved @wh0reforlevi

#jean x reader #jean x reader smut #jean x black reader #jean smut #jean kirstein x reader smut #jean kirstein smut #jean kirstein x reader #aot x black reader #aot x reader smut #aot x reader #aot smut #aot x you #aot x y/n #iyrtycsm collab #jean x you #jean x y/n

1K notes · View notes

shoyoist · 2 years

Note

please expand more on the shoyo tiktok gym thing 😭 i am going insane ONLY IF YOU WANT TO OF COURSE >:)

content: gn!reader, timeskip and final arc spoilers. established private relationship (that gets revealed). tiktok thirst traps :P just fluff. i rambled a lot lmaoo. note: hehe of course!! for you & me lan<3

— . ｡˚ ♡ hinata shoyo tiktok baddie era let's gooo!

hmmm so shoyo decides to try tiktok out because of all the hype the jnt receives during the olympics. they're the monster generation after all — atsumu and suna have been gaining quite a lot of traction on their pages, and they ask shoyo to cameo in their videos often, by popular demand. so he decides to give it a go!

of course, as soon as shoyo launches his tiktok and posts a video (just a short one of him sitting on the locker room bench at practice, introducing himself while the rest of the jnt are walking around and chatting in the background) he blows up instantly. @n1njashoyo gains over 30k followers within a day, and his first video gets a 100k likes in a couple of days. his account becomes big news everywhere.

he's one of the most popular members of the team globally, so it makes sense. he's known as the cutest player on the jnt, and in brazil/argentina he's so famous as “ninja shoyo”. people start tagging him in edits and fancams, and he sometimes duets them to praise and thank them.

lots of “hinata senshu notice me please 🥺” comments on his videos, and he replies to some of them with “hi !! 👋🏻” because he's just the cutest ever fr <33 he also responds to most japanese commenters and people that comment in portuguese because he understands them better.

his posts are mostly workout routine videos, different kinds of warm-up/cool-down stretches, high protein meal plan discussions—and he also films (and ocassionally goes live during) his evening runs and practise sessions. he has a series of form correction videos on volleyball, and a series of videos on resistance workouts that target specific muscles.

and every time he posts a clip where he's shirtless, doing curls or just anything with the weights, the videos are so clean and zoom in on his muscles so nicely<3 people start commenting things like “hinata sen do you have a camera man?” and he replies to one of them like “yes i do! :)” and they start telling him “senshu i think your cameraman has a crush on you...” little do they know v_v.

he doesn't respond to those comments, and the rumours about him having a lover away from public eye resurface. some viewers from brazil (where he lives at, since he's a player for ASAS) say that they “know something the others dont” etc etc.

and it builds up until about six months after shoyo launches his tiktok, one night he posts a thirst trap. low exposure filter, dim blue lighting, he's shirtless and standing infront of the mirror in just a pair of sweats — and behind him, someone is wrapping their arms around his waist. the video ends as soon as you fully lock your arms around his waist, and it drives his fans crazy.

the fangirls start posting about how their dream husband just announced that they're no longer single, comments like “gf reveal???” “hinata sen WHO IS THAT” “mr. hinata shoyo EXPLAIN” fill nearly all his recent videos.

after that little stunt, he disappears from social media for a bit. he had posted the thirst trap right on the brink of off season, and he stops posting on any of his socials for a couple of months.

then one day he makes a sudden, quick comeback — he drops a long video of himself and you, his beautiful partner, relaxing at a beach resort and enjoying a sunset dinner together at the beach. he clinks his glass of cherry wine with yours, takes a sip and grins at you all dopey before leaning in to give you a kiss. there are matching golden bands on both your ring fingers.

and the caption? “5 stars ⭐ food is good !! :)”

#‶｡ଘ.*+ — [ loveletter ].#‶｡ଘ.*+ — from : [ lan! ].#HAD SO MUCH FUN WITH THIS<333 #my hubby our hubby i love him #hinata x reader #haikyuu x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata fluff #haikyuu fluff #hinata drabbles #haikyuu drabbles #hinata headcanons #haikyuu headcanons

755 notes · View notes

lokimobius · 3 months

Note

💙 and lokius 🥺💕

This was SO much fun to write that I got a little bit carried away. I hope you enjoy silly, drunk Mobius!

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy

Loki had lost sight of Mobius at some point during the evening. The TVA staff were celebrating Casey’s promotion to Assistant in Repairs and Advancements. He spent so much time down there and had so much knowledge that it only made sense for him to officially change his role.

They could do that now. They decided for themselves what they wanted to do.

So, they celebrated. Mobius told B-15 about the collection of alcohol that Ravonna kept in her office. Apparently, she stole some from every mission that she went on. For someone who was so obsessed with the rules, Ravonna sure did seem to break them when it benefited her.

However, she and those rules were long gone, and they were able to work and live freely.

B-15 and Mobius had used a trolley to cart all of the alcohol into the cafeteria. O.B. found an old MP3 player in one of his many "junk drawers" that he hooked up to some speakers, and they dimmed the lights to make the atmosphere feel like nighttime.

It didn’t take long for everyone in their area to show up. Once they heard that there’d be alcohol, they finished their work quickly, excited to try all of the drinks that Ravonna had hidden away.

Loki loved a good party as much as the next person, but he was well aware that the TVA workers were all humans—humans who hadn't had the opportunity to build up a tolerance to alcohol.

He stood in the corner of the room, nursing his sixth glass of wine. Midgardian drinks were weak in comparison to those elsewhere in the universe, and he barely felt a buzz.

His eyes scanned the room, hoping to spot Mobius so they could go back to their apartment. Agents and hunters mingled loudly, laughing amongst themselves. Loki smiled at the jovial atmosphere; he'd never seen everyone so relaxed.

“Hey there.” A voice shook him out of his daze, and he looked to his side to see a wobbly Mobius making his way over to him.

“Do you always haunt the corners of parties?” He laughed, stumbling into a nearby table. “So, uh, can I get you a drink?”

Loki raised his eyebrows at Mobius and lifted his glass of wine in answer.

“Right. Right…” Mobius said, blushing slightly.

What was going on with him?

“I, um,” he began, awkwardly avoiding eye contact. “I was wondering if you were single?”

Loki’s jaw dropped, and he stared at his partner in disbelief. He couldn’t be serious. Right? Surely the alcohol couldn’t make him forget their relationship? Could it?

“I'm taken, actually...”

Mobius scowled and huffed slightly, and he shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“Who’s the lucky person, then?” he asked petulantly. He took a swig of the drink in his hand and swirled the ice around, avoiding eye contact with Loki. His bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

Mobius was sulking. Loki laughed. This was absolutely ridiculous, and he would never let Mobius live this down.

He flashed his most charming smile and stepped closer into Mobius’ personal space. Mobius’ eyes met his, and they widened considerably, obviously taken aback at the closeness.

“You are,” Loki purred, leaning close to his ear.

Mobius spluttered, nearly spilling his drink. “I am?! How’d I manage that?” The shock made him sway to the side suddenly, and Loki grabbed him by the waist to steady him.

“Wow,” Mobius said, looking up at Loki starry-eyed. “I scored big time. The most gorgeous person in the room? And you’re my partner?"

He laughed loudly, and his drink sloshed in his glass as he threw his head back. “Oh, triple M, you’ve done it again!”

Triple M? Oh, Loki was definitely not letting him forget about this.

Loki placed his drink on the table closest to him and came back to pluck Mobius’ glass from his hands. Mobius protested with a little “hey!” and reached out for the drink dramatically, as if Loki had taken something precious from him.

“I think it’s time I took you home, don’t you?”

Mobius blushed again, red spreading from his cheeks all the way down his neck. Loki smirked.

“Well, that’s very- yes!” Mobius cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s very forward of you.”

Loki returned his arm to Mobius’ waist and steered him out of the room, making his way as quickly as he could to the closest elevator to the living quarters.

“We live together, Mobius.”

“We do?!” Mobius smiled, slumping into Loki’s side as they waited for the elevator doors to open. “That’s great!” He closed his eyes and leaned further into Loki. “Fantastic,” he said under his breath.

The ding of the elevator made Mobius jump, and Loki laughed quietly to himself.

He propped Mobius up against the elevator wall and pressed the button for their floor.

No sooner had the doors closed, he felt himself being shoved up against the wall. His back pressed hard against the railing, and he arched his back slightly to accommodate it, in the process pushing his body closer to Mobius’.

He looked down to see a very flushed Mobius. His pupils had dilated, and they flicked down to Loki’s lips before looking back up to make eye contact with him.

Mobius slowly removed his hands from Loki’s shoulders and placed them on either side of Loki’s head, caging him against the wall.

Loki’s heart quickened in his chest as Mobius inched closer, nuzzling at the underside of his jaw. His breath hitched at the contact, and Mobius hummed before pressing his lips against Loki’s.

It started out gentle; Loki could tell Mobius was being cautious. Perhaps he still didn’t believe that they were together. The thought made him smile against Mobius’ lips.

The act made Mobius moan, deepening the kiss with a swipe of his tongue. It was messy; Mobius lacked any control in his inebriated state, and he tasted like alcohol. Their teeth clacked together, and Loki winced slightly. He placed his hands on either side of Mobius’ face in order to steady him, but that just made him moan louder, and he pushed his body impossibly closer.

A ding and a slide of the elevator doors startled the both of them, and Mobius jumped back, wiping his lips on his shirt sleeve.

A blonde analyst stood frozen at the threshold, mouth agape, very obviously scandalised at the sight she’d walked in on.

“Oh, I do apologise, miss.” Loki flushed. “We’ll be on our way now!”

Loki quickly glanced to see what floor they were on and grabbed Mobius’ hand to drag them out into the hallway.

Mobius giggled to himself, swaying on his feet as he trailed behind Loki.

“Is this something we do a lot?” He asked, slurring his words slightly before adding, “Mischief?”

Loki laughed as he unlocked their door.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

#lokius #my writing #my fic #prompt game #THEY'RE SO SILLY!!#also i wonder what songs are on the mp3 player...#should i post these on ao3 or are they better off hidden here

40 notes · View notes

robo-cryptid · 3 months

Text

Working on some Grand Duke Wyll/Spawn Astarion fic, and it's going kind of okay (a miracle given my fic writing lately). Behold, a WIP:

Wyll does not have to duck to enter The Blushing Mermaid. His horns, hidden by the glamor, pass easily beneath; knowing this does not quite stop him from flinching under the frame.

He finds what he is looking for skulking near the bar. Astarion is chatting up a woman whose dingy yellow coat has seen better days, wearing a look Wyll remembers from the first few weeks of their shared adventure, before everyone’s walls began to crumble. He appears to hang off her every word, but his eyes are calculating. Tension around his jaw puts the lie to his easy smile. He’s looking for a meal ticket, in one sense or another.

That’s… well, not good, exactly, but it means Wyll has something to bargain with if Astarion decides to play hard to get.

He clears his throat, angling himself against the bar on Astarion’s other side, just close enough to ensure it appears intentional. It works. Red eyes immediately narrow at him.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Wyll says. His face and horns had to be glamored, lest they give him away to the typical Baldurian, but his voice remains undisguised. He hopes the months they spent suffering myriad traumas together have burned it into Astarion’s mind in the same way Wyll can still hear his former companions.

There are no other words for it: Astarion lights up. “You are, but it’s a welcome one.” To the woman he’s been wrapping around his finger, he says, “Sorry, darling. Perhaps tomorrow will be your lucky night,” and pulls Wyll to a proper table in an appropriately shadowy corner.

“I was going to order,” Wyll says.

“There is a serving girl around here somewhere. Serving woman, really. Not exactly in her prime. But please, tell me what brings you to this fine establishment.”

“Aren’t you going to confirm who you’re talking to?”

Astarion’s smile is smug. “No need. My condition does come with some advantages, you know.”

“Astarion,” Wyll says slowly, piecing together a suspicion. “Did you sniff me?”

“Naturally. Do you want to know what you smell like?”

“Sort of.”

Astarion leans in, weight on his elbows on the worn table. “The soap is more expensive now, of course, but underneath, it’s… surprisingly woodsy, with burnt sugar, a splash of wine, rich soil, and” ⁠— he hesitates, barely noticeable ⁠— “the faintest whiff of sulfur.”

“Still?” Wyll asks, trying not to let it set his teeth on edge.

“Still.”

“As if I didn’t bear enough reminders.” He glances at Astarion’s red eyes, then at the high collar covering the bite scars. He thinks about the symbols etched deep into Astarion’s back. “I suppose I am not the only one marked.”

“Gracious of you to remember,” Astarion says with only half the sneer he might have had a few months ago.

The serving woman still hasn’t come, so it’s as good a time as any to get a drink at the bar. It gives him a moment to collect himself, although his skin crawls with the weight of Astarion’s gaze.

The drink selection is nothing but beer in different shades, as if the piss used to flavor it was collected at various states of dehydration. Wyll selects two ales in the pastel range and offers a silent prayer to Helm before the first sip.

As he settles back into his creaking seat, Astarion asks, “How is it?”

“Almost drinkable if I don’t breathe through my nose.” Wyll pushes the second mug toward him, although he doesn’t know in truth if Astarion can actually drink it, or if he only ever pretended with the wine back in their camp.

Astarion ignores the mug. “Now, are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

“I’m here to offer you a job.” Astarion’s laugh is high and disbelieving. “I’m serious,” Wyll presses. “I’ve need of an advisor on legal matters. Really someone to help with all the paperwork.”

“You want a secretary? What could I possibly get out of this?”

“I don’t know where you’re staying now, but I assume the manor would be an upgrade.”

“You want me to live in your manor?”

“One of the bedchambers, it has an attached dressing room that’s always been a bit too dark. Not enough light from the windows, you see. But it’s a perfectly lovely room otherwise.”

Astarion leans closer, voice lower. “You want me to live in a closet?”

“I want you to live wherever you want to live. But I thought if it’s your room ⁠— if you live there ⁠— you’d be able to come and go as you please, no invitations or formalities required.”

Astarion merely blinks for a moment. His eyes really are striking, once one gets past the generally monstrous association. “That is… thoughtful of you.”

“So room and board, and you’ll be paid a salary, of course. And I understand your dietary restrictions. We will find a compromise on that, I’m sure.”

“I'm sure. I do have another question.”

“Let’s hear it then,” Wyll says.

“You may be adorably naive at times, but you’re not a dullard. Why do you even need me?”

“Shadowheart says⁠—”

“Not what she says. I’m asking you.”

Wyll doesn’t know why he hesitates. During their travels, they saw each other at their lowest, their most desperate, their most terrified. And Astarion, he knows what it is to feel the leash grow tighter with every effort to get free. If anyone will understand, it should be him.

“Do you remember you offered to read her contract?”

“Did I? I suppose that’s just the sort of generous person I am.” Astarion is a terrible actor. Wyll doesn’t know how he’s seduced so many people.

“You did, and I remember it, and I am grateful. Now, I have to look at contracts and mediation agreements and proposed laws every day. I think I could grow used to the twisty language, but when I get to the fine print or the⁠— the clauses within clauses within clauses, I start to hear it in her voice.” He swallows, breathes, drains the last of his beer. “It is difficult to parse when all I see is red.”

“I see.” Astarion’s face softens, but it’s gone in an instant. Perhaps Wyll only imagined it.

#wyllstarion #bloodpact #bg3 fic #robo writing #wips

31 notes · View notes

di-in-al · 1 month

Text

~Drifting into Desire~ PART III

>Warnings: Profanity. Smoking.

>Word Count: 8.5k

>Tags 18+ future smut: minors and empty blogs DNI + all characters over age 21 + 1990s themed + no quirks + reader insert

>A/N: Hello hello! This is a chunky chapter, so I hope you enjoy the ride!

