#i get that he wants to help me but he needs to be more emphatic

[stayandot8]

Whispers In The Dark

Genre: college au, not all members mentioned

Relationship type: strangers to friends

Important Contents: Mr. Popular Chris Bang can't remember who he was before school. But with her? Maybe he might find a path that would lead him back to himself. But how far can he go before the rumors and his reputation become too much for her to ignore?

WC: 6.4k

masterlist

He was notorious. For what, no one could agree on, but he was well known around campus. Some would say it was his skill in bed, others would say his charms would keep him from any kind of trouble with anyone, professors and other students alike. His easy grace with people, especially strangers, made him the perfect showman for the school. He was at all the major events. It was like the head office paid him to be there, cheering when appropriate and constantly surrounded by his fraternity brothers. It was rare that he was caught without at least one of them within three feet of his personal space. It was also a well known fact that there was a roster kept hidden in the depths of his mind of those he hung around with in public, in private, and those he tossed to his brothers. It was like a hierarchy. All the girls knew where they stood with him and used that information against each other when they needed to. 

Chris Bang, appropriately named, was the top man on campus. When he approached you, you couldn’t help but say hello. And if he struck up a conversation with you, it felt like catching up with an old friend. He always wanted to know how you were doing, how your classes were going, and he was genuinely interested in the answer. He asked about your family, your friends, anything that would spark up a conversation with you. And by the time he found something that you had in common, you were hooked. The way he listened to you made you feel like he was your best friend and for those minutes, he was. 

He cared about people, truly. No one could act like that around people if they didn’t care about them. He was warm and inviting, like a hug when you really needed it or a warm shower after a day out in the snow. His gaze was that of a toasty fire, you could curl up in one or both with a book and live there forever. 

He was across the courtyard, surrounded by his usual entourage of fraternity brothers in their lettered sweatshirts and crewnecks. Each one had a girl next to them, talking emphatically with their heads held high. The Chosen Ones for the day, week and each somehow prettier than the last.  They all seemed so engrossed with one another that no one dared interrupt their conversations. 

“Hey! If you stare any harder, you’ll burn a hole in their heads. And those poor girls can’t afford for anything to fall out more than it already has.” Charlie’s words clanged around in my head until they landed and I burst out laughing. 

“That’s so mean.” I shook my head at her, still smiling from laughter. 

“Ask me if I care. Now come here and help me with this paper. I paid for your breakfast this morning for this.” I scooted closer to her laptop on the blanket she had spread out hours ago on the Great Lawn. She moved her coffee cup so I could sit where she desired and turned her laptop to face me. “How can I make this point more clear?” I glanced at the words on her screen, reading, until an obnoxious eruption of laughter interrupted my train of thought. I whipped my head back over to the cluster seated at the tables and traded my earlier look of curiosity to one of annoyance. Unluckily, or maybe luckily, this caught the attention of one of them. Chris made eye contact and nodded in my direction with that easy smile of his. I rolled my eyes large enough for him to see and turned back to Charlie. 

“Well, I think you have to stop using so many descriptor words. It’s confusing to read and I can’t tell what you’re actually trying to say. It seems like you’re saying you believe that Chekov’s plays had clear and concise endings when they really didn’t.”

“I’m getting him and Tolstoy confused again.” She hit the ground with her hands balled into fists. “Which one wrote The Living Corpse?”

A voice appeared in front of our blanket.

“That’s Tolstoy.” Chris Bang himself appeared as if from nowhere, black backpack strapped on and hands in his pockets. His hat was backwards, the casual gesture fitting for the jeans and black t-shirt he sported. He was rarely spotted wearing something different, it was his signature look of sorts along with his shining eyes and curious questions. 

“Yeah, that’s him.” I pulled my eyes from Chris to look at Charlie, who in turn was staring at me with a really weird look on her face. 

“Thanks, Chris. Have you done this essay yet? I swear the longer I’m in Schwartz’s class, the more I hate my life.” 

“I did, I just finished it actually. Took me longer than normal because of the word count requirement.”

“I know, it’s like he wants to kill us.” I snorted and picked up her textbook to flip to the page she would need. I look back up to find Chris’s eyes back on me.

“Are you in this class too? I don’t remember seeing you in there.”

“Oh no, I took his class last year. I’ve already been through that torture. Aced the class somehow.”

“That’s why she’s here, to make sure that my torture is just as bad as hers.” Charlie glared at me from the corner of her eye, making Chris laugh.

“Damn, you’re lucky. You’ve got someone to help you. I’m out here struggling to maintain my C.” 

“Well, you’re welcome to join our suffering, Chris. I’m dying over this paper and she’s laughing at me.” Charlie shot me a confident smirk, seeming to have picked up on something that I absolutely was not putting down. I furrowed my brows at her, the thought never crossing my mind about inviting him to share our blanket or the day’s exceptional weather with campus’ Mr. Popular. But there my best friend was, offering him a place in our little circle. 

“I would, but I’ve got an economics class to get to. But here, when you get a chance to come back out here to study, shoot me a text and I’ll come right over.” He stooped to rip a piece of paper out of a nearby notebook and a pen. He jotted something down and handed it straight to me, locking eyes with me as he handed it over