>taglist: @simp-plague

part II

~~~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~

The annoying sound of your phone ringing woke you up. In your sleepiness it was like a siren, piercing your ears. You could tell it was still early, not feeling the suns rays peeking through your window. The digital clock on your nightstand read an absurdly early time.

4:00 AM. Fuck that.

It rang seven times, each one getting ignored. Silence filled your room once again, and you could feel your mind slipping back into sleep.

Not even a full minute passes before its ringing again, causing you to bury your head under your pillow. It only helps slightly, not nearly enough for you to completely block it out. Each ring gets more and more shrill, causing a deep groan to travel to your throat. At this rate, Momo is gonna wake up. Throwing the covers off of your body, it recoils with the cool air of the room. Trudging over to your phone, you yank it off of the wall.

“Can I fucking help you?” Did you mean to sound that angry? No. Did it feel good? Most definitely.

A deep chuckle came from the other side, and it caused your anger to swell.

“Well good morning sunshine,” The monotone voice of your uncle came from the other end. “You ready for your first day at school? You’re already late by the way.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. This early?

“What the fuck? Do you know what time it is?” Your hand came up to wipe the sleep from your eyes, your mind trying to even come to realize you're on earth. Without a second thought, you hear him reply.

“4:02. Meaning you’re two minutes late as of right now.” You hear the sound of him sipping on something. “You have until I finish this coffee before I leave and this whole thing is off.”

Panic shoots through you. Knowing your insomniac uncle, he can kill a cup of coffee in less than ten minutes. It takes a minimum of twenty to get to the Pass.

“I always forget, you’re not much of a talker in the mornings. Consider this your first lesson, kid. I'll be at the top.”

“Fine,” you snapped, tossing your hair over your shoulders. You threw open your closet, rummaging through clothes until you spotted your favorite racing outfit: a fitted black tank top and high-waisted cargo pants. As you pulled them on, your fingers brushed over the rough fabric, igniting familiar embers of determination. Grabbing the keys from the side table, you sprinted down the stairs, each step echoing your urgency.

You swung open the front door and dashed toward your wine-red Mazda, heart hammering in your chest. The engine roared to life, a familiar growl that pulsed through your veins, igniting adrenaline. You tore out of the parking lot, tires screeching against the asphalt, the scent of gasoline and burnt rubber filling your senses.

It took you two minutes to get ready, that means there’s eight minutes left. You add more weight to the accelerator, listening as your car whines with the added speed. Your gears were maxed out, taking the straight highway helped with cutting a couple extra seconds off.

A mix of buildings and lights blurred as you flew past them, each street light illuminating your face for a fraction of a second. The off ramp for the mountain pass came up quick, making you downshift swiftly and throw the back end of your car out into a drift. Drifting the complete semi-circle, you downshift one more time, this time to gain some speed.

Checking your watch, the panic rises again. Four minutes. Fuck!

Your best time coming up the mountain is five minutes and forty seconds. You gotta find a way to shave off a whole minute. You’re usually lucky to beat your own time by maybe ten seconds.

You need this. You couldn’t be able to live down missing an opportunity like this. Your uncle was a stern man, so you knew he wouldn’t offer up any form of a second chance.

The first curve of the mountain pass was coming up, knowing the entirety of the mountain like the back of your hand. You gotta go faster. Slamming on the breaks, you whip the car into the curve making sure to keep on the inside. Slowly, pulsing the accelerator, you swiftly come through the curve while still maintaining your speed. A straightaway meets your eyes, your body slumping with relief. Your hand travels back and forth between the steering wheel and the shifter, the movement so quick you don’t even register it. At this point every aspect of being in this car was muscle memory.

You and the car become one, tackling the uphill with a ferocity you’ve never experienced. It excited you, the pressure of the entire thing driving you forward. Your eyes shifted to the rearview, noticing a determined yet happy expression filling your face, despite the earliness of the morning.

You had butterflies everytime the inertia of the car would change, your eyes catching your watch as your hands gripped the wheel. One minute. You still had about a quarter of the mountain to climb.

Don’t focus on the time, focus on the road. Once you’ve conquered the road, time won’t be an issue. Time to amp it up.

You slam your food down, sending the accelerator to hug the floorboard. The gauge in front of you began climbing, your determination sending it to redline. With each new gear, you maxed out the rpm’s. Each turn brought you one step closer to your goal. You quickly forget about your watch, and your heart burns with the idea of finishing the uphill. Two more hairpin curves and you’d be finished.

They approached quickly, making your heart clench with the thought of taking each turn. It wasn’t a nervous feeling, but one of a warrior headed into battle. The first turn came, keeping your car close to the inside, your back end flung out into a quick spiral up both curves.

Coming out of the last turn, you notice a person standing under a streetlight. You recognized the lazy stance of your uncle, and came to a quick stop in front of him. He tossed the last of his coffee back and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He was laid back against his car, an AE-86, which to the normal eye, seems very underwhelming. However, with your uncle behind the wheel, it's a car that has been stopped by few. You noticed he had another coffee in his other hand, and wondered. Either he got no sleep last night and needed extra, or it might be for you.

You prayed it was for you.

“You made it just in time,” he said, tilting his head, and there was an edge of approval beneath his stern facade. “Record time?”

You grinned. “Just barely. I think I can shave off a few more seconds next time.”

Shota’s gaze hardened. “Next time won’t matter if you can’t keep your nerve today. Today is the real test," he said, his tone unyielding. "Get in my car."

Your stomach flipped, mixing excitement with dread. You slipped into the passenger seat, feeling the warmth of the leather against your skin, and adjusted your seatbelt with a swift tug. Shota slid into the driver's seat, starting the engine with a flick of his wrist. Carefully, you watched as he set the steaming cup of coffee into an awaiting cup holder.

“Let’s see what you can handle,” he said, securing his grip on the steering wheel. A hint of challenge glinted in his eyes, and you felt your pulse quicken as the engine roared to life. Your eyes inspected the cup of coffee, sitting content in its spot. With the harshness of the road, you wondered what your uncle’s plan was. If it spilled, it would send scalding coffee all over your lap.

“Buckle up,” Shota commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

In an instant, the two of you shot forward, the car accelerating with a powerful thrust. As the landscape blurred past, the steering wheel felt like an extension of his will. Shota navigated the road with an unwavering focus, each turn a dance of precision and control.

You leaned forward, gripping the dash, your eyes wide as the world outside dissolved into streaks of color.

It felt like you were riding shotgun not just in his car, but also in the masterclass of what it meant to dominate the mountain. Shota navigated the twists and turns with an intimidating grace, his coffee cup remaining steady in the cup holder as you blazed down the path.

“Focus on the road, not me,” he replied, his voice steady as they near a tight corner, the tires screeching just enough to rattle your bones.

You narrowed your eyes at the road, willing yourself to let go of the tension coiling in your gut.

“Trust the car and your instincts,” he spoke up, not taking his gaze off the road. “Every ounce of pressure, every pull of the throttle—it’s all about understanding the machine beneath you. Feel its rhythm.”

You nodded, trying to absorb his words as you approached a sweeping curve. You studied his movements, mimicking the way he shifted his weight, angling his body slightly toward the turn. You felt the adrenaline surge again, a determination igniting in your chest.

“Do you really think I can get there?” you asked.

“Only if you stop second-guessing yourself,” Shota replied, flicking his eyes toward you for a brief moment. “Your mind is your worst enemy. Focus.”

You tightened your grip on the passenger seat as you transitioned through another sharp turn.

“You think these roads care about your fear?” his tone was the same as if he stood in front of his students, lazily lecturing them. His entire body was relaxed, but you shifted your eyes back to the pavement. You didn’t want to be caught again. Riding with him was something you haven’t been able to experience since you were young, knowing nothing of the way these whips and turns filled you with burning emotions.

You held your breath as Shota accelerated into the next curve, the G-forces pressing you into the seat. “It’s either drive or be driven,” he added, his intensity vibrant, a spark igniting a fire in your chest.

The tight curve loomed ahead, the edge of the mountain a steep drop, and you felt your heart leap.

Shota’s grip on the wheel tightened, and you mirrored his intensity. You focused on the line ahead, every instinct shouting at you to brace for the turn. As you approached the apex, every muscle in your body went tense, fear and excitement weaving together. Shota leaned into the turn, expertly guiding the car as it clung to the road.

“Now!” he shouted, turning sharply into the curve, the tires screeching defiantly against the pavement. You felt the rush, the wild exhilaration of speed and freedom coursing through your veins. You swung into a series of rapid bends, the world outside morphing into nothing but a blur of greens and browns. The coffee tipped towards the paper edge of the cup, inching as if it might spill. But with a quick switch up, it leveled out, sitting contently along with you.

“Keep your eyes on the exit, not the curve!” Shota’s voice broke through your swirling thoughts, a commanding reminder tethering you to the reality of the race.

He made his way back down the twists and turns of the Pass. He takes you back to your own car and passes off the cup of coffee. You cradled the cup in your hands, feeling the warmth seep through your fingers, grounding you. You looked at Shota, who stood beside you with arms crossed, eyes fixed on you intently, the hint of expectation shifting his expression.

“Now, let’s see if you can manage this,” he said, the challenge ringing unmistakably in his voice.

You looked down at the unspilled coffee, wondering how he could've even managed it? You glanced back at Shota, determination flooding your senses as you took a steadying breath.

“So, you think this is all I have to do?”

“Just get behind the wheel and show what you’ve learned,” Shota replied, his gaze unwavering. “Your goal is simple: drive without spilling a drop. Focus isn’t just for the racing line; it’s for execution.”

You took a deep breath, balancing the cup in your hand, the steam curling up in the cold mountain air. Your eyes stared at the little coffee cup as if it were a challenge sent from the gods themselves, daring you to rise to the occasion.

“Alright,” You said, your voice now steady with resolve. “Let’s see how this goes.”

You approached your Mazda, slipping into the driver’s seat and adjusting the rear view mirror, steeling yourself for the challenge ahead. Shota remained close, his imposing presence lending you a cautious boost of confidence.

“Keep it tight around the corners and maintain your speed,” he instructed, crossing his arms again, eyes glinting with challenge. “This is about control, not chaos.”

With a nod, you rolled your shoulders back and turned the key in the ignition, the familiar purr of your Mazda filling you with ease. You placed the coffee cup in the cup holder, its gentle warmth spreading through the air like a quiet promise. Taking a deep breath, you shifted into gear and moved forward, the engine humming softly beneath you.

“Don’t forget, the interview is coming up soon. Focus on the drive now, but remember the stakes.”

You nodded, your grip on the steering wheel tightening as you pulled away from the clearing, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as you eased into motion.

“Let’s do this,” you muttered under your breath, your heart thumping in sync with the rhythmic pulse of the engine.

-.-

Everyday, you wake up early and take a trip down the mountain with your uncle. The process was the same every morning, before the sun showed its face you’d pull up to a waiting Aizawa. He’d hand you a coffee and the two of you would take a trip down the mountain. He’d follow you in his car, watching every movement you made. Being behind a driver can tell you a lot about them, this allows you to read your opponent like a book.

The first day was horrendous, having to stop to clean up coffee from your floorboards after every run.

Aizawa made sure you bring cleaning supplies on day two, because you definitely needed them again.

It had been a month of running these roads, and the morning of the interview started like every other. You woke up early and made your way to an awaiting Shota at the top of the mountain. The sun barely crested over the mountain, casting a soft glow across the asphalt ahead. You leaned against your MX-5, your fingers tapping against the cool metal as you watched Shota finish his cup of coffee.

"Ready to show what you’ve got?" Shota called, tilting his head toward you with a glint of challenge in his eyes.

You square your shoulders, the adrenaline already building.

"Always," you shot back, sliding into the driver’s seat, your racing outfit hugging you with the familiar sense of purpose.

Shota smirked, walking towards his car. He placed the coffee in its spot by the passenger seat. “Today’s the day you prove everything the lessons have been leading up to. Let’s conquer that final turn.”

You turned the key, the familiar roar of the engine igniting a fire in your veins.

“Let’s make it count,” you replied, tightening your grip on the steering wheel.

As you sped off, the mountain loomed around the two of you, the winding road stretching like a challenge laid out in front of you. The fresh scent of pine and the cool bite of the early morning air jolted your senses as you ascended the narrow path. You focused on the road, recalling every piece of advice Shota had etched into your mind. You made it through the majority of the Pass without spilling the coffee, but you knew a certain hairpin curve was coming up. This curve twisted sharply, a notorious spot known for catching even the most skilled drivers off guard.

The curve emerged before you, a steel trap waiting to snap shut. You leaned slightly into the turn, letting your instincts guide you.

The asphalt shifted beneath your tires as you entered the curve, heart hammering in rhythm with the car’s roar. You let off the gas slightly, feeling the weight of the Mazda lean into the turn as the tires gripped the road. The coffee flew to the rim of the cup, tempting to find itself on your floorboard again.

Not this time.

With eyes locked on the exit, you remembered Shota's words—focus on the exit, not the entry. Your foot danced over the accelerator, allowing just the right amount of throttle to carry you through.

As you guided the car through the curve, adrenaline surged through your veins, and the world outside melted away. The trees blurred into streaks of green and brown, shadows flickering across the windshield like a haunting memory. For a heartbeat, all that existed was the road beneath your tires and the hum of the engine echoing your resolve.

Taking a peek through the rearview mirror, you noticed the turn was finally behind you. The coffee sat in its spot, completely full.

Yes!

Finishing out, you and your uncle parked side by side. Taking a peek into your car, Shota took note of the full coffee cup. Shota leaned back, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

“Nice work,” Shota said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. He shifted in his seat, the remnants of his coffee still swaying gently in its cup.

“Now for the real test,” he added, his eyes narrowing with consideration. "Your interview."

Your uncle informs you that the interview is at 3 today. He sluggishly gets back into his car mumbling something about getting some sleep.

"Good luck, Y/N."

“Thanks, Shota,” you replied, your heart still racing. Anxiety and excitement bubbled within you, but for now, you focused on your final training run.

He settled into the driver's seat of his own car, a familiar creak of worn leather slicing through the morning calm. His car roars to life, and sets off quickly.

You had another important decision to worry about now. What were you going to wear? All you had back at the apartment was typical everyday clothes, and maybe a dress or two. You sat in your car, the engine still purring softly beneath you, as you wondered about your outfit. The road ahead seemed to mirror your internal turmoil—twisting and turning, the uncertainty reflecting the chaos in your mind. You could always ask Ochako and Momo for some help. You had plenty of time before your interview.

Making your way back to the apartment, you're met with both people you need sitting on Momo's balcony sharing some tea. You parked your Mazda in a spot, its engine still purring softly as you stepped out. The smell of freshly brewed tea wafted from the balcony, pulling you in like an invisible thread. It was a nice change from the aroma of coffee.

"Y/N! Come join us!" Ochako's bright voice caught your attention, and you gave a small chuckle.You walked towards the balcony, your nerves bubbling beneath the surface like the water in the kettle on the stove. Momo looked up, her smile warm and inviting.

"How did the driving session go?” Momo asked, pouring a steaming cup before setting it down beside her.

“Perfect.” You shrugged, though your excitement bubbled in the corner of your eyes. “I managed to keep the coffee in the cup this time.” You bit your lip, a grin breaking through as you recounted the moment.

"Yay! That's great!" Ochako's rosy cheeks scrunched with excitement. “Even though, I think that’s a very unique driving technique. Oh well! I’m sure it helps. What are your plans for today, Y/N?”

"Actually, I have a favor to ask. I need some clothes for this interview, do you think the two of you could help?" Momo exchanged an excited glance with Ochako, her eyes gleaming.

“Absolutely! I have just the outfit in mind. We want to make sure you look confident and stylish.”

“Nothing too flashy, right?” you said, half-joking while rubbing your neck.

“Mmm, being understated isn't really our style,” Ochako teased with a wink, bouncing in her wrought iron seat. You smirked, shaking your head.

“I’m pretty sure confidence doesn’t mean neon pink and sequins.”

Momo held up a finger, feigning deep thought. “It might just mean something that shouts ‘I’m here to dominate’ without blinding anyone.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Okay, so what do you suggest? Something more subtle or something that doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard?"

Momo leaned back in her chair, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “How about a fitted blouse to accentuate your figure, paired with some high-waisted trousers? It’ll be sleek but not overly flashy.”

You nodded, your mind racing through the options. “That could work. "

Ochako slung the rest of her tea back, standing up and grabbing your arm.

"I know just the place!"

Within thirty minutes you found yourself following after your friends, your heart racing with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The streets of Musutafu buzzed with early-morning energy, but your focus settled solely on the mission ahead—finding the perfect outfit. As you entered the small boutique, the door chimed softly, and a wave of warmth enveloped you. The scent of fresh fabric and the delicate notes of perfume tugged at your senses. After some rigorous searching, you found yourself trying on a sleek black blouse that hugged your torso with just the right amount of formality, paired with high-waisted trousers that flared slightly at the bottom, creating an effortless elegance. You twirled in front of the mirror, the fabric flowing around your legs with each movement.

“What do you think?” You asked, your voice laced with uncertainty. They had picked out a pair of stilettos, but you eyed them warily from the corner. Momo and Ochako exchanged glances, a knowing twinkle in their eyes.

“It’s perfect,” Momo affirmed, a bright smile lighting up her face.

“But the heels?” you hesitated, eyeing the stilettos as if they might bite.

Ochako laughed, a light melodic sound that eased the tension in your chest. “Trust us, you need them. They’ll give you that extra edge, that ‘I’m not just here to play’ vibe.”

You inhaled deeply, considering the heels. “I guess a little height never hurt. Alright, I’ll wear them.”

Momo clapped her hands once, vibrating with excitement. “Perfect! Now let’s finish this look with some accessories.”

Minutes later, you stood in front of the mirror, your reflection adorned with minimalistic silver earrings and a slender bracelet that caught the light just right. You turned slightly, admiring how the sunlight glinted off the delicate silver.

“You look so good!!” Ochako beamed, adjusting the collar of the blouse as if adding the finishing touch. The three of you made your way to the check out and you went to change into the new outfit. Checking the time, you realize it's time to go. You hurriedly buttoned the blouse, the fabric smooth against your skin. As you slipped into the tailored trousers and finally secured the heels, your heartbeat quickened.

“I really need to get moving,” you muttered, glancing at your reflection one last time. The clothes hugged your frame perfectly, the heels adding just the right height to give you confidence, but the clock had become your enemy.

“Let’s go, then!” Momo urged, her optimism bubbling as you all rushed down the street toward the parking lot.

“Do you have everything?” Ochako asked, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and urgency.

“Wallet, keys…,” you murmured as you rifled through your bag, double-checking the essentials while balancing on your heels. "Looks like I’m all set."

“Good. Now let’s see how you handle those heels in the parking lot,” Momo teased, grinning as she led the way.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. “I think I can manage a few steps without coming apart at the seams.”

You rushed off, the idea of city traffic looming over you like a dark cloud.

You quickly opened your car door, your heels clicking against the asphalt as you dropped into the driver's seat.

The ride wasn't bad until that dark cloud came to fruition. The combination of traffic and the almost overwhelming anticipation of the interview gripped you as you navigated through the city. Cars crawled in front of you like a pack of slow-moving tortoises, and frustration gnawed at your patience. Each red light felt like a personal affront, stealing precious seconds from your time.

“Come on! Move already!” you muttered, tapping your fingers against the steering wheel, the rhythm syncing with your rising anxiety.

“Relax, Y/N,” you whispered to yourself, trying to regain some control over your spiraling thoughts. “Breathe.”

If you could just make it a couple more feet, you know a shortcut through the mountain pass. With a sudden jolt of determination, you spotted a break in traffic and made your move. You turned sharply, the wheels of the Mazda squealing in protest as you directed the car toward the road leading into the mountain pass. The familiar climb beckoned, a siren’s call amidst the chaotic urban sprawl you had just escaped.

As the trees thickened and the asphalt stretched out in front of you like a ribbon unraveling from a gift, you felt the swell of freedom wash over you. The familiar curves of the mountain pass welcomed you like an old friend, the trees whispering secrets in the wind. You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, the Mazda responding to your eagerness with a familiar purr.

Catching the rearview, you noticed a car coming up behind you at a rapid pace. From the looks of it, it was an Evo III. A well known drift car. The sleek, gleaming body of the Evo III glinted as it surged forward, engine roaring like a beast eager to break free. You narrowed your eyes, determination settling in your chest as you shifted slightly in your seat, pouring your focus into the road ahead.

“Great, just what I needed,” you muttered under your breath, your knuckles turning white against the steering wheel. The driver of the Evo III lurked closer, a challenge hanging in the air between you. You recognized the fierce competitive spirit in the other driver’s approach, a flicker of annoyance sparking within you.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” you murmured, determination flooding your veins.

As the Evo III pulled alongside you, revving his engine. Whoever it was kept the windows rolled up, not showing their face. So you decided to keep yours up too. Your heart raced in rhythm with the roar of the Evo III's engine, the familiar adrenaline igniting a fire within you. You could almost taste the challenge in the air, hot and electric but the intruding thought of your interview came crashing down.

“Not now,” you hissed, your fingers tapping against the steering wheel. The Evo III revved again, a taunt echoing in the space between you as if the driver understood your internal conflict and thrived on it.

You clenched your jaw, determination pushing you forward.

"This isn’t the time, but…" you inhaled deeply, your eyes narrowing as you shifted your foot onto the accelerator. The Mazda MX-5 surged into motion, the familiar weight of the car shooting you forward like a bullet leaving a chamber.

The Evo III matched your pace, its engine growling defiantly as the two cars barreled down the mountain pass in tandem. The thrill of the race pulsed in your veins, igniting every fiber of your being. You glanced over at the driver in the Evo III, but the window remained tinted, concealing their identity. You pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the road that twisted like a serpent before you. You needed to finish this, and fast. The asphalt unfurled in a series of undulating curves, beckoning you to dance with the road. The rush of wind whisked past you, mingling with the roar of both engines as they flew through the first corner. The world outside became a blur of greens and browns, trees whipping by in a frenzied streak.

“Let’s go!” you shouted, feeling the exhilaration spiral into a fierce focus as you leaned into the next curve, pressing the accelerator hard and feeling the tires grip the road. The Evo III’s driver responded in kind, maneuvering skillfully around the bend, a slight advantage giving him the edge as he surged forward.

You gritted your teeth, your determination boiling as the Evo III pulled slightly ahead.

“Not today,” you grumbled, your foot pressing down harder. The Mazda MX-5 roared beneath you, responding to your urgency as you flung herself into the next turn.

“Focus!” you reminded yourself, aggravation starting to fill you. As the curve tightened, you felt the shift in weight, and you leaned into it, guiding your Mazda MX-5 with precision.

“Just like Shota taught me,” you murmured. You powered through, trying to come up with a way to lose this guy. The Mazda MX-5’s engine sang, its growl resonating through your body as you aimed for the exit of the turn. Trees flanked the road like silent spectators, their branches swaying in the wind as if cheering you on. You kept your focus sharp, gripping the wheel with fierce determination.

The Evo III drove ahead, but you spotted an opening. Leaning into the turn just enough, you swung around, gears clashing smoothly as adrenaline surged through you.

“Now or never!” You felt the power of your car wrap around you like a living thing, commanding your every move as you swung onto the inside line of the corner, tires gripping the asphalt with an eager bite. The world outside blurred in a symphony of green as the Evo III's driver glanced over, surprise written across the unknown face behind the tinted glass. It was a fleeting moment, but it fueled your resolve. You pushed harder, feeling the sweet surge of acceleration lift your spirits as the gap between you and the Evo III grew.

“Catch me if you can,” you taunted, your voice barely rising above the roar of the engines.

The curves melted into a blur, the Evo slowly disappearing from behind you.

You kept on your path, the idea of the interview no longer seeming as daunting. You made it to the fancy looking building , its sleek facade shimmering in the midday sun. The MX-5 rolled to a smooth stop in the parking lot, your heart racing with exhilaration and nerves as you killed the engine. You took a deep breath, letting the buzz of adrenaline wash over you like a refreshing wave. You glanced down at your outfit—a sharp contrast to the casual attire you usually wore behind the wheel.

Carefully making your way up to the building's lobby, you straightened your outfit and put on an air of false confidence.

Fake it till you make it.

-.-

A distant roar echoed through the streets as you pulled into the parking lot, your heart racing from the adrenaline of the interview and the thrill of the road. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the asphalt.

About halfway through your interview, which wasn't even with your supposed new mentor, you realized you promised the crew you'd go watch some races tonight. The interview was strung out longer than you could've ever expected.

So now you are racing through the streets to make it back to the pass, hoping to make it before they start the first race. The hum of the Mazda's engine throbbed beneath you as you navigated the winding roads. You leaned into the curves, every turn a reminder of the lessons etched into your brain by Uncle Shota. The bottom of the pass approached, and you rounded the last corner with a rush of excitement. As you emerged from the final bend, the scene unfolded before you like a vivid painting—cars lined up, lights flickering, and a crowd buzzing with anticipation.

There seemed to be a crowd, all circled around two guys. A tall blond stood at the center, his expression fierce enough to intimidate even the boldest of racers. The glare in his eyes sparked a buzz among the onlookers, who gathered in a ring of excitement, whispering among themselves. With the arrival of your car, everyone's head whipped around. Including the set of angry vermillion eyes.

Parking your car, you watched as a stressed Momo followed the blond brute who was fastly approaching you.

Holding a muscled arm up, he pointed his index finger towards you. "You."

You bristled at his rough voice, shutting your car door and standing on the uneven gravel beneath you.

"You think you can just stroll in here after racing my team and not face the consequences?" His voice cut through the noise like a knife, confidence oozing from every word.

You straightened, "...and who the fuck are you?" You matched his sharp words with some of your own.

He stepped closer, his breath warm and heavy with challenge.

"Name's Katsuki Bakugo," he snapped, fists clenching. "You raced my boys earlier. You think you can just show off and walk away?”

Shoving a thumb back in the direction of his crew, he gestured to a tall redhead standing next to an Evo.

“Your little joyride at the pass?" His brow furrowed, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You smoked Kirishima, and now you think you can just waltz away without a rematch?”

Said Kirishima stepped forward, a sheepish grin on his face. “Hey, it was a good race! She's got skills, man. Don’t take it personally.”

Bakugo shoved a hand through his spiky hair. “Don’t you dare defend her, dumbass. If anyone’s taking this on the chin it’s gonna be me.”

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “He lost fair and square. I’m not going to apologize for putting up a fight. I didn't think his daddy would come running to his defense." The crowd exploded in a mixture of gasps and laughter, each person eager for the drama to unfold. Bakugo's eyes ignited with rage, and the air crackled with tension.

“Watch who you’re calling daddy princess,” he snapped, stepping even closer so you could smell the metallic tang of his frustration. “You might end up in a situation your smart mouth can't handle."

The crowd shifted, sensing the brewing storm. You locked eyes with Bakugo, refusing to back down.

“You think I’m scared of you? Bring it on.” The corner of Bakugo's mouth twitched, a smirk breaking through his intense glare. “You’re either brave or just plain stupid.”

“Maybe a little of both,” you shot back, your heart pounding in your chest. The thrill of the challenge surged through you. Bakugo raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“Fine, I’ll give you a rematch. But how about we do it right? A proper one-on-one. No tricks, just you and me on the line,” Bakugo proposed, his voice lower but dripping with challenge.

“Two races,” Kirishima cut in, his grin brightening as he nudged you. “Me against you, Y/N, and then Bakugo against Izuku. If we’re doing this, let’s do it properly,” he grinned, a spark of excitement evident in his voice.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, eyes darting between you and Bakugo as the stakes grew higher.

Bakugo growled at Kirishima's words, hearing a name that has brought him nothing but annoyance. "Fuckin' Deku."

“Then let’s put it to the test. You want a rematch?” You leaned forward, the heat of competition igniting your veins. “Let’s make it official.”

The crowd murmured, feeding into the tension. Bakugo’s lip curled into a smirk, a hint of excitement breaking through his otherwise stoic demeanor.

“Looks like you’ve got some guts after all,” he replied, a challenge lacing his tone. The crowd shifted again, hearts racing in anticipation.

“Let’s see if you can actually back that up,” he taunted, his voice almost playful, but the intensity in his eyes was far from lighthearted.

As the sun dipped lower, casting jagged shadows across the asphalt, you felt the weight of the mountain pass looming behind you. You steeled yourself, determination fueling your every thought.

“Then let’s get this show on the road,” you said, confidence swirling within you as you slid back into your Mazda, the familiar roar of the engine igniting a fire in your chest.

Momo stood off to the side, face pale as she watched Bakugo walk off.

"What are you doing?! Are you seriously going to race him?" Momo's voice trembled, her eyes darting between you and the retreating figure of Bakugo. “You know who he is, right?”

"Yeah, I know. The King of Musutafu Pass," you replied, climbing back into your car and adjusting the rear view mirror. “And now, his crown’s on the line.” Momo stepped forward, urgency seeping into her voice.

“You’re serious? What if he—”

“Don’t worry, Momo.” You interrupted, glancing at her with a smirk, feeling the adrenaline already pumping through your veins. “He may be good, but I’m not the same driver I was a month ago.”

Momo hesitated, biting her lip. “Just be careful, please,” she urged, concern etched in her features as she leaned closer, trying to gauge the strength of your resolve.

“Careful is my middle name,” you quipped, taking off to meet up with Kirishima at the top of the mountain. Momo gave a small chuckle at your words, knowing that it was the furthest from the truth.

Shinso walked up, putting a hand on your elbow.

“Hey, are you really going to take him on?” Shinso’s voice cut through the haze of excitement, his brows furrowing in concern.

“Of course,” you replied, a challenging smile stretching across your face. “You heard him—he wants a rematch. I can't back down now.”

Shinso's expression darkened, his tone serious. “He’s not just some brash racer; he's known for his temper and his skill. You could get seriously hurt.”

The weight of his concern settled in your chest, but you shrugged it off. “I’ve trained for this, and besides, Shota's been preparing me. I can handle it.”

Shinso studied you for a moment, the tension in his brow easing slightly, though the worry still lingered in his eyes.

Getting back into your car, he shut the door behind you.

"I gotta go prepare the kid, he's probably shitting himself right now." He motioned towards Izuku, who was standing still as a statue as Momo filled him in.

"Nice shoes by the way. I wanna see those later." With a wink, he's off in Izuku's direction.

Putting the car into first gear, you show out and whip around the empty parking lot, the engine roaring to life beneath you. The metal vibrated with energy as you pulled onto the road, navigating the curves toward the mountain. The familiar route ignited memories of the countless hours spent training with Shota, every sharp turn a lesson learned, every straightaway a test of speed and control. As you wound your way up the mountain, the anticipation twisted in your stomach like a coiled spring, each corner pushing your focus to the limit.

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, the smooth surface comforting under your palms. As you reached the top of the mountain pass, the flickering headlights of cars illuminated the gathering crowd. The atmosphere crackled with excitement, radiating from everyone who had come to witness the duel between you and Bakugo. You pulled into the designated spot, the roar of your engine fading into a low hum as you turned off the ignition. The crowd around you erupted into hushed whispers, their eyes darting towards your car as if you were the main event in a high-stakes show. You unbuckle your seatbelt, taking a moment to breathe in the cool mountain air, tinged with the faint scent of pine and fuel. Cool night air brushed against your face, refreshing amidst the rising tension.

Kirishima bounded over, excitement bubbling in his expression.

“You’re here! Bakugo can be a bit much. I'm sorry. The name's Kirishima, let's have a manly race, yeah?" His toothy grin was on full display.

You chuckled, the warmth of his enthusiasm cutting through the tension. “Yeah, let’s see if you can keep up this time, Kirishima.”

“Ha! You’re on!” His grin widened as he bounced on his heels, energy radiating off him like sunlight.

A voice came crackling through a walkie talkie on Kirishima's hip.

"Bakugo and Deku are both ready." Kirishima turned, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Looks like the show is about to begin!” He pumped his fist, a burst of energy that echoed in the mounting tension surrounding the race. Without a second to spare, the sounds of roaring motors can be heard all the way at the top.

Unfortunately for Izuku, Bakugo's RX-7 was too much. From the constant reports coming through the walkie-talkie, it was clear that Bakugo had left Izuku in his dust, pulling ahead in a blaze of speed that rippled through the crowd's excitement.

The roar of Bakugo’s RX-7 echoed through the mountain pass, creating a symphony of adrenaline as the crowd erupted with cheers. His bright headlights rolled up to the two of you, coming to a stop mere inches from your legs. The engine purred ominously as Bakugo leaned out the window, his smug grin barely containing the competitive fire within.

Izuku came trailing in noot too much longer, stepping out with a solemn look on his face. His shoulders sagged as he approached, catching his breath.

“I-I tried my best,” he managed, wiping sweat from his brow. “He’s really fast, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but you're getting better, Izuku," you assured him, a reassuring smile lifting the corners of your mouth. "Just keep practicing those techniques."

Bakugo snorted from his car, leaning further out of the window, his fierce gaze locking onto you.

“As if that’ll help him. You think a few tricks are gonna save you when I beat you?” His voice dripped with disdain.

You had to beat Kirishima first, nerves beginning to bubble in your gut. Kirishima landed a strong pat to your back and headed towards his Evo.

It's time. You took a deep breath, forcing the nerves aside as you walked towards your Mazda. The gravel crushed underfoot, each step grounding you in reality.

“Ready to make this a race to remember?” Kirishima asked, his voice light but laced with competitive spirit. He leaned against the side of his Evo, the engine still warm, gleaming under the fading light.

“Is this a race or a vacation?” You retorted, confidence surging as you climbed into your car.

Kirishima chuckled, his grin widening. “I like your style. Let’s make this a race that’ll get everyone talking.”

You revved the engine, the familiar growl vibrating beneath you, matching the racing in your heart. “Just don’t cry when I smoke you at the finish line. Again.” You shot him a confident smirk, the thrill pulsing through you as adrenaline surged from within.

Kirishima leaned against his car, chuckling. “We’ll see about that. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve too."

You nodded, the excitement building, the atmosphere electric as the crowd roared in approval, sensing the tension and anticipation in the air.

With a final rev of your engine, you felt the vibrations resonate through your chest, the echo mingling with the excitement in your veins.

Kirishima climbed into his Evo, settling into the driver's seat with a wide grin. He shot you a thumbs-up, the tension of competition transforming into an electrifying camaraderie.

“Just remember, no backing down this time!” He shouted, his voice barely heard over the revving of engines and the cheers from the crowd.

You smirked, glancing back at him. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

The countdown began, the crowd tumbling into excitement. Each second felt weighty, charged with the anticipation of the races to come. You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, feeling the pulse of energy course through you. The crowd roared in unison, a wave of sound that pushed the adrenaline higher.

"Three... two... one!" The shout broke through the chatter, and everything seemed to snap into focus as the countdown echoed through the air.

You felt the familiar adrenaline surge, the world narrowing down to the moment at hand.

"Go!"

The roar of engines filled the air, drowning out everything but the pounding of your heart. You launched your Mazda forward, the tires screeching against the asphalt as you and Kirishima shot ahead. The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound bursting around you like fireworks, fueling your momentum.

The engine roared to life, propelling you forward with a force that matched the racing pulse in your chest. You made your move, taking the first turn hard and low, feeling the shift of weight as the tires gripped the asphalt. The world blurred around you; only the road mattered, every twist and turn pulling you deeper into the thrill. An imaginary coffee cup kept your focus strong.

Kirishima drifted close behind, and the heat of competition fueled your drive. The Evo was a sleek beast, but you felt the Mazda respond to your every command, like a well-trained partner. You pushed the accelerator harder, feeling the car almost hum beneath you. The road curved sharply ahead, and instinct kicked in. You flicked the wheel just right, the rear tires skimming dangerously close to the edge as you hugged the corner tightly. The thrilling rush filled your veins, and you could hear the wild cheers of the crowd fading, replaced by the focused silence within the car.

Kirishima flashed into your peripheral, his Evo close but not close enough to break your comfort zone. You felt the rush of exhilaration blend with concentration, the essence of racing swirling within like a storm. Ahead, the road twisted and turned, serpentining through the mountains, each bend challenging both your skill and your willpower.

Kirishima pushed closer, shifting his weight as he tried to glide past you on the outside. You could see the determination in his expression, the fierce competition fuelling his every move.

"Not today, Kirishima!" The words burst from your lips as you flicked the wheel hard, cutting into the turn. Your tires bit into the asphalt, finding the sweet spot of grip as you pulled away just enough to edge past him. The crowd erupted with cheers, their voices blending into a chorus of adrenaline that surged through you. You could feel the vibrations in your chest, each roar a testament to the stakes—one mistake could mean losing everything.

You fought against the rush of doubt creeping in, shoving it to the back of your mind. Focus. You knew the path; you had memorized every twist of the mountain pass, every hairpin turn etched into your memory from countless hours of practice. The world outside blurred, narrowing down to the road snaking ahead of you and the gentle hum of the engine. The sensation of the Mazda beneath you felt electric, each shift in weight translating into a thrill that threatened to consume you whole. You leaned into the next turn, the tires gripping the asphalt like a predator hunting its prey.

The curve tightened, and adrenaline coursed through your veins, sharpening your focus. You could hear Kirishima's engine growl behind you, but the sound only ignited your resolve.

The final stretch approached, and the crowd's cheers fueled your determination as the finish line loomed just ahead. You swung into the next corner, slamming the accelerator down to feel the engine roar in response. The asphalt blurred beneath you, a sliver of darkness edged with glowing lights illuminating the path to glory.

The finish line neared, an invisible weight urging you forward, every muscle in your body screaming for you to push a little harder, a little faster. You locked your gaze on the non existent white flag fluttering in the distance, a beacon of victory just waiting to be claimed. The roar of the crowd blurred into a singular sound—a wave of energy that surged through you as you approached the finish line. Heart pounding, you threw yourself into the final corner, adrenaline and determination merging into a single, exhilarating force. The tires squealed as you leaned into the corner, the Mazda responding perfectly to your command. You glimpsed Kirishima’s Evo just behind you.

You leaned deeper into the turn, the g-force pressing you against the seat as you accelerated through the apex. The Mazda roared, a wild animal unleashed, and you grinned, fully embracing the thrill of the chase. The finish line beckoned, just a heartbeat away, and every ounce of your training surged through every fiber of your being.

"Come on!" you yelled, the sound bursting from your lungs as you pushed the accelerator to its limit, every heartbeat synchronizing with the racing engine flickering beneath you.

Your tires bounded over the finish line, dust flying in a cloud behind you as the crowd erupted into a thunderous applause. You crossed first, heart pounding, exhilaration coursing through your veins like wildfire.

You pulled the Mazda to a stop just past the finish line, the engine rumbling to a gentle purr as the exhilaration of victory washed over you. The moment hung in the air, the thrill of the race still crackling around you. You took a deep breath, the world settling back into focus as the cheers from the crowd enveloped you like a warm embrace. You turned to see Kirishima pull up beside you, his expression a blend of disbelief and admiration.

“Damn, Y/N! That was incredible!” His eyes sparkled as he jumped out of his Evo, a huge grin plastered across his face.

You unbuckle your seatbelt, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

“You weren’t half bad yourself, Kirishima. You put up a good fight.” You stepped out of the Mazda, feeling the energy of the crowd pulsing around you as they celebrated the race's outcome.

Bakugo stood off to the side, anger swirling in his eyes. His fists trembled at his sides, the tension radiating from him palpable even from a distance. The crowd was buzzing, but his gaze was locked on you, unyielding and furious.

“Alright princess, my turn." He stepped forward, the crowd parting slightly, murmurs of excitement rippling through the onlookers as Bakugo made his way toward you. The air thickened with anticipation, each heartbeat echoing louder with his approach. You met his intense glare head-on, unflinching, as if to say you were ready for whatever came next.

~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~

Your first race is won and under your belt! Congrats! Next chapter is one on one with our angry Pomeranian!

>di.in.al<3

#bakugou katsuki #mha #90s au #bakugou fanfiction #bakugou series #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha hitoshi shinso #hitoshi shinso x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha fanfiction

22 notes · View notes

sommerregenjuniluft · 11 months

Text

@jegulus-microfic - october 31 - halloween - 745words

insp by @regscupid october 3rd microfic <3

“Say ‘I am going to abduct you, earthling.’”

“I look stupid.”

“You look properly scary.”

“I have wobbly eyes on my head.”

“Don’t see what one thing has to do with the other, love,” James grins cheekily from behind Regulus in the mirror and then gives him a loud smooch on his cheek.

Regulus rolls his eyes and hopes the green-ish face paint over his nose covers his blush.

“Ready to go, Hazza?” James calls up the stairs.

There’s a giggle from the floor above, a few quiet steps and then Harry jumps down two at a time within sight of them with a loud Grawr.

James playfully jumps in place and clutches his chest with a gasp as Harry erupts into evil snickers.

The young boy comes bounding down the rest of the stairs in his skeleton onesie and black and white face paint that’s only minutely smudged (as of now) and holds up his sweets bucket that his father told him to get from his room.

This one is distracted fighting to pull his spider legs shoulder straps over his thick coat so Regulus gives Harry a nod and a smirk and reaches his hand out to him, “C’mon. Shoes on and then off we go.”

“Yeah!” Harry yells with elation and passes his plastic pumpkin bucket off to Regulus.

It’s still light outside when they start their walk around the neighborhood.

James tells Harry to look out for the houses with Halloween decoration, anything creepy– candles, spiderwebs, carved pumpkins.

It only takes two houses down the sidewalk before Harry gasps and points at a prettily decorated front door.

James gives his son a warm smile, nodding, telling him to go on, as he snakes an arm around Regulus’ waist, pulling him closer into his side.

It’s not particularly cold but Regulus lets himself melt into James’ ridiculously puffy jacket with a sigh anyways. He’s warm and he smells good, like his cologne and their laundry detergent and the glass of mulled wine they shared before getting ready.

He burrows further into James’ scarf around his neck as he watches Harry skip up the stairs, two pointy-toothed pumpkins out front, white cotton wool and black, little paper bats adorning the railing.

Harry rings the bell and then hastily presses himself against the outside wall next to the door, holding a finger to his lips as he looks wide-eyed and breathless back at them.

Regulus’ chest feels so full he might burst.

The door opens and a middle aged woman with a witch’s hat peeks around with a bowl of chocolates in her hand.

She has barely time to look confused at James and Regulus before little Harry jumps out of his hiding spot with a shrill, “Trick or treat!”

The woman yelps in a genuine fashion and throws an admonishing look over at him and James as Harry falls into a little giggle fit. “Well, thank goodness I’m no 60 something year old with poor blood pressure,” she says good-naturedly, crouching down in front of Harry with a smile to let him choose his pick.

Regulus shifts his weight from one foot to the other a little uneasily at the thought of Harry actually giving one of the pensioners in their neighborhood a heart attack.

“As young and fresh as always, Miss Sinistra.” James says with a charming grin.

The woman grumbles a little and fixes James with a look when Harry turns his back to her to join the two of them again, “You fellas should dial it down a notch or two.”

When Regulus looks over again, James seems a little bashful as he smiles brightly, “Noted.”

Satisfied with that, apparently, she softens right up and gives them another pointed look, smug smile on her lips, “Happy Halloween to you.”

“Happy Halloween, dear neighbor,” James responds, squeezing Regulus’ waist knowingly.

Regulus curses quietly, giving Sinistra a wave, smiling strained.

“Happy Halloweeeen,” Harry shouts, racing past them and they quickly turn to follow.

Regulus gnaws on the inside of his lower lip while he feels James radiate with glee next to him, who waits until Harry is further down the sidewalk out of earshot before he leans down and rasps into Regulus ear, “Seems like she didn’t forget the way I fucked you against the window last year, after all.”

Regulus jams his elbow forcefully into James’ side.

The puffy-jacketed bastard doesn’t do much besides chuckle and pull Regulus into a kiss.

#dont you worry Harry has multiple layers on under his onsie #our boi is protected from the cold #jegulus microfic #jegulus #baby harry #jegulus fluff #starchaser #sunseeker #james potter #regulus black #regulus black x james potter #james potter x regulus black #lune’s tiny fic

90 notes · View notes

dia-souls · 8 months

Text

Diabolik lovers Bloody Roses Novel [Chapter 03]

Chapter 03

Yui's fever was very high and while the stranger heard Yui's voice and followed her, Yui fainted from the pain and high fever and fell by the bushes. The man walked past the bushes until he found the tired and thin body of a beautiful girl next to the bushes.

The young man was staring at the strange girl's face. As if he was looking at a beautiful goddess, he did not want to take his eyes off her. She had white and delicate skin like snow and golden hair that was like the waves of the sea and covered her innocent face. This girl was like an angel.

The man moved closer and as he approached her he knelt down next to her and gently brushed her hair that had fallen from her face with his finger. He was lost in watching the young girl and caressed her cheek gently until a faint moan came from her.

Yui: Mmm.....

The young man noticed the girl's bad condition and also her high fever. He picked her up and carried her to his horse and laid her gently on the ground like a delicate flower in need of care. He removed his cloak from his horse's saddle and threw it over Yui's body, hoping to warm her up a bit.

The young man started gathering firewood to light a small fire and warm the girl. But unfortunately there was not much firewood in that area, but still he tried his best to protect this strange girl.

*TIMESKIP*

She felt the cloak with silk fabric. It felt very good and soft. It was the finest fabric she had ever touched. She could feel the weight of this cloak on her and she could hear the sound of the breath of an animal next to her ear. She slowly opened her eyes as she felt her face being licked.

Yui slowly opened her eyes and saw a silk robe on her and a beautiful horse sitting next to her and kissing her soft cheek with his tongue. The horse licked Yui's cheek again and Yui gave a soft giggle and gently stroked the horse with her small and delicate hands.

Young man: So you finally woke up? Were you the one who was spying on me from behind the bushes?

Hearing a strange voice, Yui turned her head and realized that the strange man who she was watching him from behind the bushes was now sitting in front of her. He was very beautiful. Yui couldn't stop her eyes from looking at him and was overwhelmed by his beauty. But she could not see his face completely. The young man covered one of his glowing eyes with his hair. It was as if his wine eyes were behind a white feather to take care of himself.

Yui: Umm..... I.... Who are you?

Young man: Answer my question first. Why were you spying on me?

Yui: I wasn't spying. I was looking for my book when I heard the neighing of a horse and I wanted to see who was there. But I was scared. That's why I didn't show myself to you and watched you from behind the bushes.

The young man stared into Yui's bright pink eyes. Her eyes were very innocent and it was clear that the young girl was telling the truth. He could tell by looking at the young girl's face. Her face was so innocent.

Yui: May I ask what is your name?

Young man: It has nothing to do with you. My name is Subaru.

Yui: What a beautiful name.... Well, Subaru-kun.... Thank you for helping me and throwing this silk cloak on me.

Yui thanked Subaru with a small smile on her face and to her disbelief she saw Subaru's face turn red making Yui laugh. She had never seen a boy so shy and quiet. Usually in her village the boys were very rude and mischievous. But this boy seemed very kind.

Yui: Where are you from? Because I am sure you are not from our village.

Subaru: I... I'm from a faraway land and I'm traveling.

Yui: Are people very rich where you live?

Subaru: Huh? What kind of stupid question are you asking?

Yui: Oh, you wore flashy clothes. And this cloak you threw on me is made of silk fabric, which is very expensive. Such clothes and jewels are used only by nobles and children of the king.

Subaru: .....! Well, yes. In a way, I am considered an aristocrat. And I have a rich family.

Yui: Fufu I knew that. So you are very lucky.

Subaru: Lucky?

Yui: Yes. You have a big and rich family. I dreamed of having a big family, but I don't even know who my real parents are. Even if they are not rich, it doesn't matter to me, I just want to be surrounded by people who love me from the bottom of their hearts and I can call them my family.

Hearing Yui's sweet words, the young man frowned and lowered his head and looked at his hands. It was as if he understood the pain of Yui's every word and this pain was also tormenting him. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. He wished he had the ability to express his feelings like this girl.

Subaru raised his head and stared at the young girl again. She wrapped the cloak around the lump and rubbed it against her nose and smelled it. The young girl had a sweet smile and whenever the horse approached her, she would caress him with her delicate hands and give him all her love. Subaru didn't know why, but when he saw this girl's smile, his heart beat faster and he got a strange feeling.

Subaru: You asked my name. Now it's your turn to tell me your name.

Yui: Oh... I'm sorry. I am very rude. I should have introduced myself earlier. I am Yui Komori.

Subaru: Are you from this village?

Yui: Well, I don't know exactly. I don't know who my parents were and where they were from. But I live here now. The hunter of this village, Seiji Komori, he is a wonderful and kind man. I am so lucky that he found me and adopted me.

Subaru stared at the girl in silence for a while. He had noticed something different about this strange girl. But he could not express this feeling in words. He was only sure that this girl is very special and different from other girls.

Subaru got up and went to the girl. He poured dirt on the ashes of the fire with his foot and extinguished it. He walked over to Yui and knelt down next to her, staring straight into Yui's bright pink eyes.

Subaru: I'll take you home. Just show me the way to the village.

Yui: But... But before I go home, I have to find my book.

Subaru: What book?

Yui: A very special book. Actually, it is a diary belonging to a strange man who wrote for his lover. About the legend called Bloody Roses.

Subaru: Bloody roses? I have not heard anything about this legend.

Yui: Seriously? How is it possible? This legend is the biggest legend of our village. This legend has caused this village to be named Rose Town.

Subaru: Anyway, I don't care about this book or anything else. I don't have much time, I have to leave this village. It is almost noon now. If you want, I can take you home. If you like, you can stay in this forest until night. Anyway, that's not my problem.

Saying this, Subaru got up and prepared his horse. He put the saddle on his horse and sat on the horse himself, looking back at Yui who was struggling to get up.

Subaru: Just remember that this forest is full of wolves.

Subaru moved his horse and the horse began to move slowly. Yui stared in amazement at Subaru as he slowly walked away, leaving her alone in the forest. Looking around, the memories of a few days ago that were lost in the forest came alive for her and her body trembled. She closed her eyes and ran towards Subaru's horse and tried to stop him.

Yui: Subaru-kun... please wait.

Hearing Yui's voice, Subaru pulled on his horse's reins and stopped him. Until Yui reached Subaru while trying to run with short steps.

Yui: Wait, Subaru-kun... Please take me with you.

Subaru: Hehe... why did you change your mind?

Yui: I don't want to get lost in the forest again. If this happens, my father will punish me worse.

Subaru raised an eyebrow. He didn't know what was going on, but he decided to help Yui. He held out his hand to Yui and stared into her bright eyes. Yui took his hand and Subaru helped her into the saddle. Yui was sitting in front of Subaru, and Subaru was holding Yui's thin waist with his hand so that she wouldn't fall. Yui felt strange at this closeness and it made her blush.

With a gesture, Subaru ordered his horse to move, and the horse began to move through the forest to reach the village. There was a short period of silence between the two people. Because of his height, Subaru could see Yui's golden hair under his chin, which was shining because of the sunlight and was like a river full of gold. He was staring at her golden hair in silence and moving forward.

After a short horse ride, palace could be seen from behind the trees. Yui's body trembled when he saw the palace, and her breathing became heavier. Yui knew that this boy was a stranger and she should warn him about the dangers around the heirs' palace.

Yui: Subaru-kun, please be careful. We should not approach the Palace. Use another route to go to the village.

Hearing Yui's worrying words, Subaru raised his head and stared at her in surprise. However, he tried to listen to Yui's words without asking questions and used another route to go to the village. Apparently, he was not too eager to get too close to the heirs' palace, or maybe Yui's warning scared him.

Subaru: Why shouldn't we approach the Palace of the Heirs?

Yui: I don't know. Only the villagers are very afraid of that place. They believe that if a girl approaches there, she will not return alive. And the people of the church also believe that the palace is an evil place where devils live and destroy people.

Subaru: What is the reason for these stupid thoughts? As far as I know, the Palace of the Heirs is where the sons of King Karlheinz live.

Yui: That's right. King Karlheinz-Sama has six sons and these six sons do not live in the capital with their father. Those six people have been sent here to become independent. But good things never happen near their palace. Because some of the village girls went there and never came back.

Yui's words were disturbing, but they were telling the truth. No one knew what happened to the village girls. Five of the girls of the village have disappeared after approaching the Palace. The villagers believe that if the sixth girl is kidnapped by demons and disappears, the demons have eaten the number of heirs and will attack the villagers to destroy them.

After a short period of time, Yui could see the village from behind the trees, and she smiled and pointed to the village with her hand.

Yui: Subaru-kun... There is our village.

Subaru: I understand.

Subaru reined in his horse and led him towards the village. As they were getting closer to the village, Subaru was staring at Yui and her golden hair, which was even more golden under the lovely sunset, and a soft smile appeared on his face.

As they exited the forest Subaru dismounted and grabbed Yui's hand to help her off the horse. Yui straightened her clothes and took off the cloak that was around her to present to Subaru.

Yui: Subaru-kun, thank you for helping me and also for this cloak. It was very pleasant to wear.

Subaru: If you like it so much, you can keep it.

Yui: Really? Oh my God.... You are so.... so kind. But no, please take it back. I am not really a good trustee. Last time someone gave me a book and I lost it.

Subaru: Is this book the same book of diary?

Yui: Yes. Peter-San, the village librarian, gave me that book to read. But last night something unexpected happened in the forest and I lost the book. That's why I went back to the forest to find the book. If Peter-San finds out that I lost his valuable book, I am sure he will be very disappointed with me.

Subaru was staring at Yui in surprise. He was really amazed and couldn't believe that such a small thing made this girl so upset and disappointed in herself. He couldn't stop himself and started laughing.

Subaru: Pffff.... Hahahaha..... You.... You're really weird.

Yui: Huh??? Subaru-kun, why are you laughing at me? Did I say something strange?

Subaru: Yes. Everything you said was strange. I can't believe that a person is so clumsy and simple and also innocent that she would be so ashamed of losing a book. You are really very special.

Yui stared at Subaru with wide eyes in surprise. She could not understand what he meant by innocent. In any case, it was a real shame for Yui that she couldn't keep her promise and take care of the book, but it seemed like this young stranger had a different opinion. It seemed that he saw guilt and shame in other things than a small and inadvertent mistake like losing a book.

However, Yui smiled. Her face was like a goddess under the golden light of the setting sun. Her smile was as warm as spring and her hair was golden and shining like the sun. Subaru smiled as if blessed by a goddess and placed his hand on Yui's soft golden hair to caress her.

Subaru: Listen, little girl. You are a good girl. You don't have to be so hard on yourself for losing a book. This is something that any other person can do.

Yui: I... But I promised. I promised Peter-San that I would take good care of that book. If he finds out, he may be very upset.

Subaru: If he's your friend, I'm sure he'll understand that you didn't do it on purpose and it was just a small mistake.

Yui: Yes, you are right, Subaru-kun. He is a kind friend. I'm sure he understands.

Subaru: Please keep the cloak with you. Accept it as a gift from me.

Yui: But this cloak is very expensive and valuable. Are you sure you want to give it to me?

Subaru: Of course. I'm a noble, so you don't have to worry about the price of the cloak. It is very easy for me to prepare such things.

Yui gave Subaru a warm smile to thank him and hugged the cloak and smelled it. This cloak was very soft and fragrant. Subaru looked at Yui and gave a small smile, but quickly turned his head so that Yui wouldn't notice.

Subaru went to his horse and mounted it. He looked at Yui and the small village one last time. This girl was very special. Subaru didn't want to part with her so soon, but he had no other choice. He could not stay in this village any longer. He felt insecure here and wanted to leave this village as soon as possible, as well as heirs' palace. So far that no one can reach him.

Subaru: I have to go now. From now on, take care of yourself and don't come to the forest when you are sick. Even now, it is better to return to your home as soon as possible and warm yourself up so that you don't get weaker.

Yui: Wait, Subaru-kun. You helped me a lot. I would like to make it up to you. Would you like to come to my father's cottage? You can rest there until tomorrow and I will welcome you. It's getting dark now and I think it's better for you to not stay in the forest. The forest is very dangerous at night.

Subaru: Thank you for worrying about me and thank you very much for inviting me. But I can't come. I have to leave this village as soon as possible.

Yui: Oh, you don't like it here?

Subaru: No. The issue is not related to the village... well... the issue is that... I don't want my heirs to see me.

Yui: Why? Aren't they your family? You are an aristocrat. Aren't you?

Subaru: That's right, I'm an aristocrat. But I have no interest in seeing the heirs. Maybe I should listen to your warning about them and the devil's curse.

Yui nodded and smiled. Subaru's words were strange and didn’t show that he was really afraid of the villagers' curses and rumors about the heirs. It seemed like something else was bothering him, but Yui chose not to ask any more questions.

Yui: I understand, Subaru-kun. Thank you again for helping me and also for this cloak. This gift is very valuable. I will always remember you. Have a safe trip. I hope you reach your destination faster.

Yui gave Subaru a warm smile and said goodbye to him and went to the village. After walking away from Subaru, she turned her head and waved at him. Subaru smiled at her and pulled the reins of his horse and rode away. This cloak and this event was like a dream. A dream that ended too soon and now Yui had to move towards reality.

A strong wind blew and the weather was getting darker and darker every moment. Thinking that his father is now angry that she is not at home, Yui got scared and went home faster. However, she was sure that his father would be angry that Yui had disobeyed his orders again and would punish her more severely this time.

After a short walk, Yui reached the hut, but to her surprise, there was no light in the hut. Maybe her father hasn't come home yet. With fear and trembling, Yui opened the door and entered the house, only to find that there was no one in the cottage.

Yui looked around the hut in surprise. The fire in the fireplace was off and the weather was very cold. Yui was very worried about her father's absence. Her father usually returned home before sunset and it was very strange that she hadn't come home yet and this fact made Yui a little worried.

Yui tried to take a deep breath and calm down. Maybe her father is just hunting and doesn't notice the passage of time. Yui went to the fireplace and threw some wood into the fireplace and lit the fire to warm the hut a little.

Yui turned on the lantern lights and went to the kitchen to cook a hot and delicious soup for herself and her dear father. Yui started cooking and hummed old Hina's lullaby under her breath. She enjoys these sweet and relaxing times.

*TIMESKIP*

The howling of wolves and the chirping of crickets could be heard. Almost all the villagers were asleep, but Yui was still awake. She was waiting. She was waiting for the door of the hut to open and her father to enter the hut to hug him again and offer him the delicious dinner she had cooked for him.

Yui: Where are you, father?

Yui was very worried. It was past midnight, but there was no news of her father. Her father had never been so late. No matter how busy he was hunting, it couldn't have taken that long.

Desperately, Yui took one of the lantern lights and went to her room. She opened the door of her room and went to her bed. She put the light of a lantern by the window of her room and stared out of the window.

Yui: Father, please come back. Please be safe. I am very worried.

Yui felt heavy on her eyes as she stared outside, so she lay down on her straw bed. Yui slowly closed her eyes and fell into a sweet sleep. Her father's thoughts did not allow her to sleep easily, but she had a very difficult day, so with great effort, she was finally able to sleep.

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #yui komori #komori yui #subaru sakamaki #sakamaki subaru #subaru x yui #yui x subaru #subayui #bloody roses novel #bloody roses chapter 03

54 notes · View notes

reallygroovyninja · 5 months

Text

I want to preface the story I am about to post is garbage. No, really, it's bad. There are moments in it you can see my brain think oh shit, I need to explain myself.

If you want to read a story I am very proud of, check out The Fallen. It does have a shocking ending, which I am very sure turns people off, but I stayed faithful to the story that inspired it.

Anyway, here is unfinished Word Document 20. It's so bad I had to hide it under a cut. lol

Lexa was seated in a quaint office adorned with countless baby pictures, each snapshot a vignette of new beginnings and cherished memories. The walls, a gentle palette of pastel hues, were lined meticulously with these joyful expressions, casting a soft, hopeful glow throughout the room. The ambiance was both serene and surreal, as if Lexa had stepped into a gallery of future possibilities.

At the desk, a woman named Marlene, who ran the agency, extended a packet of papers toward Lexa. "Based on your criteria and the comprehensive tests you completed, these are the candidates we believe match your needs," Marlene explained, her tone both professional and empathetic. She knew that the choices contained in these documents could change lives. "Once you have a shortlist, let us know. We can then provide you with their photographs. This decision is profound—it should transcend mere physical appearances."

Lexa appreciated the process's discretion and thoroughness. She had longed for a child, a desire unmet in her past relationships, none of which revealed an alpha compelling enough to share her life's journey. Now, she sought a different route—a sperm surrogate, an alpha who would contribute to the life she wished to create and then step away, allowing her the autonomy she desired in raising her child.

They would meet intermittently, their encounters solely intended to achieve conception. It was an arrangement devoid of traditional romantic entanglements, focused instead on the singular goal of motherhood.

Taking the packet, Lexa began to leaf through the pages. Names, occupations, medical histories, personal hobbies, and more—details designed to paint a picture of each potential candidate. Yet, as she skimmed the information, the details seemed to meld into a blur of text. She knew she would need time and quiet to pore over these sheets, to consider who these people were beyond the data.

Marlene watched her with a calm understanding, accustomed to the weight such decisions carried for her clients. "There’s no rush," she reassured Lexa. "Take the packet home, think over your options carefully. We're here to support you every step of the way."

Grateful for the empathy and professionalism, Lexa nodded, clutching the documents a bit tighter as she prepared to leave. The smiling, innocent faces of the babies seemed to bid her farewell and good luck. Stepping out of the office, Lexa felt the gravity of her decision resting on her shoulders—a burden, yes, but also a beacon of the profound joy and love she hoped to welcome into her life.

Later that evening, Lexa settled onto her couch, a glass of red wine in hand, the soft hum of her quiet home enveloping her as she spread the stack of profiles across her coffee table. The light of her living room lamp cast a cozy glow, perfect for the introspective task at hand. She had decided on a methodical approach to review each candidate: she would create two piles—one for definite no's, and another to review again.

Taking a sip of her wine, Lexa began. One by one, she carefully read through each profile, considering the potential of each candidate not just as a genetic contributor, but as someone whose traits might mesh well with her own for the child they would share. Her fingers brushed against the papers, shifting them between the two designated areas on her table.

There was Jacob, whose profile intrigued her right away. His interests in environmental science and community gardening hinted at a thoughtful, perhaps gentle soul. Then there was Bellamy, a police officer whose tone in the self-description came off a bit too brash for her liking; his profile radiated a certain arrogance that Lexa found off-putting. He was promptly placed in the no pile.

As she continued, a few others passed her review—some with potential, others lacking the certain je ne sais quoi she was searching for. Finally, she reached the bottom of the stack, where a profile named Clarke rested. At first glance, something about Clarke's description didn’t quite resonate with her, and she was tempted to add it to the no pile. Yet, something—perhaps a detail she had missed or a gut feeling—nudged at her to reconsider.

With a thoughtful frown, Lexa picked up Clarke’s profile again. This time, she read slower, trying to capture the essence behind the words. Clarke was an artist, deeply involved in local community projects, which spoke to a creative and civic-minded spirit. His brief mention of a love for old cinema and classic books hinted at depth. Lexa waffled, her initial impression clashing with the intrigue now sparked by her second, more careful reading.

Setting Clarke's profile down on the "review again" pile, Lexa decided not to rush her judgment. She finished her wine, her mind actively weaving through the impressions each profile had left. Tonight was just the beginning. She knew the importance of this choice, not just for herself, but for her future child. She’d return to these profiles after a night’s rest, perhaps seeing them anew with fresh eyes and a clearer perspective.

The next morning, Lexa found herself with a phone pressed to her ear, recounting the previous evening's deliberations to her cousin Anya. Anya had always been more like a sister to Lexa, providing both support and candid advice whenever Lexa needed it.

"So, I've got these two piles," Lexa explained, her voice carrying a mix of resolve and uncertainty. "The no pile is pretty straightforward—those profiles just didn't click for me. But the 'review again' pile, that's where it gets tricky. There’s Jacob, who really seems like a gentle soul, and Clarke, who I almost passed on but decided to give another look."

On the other end of the line, Anya listened intently, her occasional hums of agreement punctuating Lexa’s detailed descriptions of the potential alphas. When Lexa finished, there was a brief silence, the kind that hinted at Anya's deep consideration before she spoke.

"Lex, are you sure about all this?" Anya’s voice was gentle, yet probing. "I mean, it sounds like you're really trying to convince yourself here. Aren't you giving up a bit easily on finding the right alpha? You know, the traditional way?"

Lexa sighed, a soft sound of mixed emotions. "I know it seems like I'm rushing into this, but I've thought about it a lot. I just haven't met someone who fits what I'm looking for in a partner... someone I want to share my life with. This way, I can focus on what I really want—a child. I don’t need a romantic relationship to make that happen."

Anya was quiet for a moment, likely weighing her next words. "I get that, I really do. But it’s a big step, Lexa. Just make sure you’re choosing this path because it’s truly what you want, not because you feel it’s your only option."

Lexa nodded to herself, appreciating Anya's concern. "I understand, and I appreciate you looking out for me. I’m not closing the door on finding someone someday, but right now, this feels right. I want to be a mom, Anya. And I feel ready to do this on my own terms."

Anya’s response was warm, supportive. "Then you know I'm behind you one hundred percent. Just promise me you'll think on it a little more, okay? And whatever you decide, I’m here for you."

"Thanks, Anya. That means a lot to me," Lexa replied, feeling a comforting sense of reassurance. She knew Anya only wanted the best for her, and having her support strengthened Lexa's resolve to move forward thoughtfully and confidently.

After ending the call with Anya, Lexa set aside the 'review again' pile of profiles on her dining table, deciding not to revisit them until later that evening. She knew the importance of the decision ahead and recognized the need to approach it with a clear mind and a settled heart.

The conversation with Anya had stirred a mix of emotions and considerations, reinforcing the gravity of her choice. Lexa felt it crucial to give herself space—to let her initial impressions simmer and her intuition align with her logical reasoning. This pause, she believed, would help her return to the profiles with fresh eyes and a more decisive heart.

During the day, Lexa busied herself with her usual activities, allowing her subconscious to process the morning’s conversation and her own feelings about each candidate. She went for a long walk in the park, the rhythmic steps helping to clear her mind. She met with a friend for coffee, enjoying the distraction and the normalcy of casual conversation.

As the day turned into evening, Lexa felt more centered. She prepared a quiet space at home, with minimal distractions, lighting a candle for a touch of calm ambiance. She poured herself a glass of wine, similar to the night before, setting the stage for contemplation and decision-making.

Sitting down, she slowly began to revisit each profile in the 'review again' pile. Lexa’s goal was to narrow her choices to two or three potential alphas—individuals who not only met her criteria on paper but whom she felt could genuinely contribute to the life and the values she hoped to nurture in her future child. With a deep breath, she delved into the profiles once more, ready to make one of the most significant decisions of her life.

As the evening wore on, Lexa methodically revisited each profile, reflecting deeply on the characteristics and values of each potential alpha. Slowly, her list began to narrow until she was left with three names: Jacob, Roan, and Clarke.

Jacob’s profile had an immediate and strong appeal. His dedication to environmental conservation and his gentle demeanor resonated with Lexa's own values. It seemed a natural alignment, one that suggested he would bring the kind of thoughtful and nurturing influence she desired for her child.

Roan presented a different allure. His profile portrayed him as a resilient and ambitious individual, someone who had overcome significant challenges to achieve personal and professional success. There was a strength in Roan's narrative that Lexa admired, a testament to his character that she believed would be a valuable trait to pass on to her offspring.

Yet, despite the compelling cases for both Jacob and Roan, Lexa found her thoughts continually drifting back to Clarke’s profile. There was an intriguing blend of creativity and intellect in his background— an artist with an Ivy League education, deeply involved in community service. His profile hinted at a complex, multifaceted personality; he was someone who valued both expression and academia, who understood the importance of giving back to the community.

Clarke’s interests in the arts and his commitment to societal contribution painted a picture of a man who was not only educated but also empathetic and engaged with the world around him. These were traits Lexa admired and sought for her child’s upbringing.

The more Lexa thought about Clarke, the more she realized how much his qualities appealed to her. He represented a balance of intelligence, creativity, and civic responsibility—elements that she valued deeply and imagined could foster a rich, nurturing environment for a child.

With a thoughtful sigh, Lexa placed Jacob and Clarke’s profiles side by side, with Roan's just slightly below them. It was clear these were her finalists, each bringing something unique and valuable to the table. She knew her decision would not be easy, but she also felt reassured by the strength of her final choices. As she prepared to retire for the night, Lexa felt a quiet confidence that among these men, she would find the right partner for the journey ahead.

On a quiet Sunday morning, with a cup of tea steaming gently beside her laptop, Lexa settled down to compose an email to the agency. The decision to request photos of her three final candidates—Jacob, Roan, and Clarke—felt like the next logical step in her carefully considered process. She knew the agency wouldn't respond until Monday, but drafting the email gave her a sense of progress and control over her choices.

Lexa typed with deliberate care, her words reflecting the gravity of her request. She explained that she had narrowed her selection down to three potential alphas and would now like to see their photographs to aid in her final decision. Lexa stressed that while she understood the importance of not basing her choice solely on physical attraction, she believed that a certain level of physical compatibility was essential for her comfort and confidence in this unique and intimate arrangement.

As she hit send, Lexa felt a wave of anticipation mixed with satisfaction. Each of her chosen candidates brought distinct and strong qualities to the table. Jacob with his gentle nature and environmental passion, Roan with his resilience and proven ambition, and Clarke with his creative spirit and intellectual prowess—each was appealing in a uniquely compelling way. Lexa appreciated the diversity in their profiles, which she believed would allow her to make a balanced choice based on a combination of intellectual, emotional, and physical attributes.

Leaning back in her chair, Lexa allowed herself to feel hopeful about the next steps. She hoped that the upcoming photos would not only confirm the impressions she had formed from their profiles but also ignite a spark of attraction. The thought of conceiving a child necessitated a certain level of physical appeal, and she hoped to find that in at least one of these men, making the process of becoming a mother not just a fulfillment of a desire but also a comfortable and pleasing journey.

With her part done for now, Lexa spent the rest of her day engaged in preparing for the new week, her mind occasionally wandering to her three candidates. The blend of curiosity and excitement for what Monday would bring was palpable, as she envisioned a future where one of these men would help her realize her dream of motherhood.

In her office, Lexa found herself repeatedly glancing at her phone, which lay beside her keyboard—a silent testament to her growing impatience. Each time the screen lit up with a notification, she felt a jolt of anticipation, only to find emails unrelated to her personal inquiry. The response from the agency, it seemed, was taking its sweet time.

Lexa tried to anchor her focus on the reports and spreadsheets that crowded her desktop. Her work, typically a realm where she excelled and found clarity, now felt like a cumbersome distraction. Her thoughts, disobedient and wild, fluttered incessantly towards the potential images of Jacob, Roan, and Clarke.

She knew their basic features—hair color, eye color—but these details painted no vivid picture in her mind. What were their smiles like? How did they carry themselves? Were they tall, broad-shouldered, or had a more slender, athletic build? These unknowns spun around in her head, each a question mark adding to a mosaic of curiosity and expectation.

Her concentration broke again, and she reached for her phone, scrolling through her inbox fruitlessly once more. With a sigh, Lexa set the device down and tried to realign her focus on a particularly complex data analysis. But even as she parsed through numbers and trends, part of her mind wandered, sketching imaginary portraits of the three men based on the scant information she had.

The morning dragged on, each tick of the office clock a reminder of the waiting she had to endure. Lexa found herself tapping a pen against her desk, her gaze drifting towards the window, where the city below seemed indifferent to her internal turmoil. The blend of excitement and nerves was palpable, like the quiet tension that fills the air before a storm breaks.

Finally, acknowledging her distracted state, Lexa decided to take a brief walk around the building, hoping that a change of scenery and a bit of movement would help her regain her concentration. As she strolled through the quieter parts of her workplace, she reminded herself that the decision she was about to make was significant and deserved this level of anticipation and thought. Returning to her desk refreshed, Lexa resolved to put her personal feelings aside and dive back into her work—determined to keep her professional prowess intact, even as her personal life beckoned with unanswered questions.

As the end of the workday approached, Lexa had almost resigned herself to the idea that her eagerly awaited email from the agency wouldn't arrive until Tuesday. She felt a mixture of disappointment and relief, the delay giving her more time to prepare mentally for what those photos might reveal.

She set her phone down one more time, focusing on shutting down her computer and organizing her desk for the evening. Just as she pushed back from her desk, her phone buzzed with the distinct chime of a new email notification. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the sender: the agency.

Quickly, she tapped on the notification, her eyes scanning the email's contents. The agency apologized for the delay, explaining they had taken extra care to ensure the photographs matched her request for confidentiality and respect towards the candidates. Attached to the email were three files, each labeled with the name of one of her potential alphas: Jacob, Roan, Clarke.

Lexa's thumb hovered over the attachments. A part of her wanted to open them immediately, to finally put faces to the names and profiles she had been pondering over for days. Yet, as she sat in the stillness of her office, a wave of hesitation washed over her. Was this the right place to make such a personal, potentially life-altering discovery?

Her office, usually a space of professional decisions and work-focused thoughts, suddenly felt too impersonal, too public for this deeply private moment. She contemplated the weight of what these images represented—not just potential genetic contributors but possible co-creators of her future child.

Deciding she needed the privacy and comfort of her own home to experience this moment, Lexa locked her phone and slipped it into her bag. Once home, she could take her time, process her reactions in her own space, and make thoughtful decisions without the confines of her professional environment.

As she walked out of the building into the warm evening air, Lexa felt a reassuring calm settle over her. Tonight, with a cup of her favorite tea in hand, she would meet, in a way, the men who might help her fulfill her dream of motherhood. It was a meeting that deserved her full presence and undivided attention, best done in the sanctuary of her home.

Lexa's evening unfolded with a mixture of routine and restless anticipation. After a quiet dinner, she methodically washed her dishes, the warm soapy water running over her hands as she scrubbed. This daily chore, usually a mindless task, felt different tonight. Each plate rinsed and set to dry was a moment to stall, a brief reprieve from the decision that awaited her.

As the dishes were put away and her kitchen returned to its usual tidy state, Lexa brewed a cup of calming chamomile tea. The steam curled into the air, carrying with it a scent that usually relaxed her, but tonight it was just another step in delaying the inevitable.

Part of her meticulous post-dinner clean-up was borne from habit, but another part was driven by a palpable apprehension. She was about to make a decision that would significantly shape her future. The man whose image she was about to view might very well be the one to help her fulfill her deep-seated desire to become a mother. This wasn't just any routine interaction; this was about selecting an alpha who would provide the genetic material to conceive her child and then, as per the agreement, step away.

With her cup of tea in hand, Lexa finally settled onto her couch, her usual spot for unwinding after a long day, but nothing about tonight was usual. She took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the warmth of the tea seep into her palms. Her phone lay next to her, an innocuous presence that now seemed daunting.

Finally, she picked up her phone, her thumb hovering over the email app with hesitation. This action, so simple and routine, felt momentous. She opened the email once more, and there they were, the attachments waiting just a click away. Each file bore the name of a potential alpha: Jacob, Roan, and Clarke.

Lexa tapped tentatively on the image file labeled "Jacob," her breath catching slightly in anticipation. The photo that materialized showed a man with boyish good looks, his smile gentle and inviting, eyes sparkling with a warmth that reinforced the impression of kindness his profile had suggested. Jacob's image aligned perfectly with what Lexa had envisioned—a friendly face that could bring comfort and reassurance.

Next, she opened the file for Roan. As his image came into view, Lexa noted his longish hair and the unmistakable intensity in his gaze. His strong jawline and the serious set of his mouth gave him a rugged appearance, one that spoke of resilience and a certain sternness. Roan looked like a man who faced challenges head-on, a stark contrast to Jacob’s softer, more approachable demeanor.

Finally, Lexa clicked on the last image, labeled "Clarke." She expected to see another male alpha, similar to the first two. However, as the image slowly loaded, her expectations were upended. The photo revealed not a man, but a striking woman with deep blue eyes and long blonde hair. Lexa stared, taken aback, as she processed the unexpected sight of a female alpha. Clarke’s presence in the photo was compelling; her gaze was direct and confident, radiating a strong sense of self-assuredness.

Lexa’s initial shock slowly gave way to a mix of emotions. Clarke’s appearance was stunning, and there was an undeniable beauty in her features that Lexa found herself unexpectedly drawn to. This twist in her journey made Lexa pause, her mind racing through the implications. She had not considered the possibility of a female alpha, yet here was Clarke, challenging her preconceptions and expanding the horizon of her choices.

Sitting back on the couch, Lexa took a moment to reflect. Each candidate brought something unique to the table: Jacob’s kindness, Roan’s intensity, and now Clarke’s unexpected presence—a female alpha who exuded strength and allure. Lexa knew this decision required more than a cursory glance at photographs. It was about finding a connection, a match that felt right on multiple levels.

As she continued to gaze at Clarke’s image, Lexa felt a curious pull, a fascination that urged her to reconsider what she thought she had been looking for in an alpha. Clarke’s striking blue eyes seemed to beckon for consideration, asking Lexa to step beyond the familiar and entertain the possibilities that lay in unexpected quarters.

As Lexa continued to sit on her couch, the images of the three alphas lingered on her phone screen, each one offering a different possibility, a different future. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside her window. Lexa found herself lost in thought, trying to envision what a child with each of these individuals might look like.

First, there was Jacob, with his warm brown eyes and dark hair, features that gave him an approachable, boy-next-door charm. Lexa imagined a child with similar soft, dark locks, perhaps inheriting Jacob's easy smile and the inherent kindness that seemed to radiate from his expression.

Then there was Roan, with his intense blue eyes and dark, slightly wild hair. His features were sharp, his presence in the photo almost commanding. A child with Roan might inherit those striking blue eyes, Lexa thought, along with a likely strong-willed spirit and perhaps that same sense of resilience that Roan seemed to embody.

Finally, her mind drifted to Clarke. The image of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed alpha with a distinct chin dimple was vivid in her mind. Lexa found herself particularly curious about this feature—a charming little dimple that added so much character to Clarke's smile. Would a child with Clarke inherit that same dimple? Lexa pictured a little one with light hair and those piercing blue eyes, maybe running around with a mischievous grin punctuated by that adorable dimple.

Each mental image brought a smile to Lexa's face but also added layers of complexity to her decision. This wasn't just about choosing a partner for conception; it was about choosing half of the genetic makeup of her future child. Each alpha not only offered different physical traits but also different backgrounds and personalities that would influence their child.

Lexa took a deep breath, feeling both overwhelmed and excited by the possibilities. As she sipped her tea, now lukewarm, she realized that this decision would shape not just her future, but that of her child. She knew that beyond looks, she needed to consider which values and qualities she most hoped to pass on. The process felt daunting, yet the thought of motherhood filled her with a profound sense of purpose. As the evening waned, Lexa knew that these reflections were just the beginning of her journey towards making one of the most significant decisions of her life.

After a period, Lexa felt the need to share her thoughts and get some feedback. She reached for her phone, dialed Anya, and quickly forwarded the email with the images of the alphas she was considering.

"Hey Anya, can you check your email real quick? I sent you something important," Lexa said as soon as her cousin answered the phone.

"Got it, let's see these candidates," Anya replied, her interest piqued. They started with Jacob, whose soft features and kind eyes made a good first impression. Then they moved on to Roan. "He looks exactly like what you’d expect an alpha to look like, doesn’t he?" Anya remarked, clearly impressed by his strong, intense demeanor.

Lexa chuckled, "Of course, an alpha would pick the most alpha-looking of the three."

However, the conversation took a turn when Anya opened Clarke’s image. "Oh, wow, this is a female alpha. That’s unexpected."

Lexa nodded to herself, feeling a mix of emotions. "Yeah, it adds another layer to Clarke. I've always been attracted to female alphas, but I was open to a male alpha, thinking it might be simpler for the whole baby process."

Anya paused, considering Lexa's words. "How do you feel about Clarke being in the mix now? This is a bit of a curveball."

"It is," Lexa agreed. "But honestly, seeing Clarke in there, it kind of stirred something. My ex was a female alpha, too. There’s a familiarity there."

"Sounds like Clarke’s presence is challenging some of your initial thoughts," Anya said thoughtfully. "But Lex, this is about what you want and need right now. If Clarke resonates with you more, maybe there’s more to think about here than just going the straightforward path."

Lexa took a deep breath, feeling the weight and truth in Anya’s words. "I guess you’re right. I need to think about what each option could really mean for me and the future. Clarke being a female alpha isn’t just a detail; it’s significant to how I feel about this whole process."

As they wrapped up their conversation, Lexa felt grateful for Anya’s insight and understanding. Discussing each candidate openly had clarified not just the practical considerations but also the emotional ones. Now, more than ever, Lexa knew her decision would not only be informed by what was expected but also by what felt right for her personally.

With the images of the alphas now in her possession, Lexa faced a self-imposed deadline: by Friday, she needed to make her decision. The choice she was about to make was not just about selecting an alpha but choosing a co-contributor to a life-changing journey. It would set the course for her long-held dream of becoming a mother.

Over the next two days, Lexa immersed herself in deep reflection. She had swiftly eliminated Roan from her list of potential candidates. His intensity, though initially striking, felt somewhat overpowering upon further consideration, and she realized it didn't align with the kind of parental influence she envisioned for her child.

Now, it was down to Jacob and Clarke. Jacob, with his gentle demeanor and environmental passion, seemed like a safe and rational choice. His traits aligned well with Lexa's values, and she could easily envision him as a positive genetic influence on her child. Yet, despite the logical fit Jacob presented, Lexa found her thoughts repeatedly drifting back to Clarke.

Clarke's presence in the selection process had been unexpected and impactful. As a female alpha, she brought a familiar dynamic that resonated deeply with Lexa, reminding her of the past. Lexa had to admit, there was a certain allure and comfort in the idea of choosing a female alpha.

Sitting at her dining room table with both profiles laid out before her, Lexa pondered whether her inclination towards Clarke was primarily influenced by her being a female alpha. Was it the novelty and emotional resonance of Clarke's status that drew her in, or was there something more substantial in Clarke's profile that connected with her own aspirations and dreams?

Lexa spent hours dissecting every detail in their profiles, weighing not just the emotional but also the pragmatic aspects of each choice. She considered not just who they were on paper, but who they might be in her life while conceiving a child. As she mulled over her options, Lexa tried to separate her feelings about their alpha status from what each could potentially offer as a co-contributor to her child’s genetic and cultural heritage.

By Thursday evening, a decision began to crystallize in her mind. Lexa realized that her choice needed to be based on a balance of emotional resonance and practical considerations, a decision that felt right both in her heart and her mind.

Friday morning dawned with a sense of resolution for Lexa. She had made her decision, and though nerves fluttered in her stomach, she was ready to take the next step. Sitting at her dining room table with her phone in hand, she dialed the number for the agency, her finger lingering over the call button for a moment before she pressed it.

"Marlene speaking, how may I assist you today?" came the familiar, professional voice from the other end.

"Hi Marlene, it’s Lexa Woods," she responded, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of anxiety. "I’ve made my decision regarding the alpha. I wanted to discuss it with you and see what the next steps are."

"That's great to hear, Lexa," Marlene replied warmly. "I know this has been a thoughtful process for you. Who have you decided to go with?"

After a slight pause, filled with a momentary doubt, Lexa affirmed, "I’ve chosen Clarke."

"Clarke, excellent choice," Marlene said. "She brings a unique perspective and strengths. What ultimately led you to this decision?"

Lexa hesitated, feeling a brief resurgence of her earlier indecision. "Well, there’s a lot about Clarke that resonates with me, her background, her values... and I guess the fact that she's a female alpha adds another layer of connection. I just hope I’ve made the right choice," Lexa confessed, a hint of uncertainty lacing her words.

"Choosing an alpha is always a significant and personal decision, Lexa. It’s normal to have some last-minute doubts, but it’s important that it feels right to you. Let’s arrange a meeting with Clarke. You two can discuss everything openly, and it will also be a chance for you to address any concerns you might have before moving forward."

"That would be very helpful," Lexa agreed, feeling reassured by Marlene's calm and understanding tone. "I think meeting her will give me the clarity to move forward confidently."

"Perfect," Marlene responded. "I’ll arrange for you both to meet and discuss the details. You’ll also have the opportunity to sign the contracts, ensuring everything is transparent and agreed upon. I’ll look for some potential dates and get back to you as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Marlene," Lexa said, relief washing over her. "I appreciate all your help."

"You’re welcome, Lexa. We're here to make sure that you are comfortable and confident in your decisions. I’ll be in touch very soon with some dates for the meeting," Marlene assured her.

As Lexa ended the call, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. The decision was made, and a plan was in place. The thought of meeting Clarke and discussing the future brought a mix of excitement and a newfound peace. Lexa knew that whatever doubts she had would likely be settled once she and Clarke could sit down and talk face to face.

Marlene had been efficient and considerate in her arrangements. She set the meeting for two weeks out, giving Lexa and Clarke ample time to prepare for their first encounter. The date was marked on Lexa’s calendar, each day inching closer filled with a blend of anticipation and nerves.

Finally, the day of the meeting arrived. Lexa stood in front of her closet in the morning, her mind racing with the unusual complexity of choosing the right outfit. "What do you wear to a meeting with someone you are contractually going to be sleeping with in order to create a child?" she muttered to herself. The question was as surreal as her situation.

After much deliberation, Lexa opted for something that struck a balance between professional and comfortable—an elegant blouse paired with well-fitted trousers. It was important to her that she present herself as both serious about the arrangement and approachable.

Driving to the agency, Lexa’s hands were slightly shaking on the steering wheel. Her mind was a whirlwind of what-ifs and hopes. As she parked her car and walked toward the office building, she took deep, deliberate breaths, trying to calm her racing heart.

The agency’s office was a space Lexa had become familiar with over the past weeks, but today, it seemed to hold a new form of gravity. Marlene greeted her warmly at the door, her smile reassuring.

"Clarke just arrived. She’s waiting in the meeting room," Marlene informed her, leading the way.

Lexa’s steps felt heavy yet determined as she approached the room. Marlene opened the door, and there sat Clarke, just as striking in person as she was in her photo. Her presence seemed to command the room, yet there was a softness in her eyes as she looked up and met Lexa’s gaze.

"Lexa, meet Clarke. Clarke, this is Lexa," Marlene introduced.

"Hi, Lexa," Clarke said, standing up to shake her hand. Her voice was calm, carrying a hint of warmth that eased some of Lexa's tension.

"Hello, Clarke," Lexa replied, her voice steadier than she felt. The handshake was firm and brief, but Lexa felt a surprising jolt of connection—an electric mix of nerves and excitement.

Marlene excused herself, leaving them to converse privately. "I’ll give you both some space to discuss. If you need anything, I'll be right outside," she said before closing the door gently behind her.

In the quiet confines of the meeting room, the air thick with anticipation, Lexa and Clarke faced each other. Their initial nervousness was palpable, each aware of the significance and unusual nature of their meeting. Clarke, sensing the growing tension, decided it was time to steer the conversation towards more familiar ground.

"So, Lexa," Clarke began, her tone casual yet curious, "Marlene didn't tell me much about your professional background. What do you do for a living?"

Lexa, slightly surprised by the shift towards personal details, replied, "I'm an accountant. I spend most of my days surrounded by numbers and spreadsheets."

Clarke chuckled softly, her eyes lighting up with a mix of amusement and relief at the shift to lighter conversation. "Oh, numbers and I have never been best friends. I was always the one in class who thought 'algebra' was a foreign language," she joked, a playful smile crossing her features.

Lexa found herself smiling genuinely for the first time since the meeting began, the tension easing from her shoulders. Clarke's humor and light-heartedness were infectious, and it helped Lexa feel more at ease. Encouraged by the more relaxed atmosphere, Lexa decided to learn more about Clarke's interests.

"I saw in your profile that you’re an artist," Lexa said, her tone shifting to one of genuine interest. "What kind of art do you do?"

Clarke’s face brightened at the question, clearly passionate about her craft. "I work mostly with mixed media. I love exploring textures and layers—there’s something about the tactile process of creating something tangible that really excites me. It’s a way to express emotions that words can’t always capture."

Lexa nodded, intrigued. "That sounds fascinating. Art seems like such a freeing way to express oneself."

"It really is," Clarke agreed, her enthusiasm evident. "And every piece feels like a part of me, yet once it’s done, it belongs to the world, not just to me."

Their conversation flowed more naturally now, the earlier awkwardness fading as they discussed their respective careers. Lexa felt a newfound appreciation for Clarke's artistic perspective, contrasting yet complementing her own methodical, numbers-driven approach. The dialogue not only bridged their understanding of each other’s professional lives but also built a deeper, more personal connection that eased their initial apprehensions about the arrangements ahead.

After Lexa and Clarke had spent some time getting to know each other and discussing their backgrounds, the door to the conference room opened, and Marlene re-entered, a stack of papers in hand. She approached the table with a professional smile, setting down the documents before them.

"Looks like you two have been having a good conversation," Marlene observed, taking a seat at the head of the table. She then shifted into her role as the facilitator of the process, her demeanor becoming more formal as she prepared to discuss the contracts and legalities. "I have here the draft contracts for your arrangement. Let's go through these together to ensure everything is clear and that all parties' expectations are met."

Marlene spread the documents out so both Lexa and Clarke could see them. She began to go through each section meticulously, explaining the legal jargon and what it meant in practical terms. "This section here outlines the obligations of both parties, including medical examinations, confidentiality agreements, and the planned schedule for the conception process," she explained, pointing to each clause as she spoke.

She then moved on to a critical part of the contract. "It's very important that both of you understand that this agreement is based on mutual consent and comfort levels. If at any point, for any reason, either of you feels that this arrangement isn't working out, you can withdraw from the contract." Marlene looked at both Lexa and Clarke earnestly, ensuring her point was clear. "This clause here provides the details on how to terminate the agreement respectfully and legally without facing any penalties."

Marlene paused to allow Lexa and Clarke to absorb the information, checking their faces for any signs of confusion or concern. "Do either of you have any questions about this part, or is there anything in the agreement that you would like to discuss further or modify?"

Lexa and Clarke exchanged a glance, both appreciating the agency's emphasis on their comfort and autonomy within the process. Clarke nodded, indicating she understood and appreciated the terms, "It's reassuring to know that there's flexibility if the circumstances change."

Lexa echoed Clarke’s sentiment. "Yes, I agree. It's important to have a way out if things don’t feel right. It makes the whole arrangement feel safer, more considered."

Marlene nodded, pleased with their responses. "Absolutely, we want to make sure you both feel secure and supported throughout this process." She then continued to go through the rest of the contract, covering financial arrangements, the handling of medical data, and the support services the agency would provide.

As the meeting drew to a close, Marlene handed each of them a pen. "Take your time to read through everything once more on your own. If you’re ready, you can sign today, or you can take the contracts home and think things over. We want you to make a decision when you're completely ready."

As Marlene finished outlining the terms and left the choice to sign immediately or take the contracts home for further consideration, Clarke turned her gaze towards Lexa, silently seeking her input on how to proceed. The moment was charged with significance; the decision to sign now would cement their agreement, setting them firmly on a path toward a shared, albeit unique, journey.

Lexa held Clarke’s gaze for a moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She could feel the flutter of nerves in her stomach, but beneath that, a steady current of resolve. This was what she wanted, and every interaction and discussion up to this point had only solidified her confidence in her choice.

Finally, with a nod to herself, Lexa reached for the pen that Marlene had placed on the table. Her hand was steady as she picked it up, and with a decisive motion, she signed her name on the dotted line. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper seemed to echo in the room, marking a significant milestone in her journey to motherhood.

Clarke watched Lexa sign, noting the determination and clarity in her actions. Seeing Lexa make her decision with such resolve helped dispel any lingering hesitations Clarke might have had. Inspired by Lexa's confidence and encouraged by the thoroughness and fairness of the contract, Clarke picked up her own pen. With a thoughtful look at Lexa, acknowledging her readiness and mutual commitment, Clarke signed her name as well.

As they both put their pens down, a sense of relief and anticipation filled the room. Marlene, witnessing this, offered them both a warm, reassuring smile. "Thank you both for your trust and courage in this process. I’ll make sure everything is processed promptly, and I’ll be here to support you both through every step that follows."

Lexa and Clarke exchanged a look, a silent acknowledgment of the journey they had just agreed to embark on together. There was a mutual understanding that while the road ahead would be uncharted and not without its challenges, they were now linked by a shared commitment to bring a new life into the world, each in their respective roles.

As Lexa and Clarke gathered their belongings and prepared to leave the conference room, Marlene interjected with one final point of order, outlining the next steps in their newly formalized agreement.

"Before you both go, I want to discuss the logistics of your first official meeting," Marlene began, her tone shifting back to her professional demeanor. "The agency has protocols in place to ensure the safety and comfort of all parties involved, especially during initial meetings."

She pulled out a small tablet and tapped a few times on the screen, pulling up a schedule. "We prefer to arrange the meetings on neutral ground. It helps maintain privacy and provides a secure environment for both of you." Marlene looked up from her tablet, making sure she had both Lexa and Clarke’s attention.

"For this purpose, we usually arrange for a hotel room. This setting not only ensures confidentiality but also allows you both to meet in a neutral, comfortable environment without the pressures or personal biases that might come from meeting in a more personal space," Marlene explained. She assured them that the agency had longstanding arrangements with a reputable hotel chain known for its discretion and high standards of service.

"We’ll handle all the bookings and logistics. You won’t need to worry about any of the arrangements," she continued. "I’ll send you both the details and date options for your first meeting. You can choose what works best for both of you."

Marlene’s explanation provided a clear framework for how the initial stages of their agreement would proceed, emphasizing the agency’s commitment to maintaining a professional and secure process. "Safety and comfort are our top priorities. We want to ensure that both of you feel secure and at ease during your meetings."

Lexa and Clarke nodded in understanding, appreciating the thoroughness with which the agency was handling the situation. The idea of meeting in a hotel for the first few times made sense, and the agency’s attention to detail and safety was reassuring.

"Once I have everything arranged, I will send you an email with all the information, including the date, time, and location of the hotel. You will both have access to the private suite, and agency staff will be available on-call, should you need any assistance during the meeting," Marlene concluded, her tone both serious and comforting.

With everything laid out so clearly and professionally, Lexa and Clarke felt more confident about the steps ahead. They thanked Marlene for her assistance and left the office with a sense of readiness for the next phases of their journey together. The agency’s meticulous planning and support made a complex process seem manageable and secure.

As soon as Lexa got back into her car, she couldn't resist the urge to share the events of the meeting with Anya. She quickly dialed her cousin, who picked up after just a couple of rings.

"Hey, Lex, how did it go?" Anya's voice was eager but tinged with concern.

"It was... good, really good," Lexa began, her voice carrying a mix of relief and excitement. "Clarke is nothing like I expected. She’s very grounded and seems genuinely interested in making sure this works out for the best."

"Oh? And how does she look? Did she match up to her picture?" Anya asked, her tone playful yet probing.

Lexa laughed softly, a blush creeping across her cheeks even though Anya couldn’t see it. "Yes, she looks just like her photo. But her eyes, Anya, they’re this striking shade of blue. It’s almost mesmerizing."

There was a brief pause before Anya responded, her voice now carrying a note of caution. "Lex, remember this is a business arrangement. Don’t get carried away because of pretty eyes. You told me she’s there for the money, right?"

Lexa sighed, knowing Anya was just looking out for her. "Yes, I know. And yes, the financial aspect is a part of this for her, like it is for many alphas. But she doesn’t make it feel transactional, you know? She's professional but also really considerate."

Switching topics slightly, Lexa then shared more details about the arrangements that had been made for their upcoming interactions. "Marlene arranged for us to meet in a hotel. It’s a neutral place, which the agency has set up for safety and privacy. They’ve really thought of everything to make sure both parties feel secure."

Anya listened intently, her initial skepticism giving way to understanding. "That sounds sensible. They seem to be handling things very professionally. Just... be careful, Lex. I know you, and I know how easily you can get attached."

Lexa nodded to herself, taking in Anya’s advice. "I’ll be careful. I promise. I’m going into this with my eyes wide open—figuratively and literally," she added with a chuckle, trying to keep the mood light.

"Good to hear," Anya replied, her tone softening. "Keep me updated, okay? And if you need to talk, anytime, I’m here."

"Will do. Thanks, Anya. I really appreciate it," Lexa said, feeling grateful for having someone like Anya to confide in.

With that, they ended the call, and Lexa sat for a moment in the quiet of her car, reflecting on the conversation. She felt a blend of caution and excitement—a cocktail of emotions that she would need to manage carefully as she navigated this uncharted path.

Lexa stared at the computer screen, her eyes tracing over the details outlined in the email. The room at the Arkadia Hotel was booked under the agency's name, providing an added layer of privacy and discretion with the room number assigned to Lexa being "439". The preparations were meticulous, reflecting the seriousness and sensitivity of their upcoming encounter.

As she absorbed the reality of the arrangement, Lexa's mind wandered to the intricate details of alpha and omega biology—a fundamental aspect that dictated the unique way they could conceive. The biological necessity for an alpha to 'knot' during intercourse to successfully conceive was an evolutionary trait, deeply embedded in their genetics. It was a process designed to enhance the probability of conception, ensuring that during the crucial moments, the alpha's body could maximize the chance of fertilizing the omega's egg.

This biological imperative was at the forefront of Lexa's thoughts as she contemplated her meeting with Clarke. The concept was still somewhat surreal to her. On one hand, the scientific aspect of it made sense, and she respected the biological processes involved. On the other hand, facing the reality of engaging intimately with someone who was essentially a stranger, even with mutual agreement and understanding, was daunting.

The part of Lexa that hesitated wasn't concerned with the logistics or the biological necessities—those were facts she had come to terms with when she decided on this path. Instead, it was the emotional aspect, the vulnerability of sharing such a personal experience with someone she hadn't known long. Yet, despite these reservations, the stronger part of her—the part driven by her deep desire to become a mother—was prepared to move forward.

As she sat there, Lexa reminded herself why she had chosen this path. It wasn't just about fulfilling her desire to have a child; it was about doing so in a way that felt right to her, under terms she had carefully considered and agreed upon. Clarke, too, had her reasons for participating, and their prior meeting had laid a foundation of mutual respect and understanding.

With each passing moment, Lexa's resolve grew stronger. She knew that the biological processes were just one part of the equation. The more significant component was her readiness to embrace the responsibilities and joys of motherhood. By the time she closed her laptop, Lexa felt a quiet confidence. She was ready for Saturday—not just to meet the biological demands of the process, but to take a significant step towards a future she had long envisioned for herself.

Lexa arrived at the Arkadia Hotel promptly at 4 PM, her heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and resolve. The hotel's lobby was bustling with activity, but she navigated through it with a sense of purpose, her focus fixed on the task ahead. At the front desk, she confirmed her identity discreetly, referring only to the reservation number and the agency's name. The clerk handed her a key card with a polite, professional smile that didn't probe too deeply into the reasons for her stay.

With key card in hand, Lexa made her way to her room, her steps measured and her mind racing. The hallways of the hotel were elegantly carpeted and softly lit, creating an atmosphere of privacy and tranquility that helped soothe her escalating anxiety. Each step brought her closer to a moment that might very well define her future.

Standing before the door marked with the number 439, Lexa paused, her hand hovering over the key card reader. She knew that behind this door, preparations would need to be made, both mentally and physically, before Clarke's arrival. The agency had arranged for Clarke to arrive later, giving Lexa ample time to acclimate to the environment, to settle her thoughts, and to prepare herself emotionally and physically for what was to come.

All she had to do was swipe the key card and step inside. Taking a deep breath, Lexa steadied her trembling hand and slid the card through the reader. The light blinked green, and a soft click signaled her access. Pushing the door open, she stepped into the room.

The room was tastefully decorated, neutral tones and soft lighting crafting a calming environment. There was an understated elegance to it, conducive to both comfort and privacy. Lexa let her gaze sweep over the space—the king bed, the sitting area with its inviting sofa, and a small work desk that faced a large window with curtains drawn.

Closing the door behind her, Lexa allowed herself a few moments to just stand and absorb the reality of her surroundings. This was the setting where she hoped her dream of motherhood would begin to materialize. It felt surreal, yet incredibly real at the same time.

She placed her small overnight bag on the bed, unpacking a few personal items to make the space feel more familiar. Lexa then spent some time simply sitting on the edge of the bed, collecting her thoughts. She reflected on her journey to this point—the decisions made, the fears confronted, and the hopes cherished.

As the time ticked closer to 6 PM, Lexa prepared herself, changing into something comfortable yet appropriate for the occasion. She reminded herself why she was here, focusing on the positive outcomes she hoped to achieve. This was about more than just the mechanics of conception; it was about taking control of her destiny and shaping the future she desired.

By the time Lexa heard a knock at the door just after 6 PM, signaling Clarke’s arrival, she felt a renewed sense of purpose and clarity. She was ready to open the door, not just to Clarke, but to the possibilities that lay ahead.

Lexa walked to the door, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. She reached out, her hand almost trembling as she turned the handle. The door swung open, and there stood Clarke, her presence as compelling in person as it had been in their previous meeting. Clarke offered Lexa a shy, somewhat tentative smile—a softening of her usually confident demeanor that made her seem more approachable in this intensely personal setting.

"Hi, Lexa," Clarke greeted with a quiet warmth, her voice carrying a hint of nervous anticipation.

"Hello, Clarke. Come in," Lexa replied, stepping aside to allow Clarke entry into the room. Her heart was beating fast, but she managed to maintain a composed exterior.

Clarke stepped past the threshold, her eyes quickly scanning the room as she entered. The soft lighting and tasteful decor seemed to impress her, and a small, appreciative smile appeared on her face. "This is a nice room," she commented, her tone carrying genuine approval. "The agency really does ensure comfort, don't they?"

"Yes, they do," Lexa responded, closing the door behind Clarke. She felt a slight relief that the initial moment of greeting was over, and now they could proceed with the reason they were both there. "They try to make this as comfortable as possible for everyone involved."

Clarke nodded, setting down a small bag she had brought with her. She looked around, taking in the environment that would play a significant role in the next steps they were about to take. The room, was designed to be calming, a sanctuary from the outside world and the weight of the decisions made within its confines.

Turning back to Lexa, Clarke's initial shyness seemed to melt away slightly as she became more accustomed to the setting. "I appreciate the effort to make everything feel serene. It helps," she admitted, meeting Lexa’s eyes with a more steady gaze.

Lexa nodded, feeling a similar gratitude for the care taken to create a space that respected the gravity of their meeting. "I agree. It makes things a little easier," she said, managing a small smile.

There was a brief pause as both women acknowledged the situation, the room serving as a silent witness to their agreement and the hopes tied to it. Then, almost instinctively, Lexa gestured towards the small sitting area. "Would you like something to drink? Maybe some water or coffee before we... start?"

Clarke agreed, appreciating the offer to ease into the moment more gently. "Water would be great, thank you," she said, her voice steady but still carrying a trace of the nerves they both felt.

As Lexa went to get the water, the air between them filled with a quiet acknowledgment of the partnership they were about to embark upon, each aware of the significance of their actions, yet comforted by the shared understanding and the meticulously arranged environment that surrounded them.

Clarke made her way to the sofa, settling into the soft cushions with a slight exhale that betrayed her underlying nervousness. Lexa opened the mini-fridge, retrieving a bottle of water which she handed to Clarke with a gentle, reassuring smile. The small, ordinary gesture seemed to anchor them both amidst the swirling emotions of the occasion.

Lexa lingered by the edge of the sitting area, her hands clasped in front of her, unsure of her next move. The room, while comfortable and inviting, suddenly felt too vast, filled with unspoken expectations and the weight of their impending decision.

Clarke noticed Lexa's hesitation and patted the space next to her on the sofa. "Why don't you sit here?" she suggested, her voice carrying a soft but clear invitation. "It might be more comfortable to talk this way."

Lexa nodded, grateful for Clarke's lead. She moved to the sofa, taking a seat at a respectful distance that still allowed for private conversation. She could feel the warmth of Clarke's presence beside her, a comforting reminder that they were in this together.

Once settled, Clarke unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and took a sip, then turned slightly to face Lexa. She initiated some light conversation, perhaps recognizing the need to ease into the deeper discussions that lay ahead. "So, how was your day before coming here? Anything interesting happen?"

Lexa took a moment to switch gears from the intense internal monologue she had been engaged in all day. "Oh, it was pretty routine," she replied, managing a small chuckle. "Just some last-minute work stuff and mentally preparing for today. What about you? Did you find time to do any art today?"

Clarke shook her head, a rueful smile playing on her lips. "Not today, unfortunately. But I did spend some time in the studio yesterday. It helps clear my mind, you know?"

"Yeah, I can imagine," Lexa responded, feeling the conversation begin to flow more naturally between them. "Art seems like a great way to express and maybe even sort through feelings, especially with everything that's going on."

Clarke nodded, visibly relaxed as the topic turned to her passion for art. "Exactly. It's not just about creating something beautiful or interesting. It's also therapeutic. It gives me a space to process things—a bit like an escape, but also a way to confront emotions directly."

As they continued talking, the atmosphere between Lexa and Clarke began to shift subtly. Clarke's discussion about her art opened a window into her inner world, showing Lexa the passion and depth that motivated her work. The conversation seemed to flow effortlessly now, with each topic leading seamlessly into the next, covering everything from favorite artists to the influence of different art forms on society.

The air lightened around them, filled with shared laughter and nods of understanding, as the initial awkwardness melted away under the warmth of genuine connection. They found common ground in unexpected places and differed in others, which only added layers to their interaction, making it richer, more textured.

About 30 minutes into their conversation, as they were discussing the emotional power of color in visual art, Clarke reached out and gently took Lexa's hand. Lexa felt a sudden impulse to retract her hand, startled by the unexpected contact. The moment hung between them, charged with the potential for deeper connection or withdrawal. But as she met Clarke’s eyes, Lexa saw the intention there—soft, unassuming, aiming to add a layer of intimacy and reassurance to their conversation.

Understanding Clarke’s gesture as an effort to bridge the gap between them further, Lexa relaxed and allowed her hand to stay in Clarke’s gentle grasp. The touch was comforting, grounding, and it brought a new level of openness to their dialogue.

Clarke’s thumb brushed lightly over Lexa’s hand, a soothing motion that seemed to anchor them both more firmly in the present moment. "Art is my way of understanding the world, and sometimes of escaping it," Clarke shared, her voice soft but resonant. "It's personal, yes, but sharing it feels like extending a part of myself to others, hoping they might understand or feel something too."

Lexa nodded, feeling the truth of those words resonate within her. "I think that's brave—putting a piece of yourself into your work and then putting it out there for the world to see and experience."

The atmosphere between Lexa and Clarke thickened with unspoken promises as the moments stretched on, each second building upon the last. Clarke's gaze intensified, conveying a mix of curiosity and boldness as she leaned in closer to Lexa. Her movements were deliberate, aimed at closing the distance between them with a cautious yet clear intent. When their eyes met, there was a silent exchange, a question posed and an answer given without words.

Clarke's lips touched Lexa's softly at first, a gentle test of boundaries that was sweet and tentative. The world around them seemed to pause, holding its breath along with them. Lexa's response was subtle but encouraging, enough to spur Clarke on. Pulling back slightly, Clarke searched Lexa’s eyes once more, seeking reassurance. What she found was a quiet acceptance, a willingness to explore the emotions that were beginning to simmer between them.

Emboldened by Lexa's silent affirmation, Clarke leaned in once more, this time with a firmer resolve. Her lips met Lexa's with more purpose, conveying a deeper intent. The kiss deepened, driven by a blend of newfound affection and a shared desire to discover more about each other through this new, unspoken language.

As the intensity of their kisses grew, so did their need for each other's closeness. The initial cautious exploration gave way to a more passionate expression of their burgeoning connection. Clarke’s hands found their way to Lexa's cheeks, holding her gently yet firmly, anchoring her as they navigated this new terrain together. Lexa responded in kind, her hands threading through Clarke's hair, pulling her closer, deepening their embrace.

The kisses evolved, becoming a profound dialogue of their lips and breaths, each kiss building upon the last, growing more fervent, more insistent. The connection sparked between them ignited something deeper, a flame that had been cautiously kindled now threatening to burn brightly.

Eventually, the need for air forced them apart, and they pulled back, each catching their breath, their foreheads resting against each other. Their breaths mingled in the small space between them, heavy and warm. The room around them came back into focus slowly, the sounds of the city beyond the walls creeping back into their awareness.

Clarke and Lexa remained close, neither willing to break the connection entirely. Their eyes met again, this time reflecting a mix of wonder and a hint of vulnerability after sharing such a potent moment. The initial purpose of their arrangement still loomed in the background, but what had transpired between them now added a profound layer of intimacy and complexity to their relationship. This was no longer just about an agreement or a process—it was about them, here and now, together in a way that was unexpectedly profound.

In the quiet aftermath of their breathless exchange, the air between Clarke and Lexa was charged with a new, palpable energy. Clarke, sensing the shift in their dynamic, slowly stood up from the sofa. There was a silent invitation in her posture, a gentle yet unmistakable beckoning as she extended her hand toward Lexa.

Lexa watched Clarke's movement, a myriad of emotions flickering across her face. There was a moment of hesitation, a brief internal debate visible in her eyes as she considered Clarke's offered hand. It symbolized more than just a physical gesture; it was an invitation to continue exploring the depth of connection they had unexpectedly discovered.

With a subtle nod to herself, as if making a decision, Lexa placed her hand in Clarke’s. The contact was electric, reigniting the spark that had flared between them moments before. Pulled by a force that felt both thrilling and inevitable, Lexa stood, bringing her face to face with Clarke once again.

They stood there, hand in hand, close enough to feel each other's breath. The world around them seemed to fade, narrowing down to the space they shared. Lexa's eyes locked onto Clarke's, searching, questioning, and finding answers in the deep blue that stared back at her with an intensity that matched her own.

Without breaking eye contact, Clarke leaned in, her movements deliberate and full of intention. Lexa’s breath hitched, her body and mind anticipating the contact that was to come. As their lips met again, the kiss was different from the ones before. This time it was charged with the energy of standing together, of the decision to step into this space as equals, partners in whatever was unfolding between them.

The kiss deepened naturally, their bodies instinctively moving closer until they were embracing fully, the world around them completely forgotten. Clarke's hands moved to Lexa’s lower back, pulling her closer, while Lexa’s arms wrapped around Clarke’s neck, anchoring herself to the moment, to Clarke.

In that kiss, they communicated more than could be expressed in words. It was a promise, a commitment not just to the process they were undertaking but an acknowledgment of the vulnerability and strength found in true intimacy.

As the intensity of their kisses deepened, Clarke gently guided Lexa towards the bed, their hands intertwined, conveying trust and mutual desire. The steps were few but filled with anticipation, each one marking a deeper commitment to the moment and to each other. As they reached the edge of the bed, their lips barely parted, sustaining the connection that had now become their world.

Standing beside the bed, Clarke’s hands slowly found the edge of Lexa’s shirt. Each touch was careful, measured, filled with an unspoken question that Lexa answered with a slight nod, a breathless "yes" whispered between kisses. Clarke’s fingers trembled slightly—not with hesitation but with the gravity of the moment, aware of the trust Lexa was placing in her.

With each piece of clothing that Clarke gently removed, Lexa felt a layer of her defenses dissolve, not just exposing her skin but opening up deeper parts of herself. Clarke’s touch was reverent, filled with care and attentiveness that spoke volumes. She took her time, ensuring that each movement, each kiss that followed the removal of a garment, honored the vulnerability and strength Lexa displayed.

Lexa, for her part, felt an overwhelming sense of being cared for. It was not just the physical undressing but the way Clarke managed every action with such gentleness—it made her feel cherished in a way she hadn’t anticipated in this arrangement. Each kiss Clarke planted on her newly exposed skin wasn't just sensual but comforting, affirming their connection and Clarke’s respect for her.

As Lexa stood there, with Clarke’s hands skillfully and tenderly ensuring her comfort, she found herself more assured with each passing second. The vulnerability of being undressed was overshadowed by the security Clarke’s demeanor provided. It was a strange, beautiful dichotomy—standing there exposed yet feeling entirely safe.

When Lexa was finally free of her clothing, Clarke paused, giving her a moment to adjust. She looked into Lexa’s eyes, seeking any signs of discomfort or withdrawal. Seeing none, only a quiet gratitude and trust, Clarke leaned in for another kiss, this one conveying her appreciation for Lexa’s trust.

They moved together onto the bed, their movements synchronized, a dance guided by mutual understanding and the desire to maintain the emotional connection that had become as vital as their physical one.

As they shifted together on the soft expanse of the bed, Clarke carefully positioned herself between Lexa's legs. The air around them was thick with anticipation, yet Clarke made no immediate move to continue. Instead, she paused, her eyes lifting to meet Lexa's in a silent, searching communication. The intensity of her gaze was soft but intent, probing gently for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty in Lexa's expression.

Lexa, feeling Clarke’s gaze upon her, understood the unspoken question hanging between them. The world seemed to hold its breath as she considered her feelings, the warmth of Clarke's body an anchoring presence. In Clarke's eyes, she saw not just desire but a profound care and patience. It was clear Clarke was ready to stop at the slightest hint of reluctance, ready to put Lexa’s emotional well-being above all else.

Feeling a surge of trust and a deep, affirming connection to Clarke, Lexa reached up, her hand gently caressing Clarke’s cheek. Her touch was tender, meant to reassure as much as to give consent. With a soft smile that spoke volumes, Lexa nodded slightly, her eyes conveying her readiness and appreciation for Clarke’s considerate approach.

Clarke, receiving the clear, affirmative response she had sought, allowed a relieved and grateful smile to curve her lips. But still, she moved slowly, maintaining eye contact as she gradually resumed closing the distance between them. Her actions were deliberate and unhurried, ensuring Lexa remained comfortable.

As they lay together on the bed, the world outside the soft cocoon of their room seemed distant and unimportant. Clarke's kisses were tender and deliberate, focusing solely on Lexa's lips with a gentle insistence that spoke volumes. Each touch was filled with the silent communication that had become their language—a language of looks that asked and answered without words.

Clarke, ever attentive to Lexa's comfort and readiness, made no attempt to escalate beyond their kissing. She was content to explore the contours of Lexa's lips, the soft exchanges grounding and deepening their connection. The slow, purposeful pace she set was like a melody, soft and rhythmic, designed to soothe and affirm.

Lexa, enveloped in the warmth of Clarke's nearness, felt a blossoming desire to move forward, driven not just by physical need but by the emotional intimacy they were weaving with each kiss. Feeling a growing urgency, Lexa began to gently shift her hips beneath Clarke, a subtle movement but a clear indication of her readiness to deepen their physical connection. Her movements were hesitant at first, testing Clarke’s response, seeking to communicate her desires without disrupting the harmony of their current engagement.

Clarke, ever so perceptive to Lexa’s cues, felt the gentle undulation of Lexa's hips against her. She paused, their lips parting slightly as she sought Lexa's eyes. In them, Clarke found not just the green light she needed but a spark of deeper desire, a silent plea to bridge the gap between affection and passion.

Sensing Lexa's readiness, Clarke allowed a moment for them both to acknowledge the shift in their dynamic. She gave a small, affirming smile, her hands framing Lexa's face as if to say she understood, and she was there with her, every step of the way.

Encouraged by Lexa's clear communication, Clarke deepened their kiss, her movements becoming more assured, more aligned with the rising tide of their desires. Her hands, which had been content to cradle Lexa’s face, now wandered with purpose, tracing paths down her neck and shoulders, mapping the terrain of her skin with a reverent touch.

Lexa responded in kind, her own hands exploring Clarke’s back, pulling her closer, reducing the space between them to nothing. Their movements became a dance, a give and take that spoke of mutual desire —a dance that promised to carry them forward into the next chapter of their night together.

As the depth of their connection grew more intense, Clarke remained acutely aware of the trust Lexa had placed in her. With every move she made, Clarke was considerate, her actions measured and gentle to ensure she maintained the sanctity of that trust. When the moment came to deepen their physical connection further, Clarke approached it with a profound sense of responsibility and care.

With a reassuring look into Lexa's eyes, Clarke sought silent permission to continue, waiting for a nod of assent before proceeding. Lexa's response, a soft affirmation accompanied by a nervous but trusting smile, gave Clarke the green light she needed. Very slowly, Clarke began to slide closer, merging their bodies in the most intimate of ways.

Clarke's movements were slow, almost painstakingly so, as she carefully navigated this new level of closeness. She was acutely conscious of Lexa's reactions, watching her face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. As Clarke gradually slid into Lexa, she made sure to control her movements, giving Lexa time to adjust to the new sensations.

"Are you alright?" Clarke whispered, her voice low and soothing.

Lexa, feeling the care with which Clarke moved, nodded, her initial tension easing under Clarke's attentive gaze. "Yes," she breathed out, a hint of relief in her voice as she found the sensation different but not unpleasant, her body slowly adapting to Clarke's presence.

Clarke paused, allowing Lexa a moment to get accustomed to the feeling, her hand gently caressing Lexa's arm in a comforting gesture. The room was filled with a tense but tender energy, each aware of the significance of the moment.

As Lexa relaxed more, Clarke continued, still cautious, moving in a rhythm dictated by Lexa's responses. Every slight adjustment, every careful motion was made with Lexa’s comfort in mind. Clarke’s focus was entirely on Lexa, ensuring that her experience was as gentle and loving as possible.

As Clarke and Lexa continued their intimate connection, the intensity of their movements gradually built up. Clarke, ever attentive to Lexa's comfort and reactions, had initially maintained a slow and gentle rhythm, ensuring that every motion was measured and considerate. However, as the moments passed, the natural progression of their physical responses began to drive the pace.

Clarke could feel the building pressure of her own impending release, a physical response that would soon reach its peak. She knew it was crucial for Lexa to be ready for her knot. This required a careful balance, speeding up her movements to match the escalating intensity while ensuring Lexa was not overwhelmed.

With a deep breath to steady her nerves and focus her intentions, Clarke began to gradually increase the rhythm of her hips, her movements becoming more deliberate. "Lexa," she murmured softly, her voice a blend of desire and concern, "I'm getting close. Just let me know if you need me to slow down, okay?"

Lexa, caught up in the rising tide of sensation, nodded, her breath coming in quicker gasps. She placed her hands on Clarke's hips, a silent signal of her engagement and readiness. Lexa's eyes, wide and focused, locked with Clarke's, communicating her trust and willingness to continue.

Clarke, reassured by Lexa's response, carefully monitored her own body's signals while also watching Lexa's reactions closely. She adjusted her movements, aligning them with Lexa's subtle cues and the increasing demands of her own body. The tempo of her hips quickened in a controlled manner, each thrust deeper and more purposeful.

As Clarke navigated this critical juncture, her focus was split between her own physiological responses and Lexa's comfort. She was acutely aware of the importance of timing and coordination in this moment for achieving their goal.

The air hummed with the rhythm of their synchronized breaths, the faint whisper of skin gliding against skin. Clarke felt the imminent onset of her climax, the pressure mounting inexorably. She continued to move with a mixture of urgency and care, prepared to guide both herself and Lexa through the intensity of the experience.

Their connection, both physical and emotional, had deepened throughout their encounter, each moment building upon the last to create a profound bond. As Clarke approached her peak, she held Lexa's gaze, seeking and finding the reassurance she needed to let go, trusting that Lexa was with her every step of the way.

As the crescendo of Clarke's movements reached its peak, the inevitable moment of release washed over her with overwhelming intensity. Her body tensed, every muscle straining under the force of her climax. The world narrowed to the profound connection between them, a visceral link that pulsed with each beat of her heart.

Overwhelmed by the surge of sensations, Clarke's strength waned, and she could no longer support herself. Gently, she collapsed onto Lexa, her breath ragged and heavy, echoing in the quiet of the room. Her body molded against Lexa's, a perfect fit that spoke volumes of their physical and emotional synchrony throughout this intimate journey.

After her release, Clarke sought to maintain their closeness, turning her face towards Lexa's neck. She pressed soft kisses there, near Lexa's pulse point where she could feel the rapid beat of Lexa's heart against her lips. Clarke’s breath warmed Lexa’s skin, her exhales becoming slower and more measured as she gradually regained her composure.

The room was filled with a palpable sense of completion and tranquility, the lingering tension dissolving into a peaceful stillness. Lexa murmured gently into Clarke's ear, her voice low and soothing, "Thank you," a simple phrase that carried the weight of her appreciation for Clarke’s participation in such a profound moment.

Lexa, feeling Clarke's weight comfortably against her, wrapped her arms around Clarke, holding her close. She responded in kind, her own breathing syncing with Clarke’s as they both relaxed into the afterglow. Lexa’s fingers trailed softly down Clarke’s back, grounding her with gentle, reassuring touches that conveyed her own deep sense of connection and care.

#my writing

41 notes · View notes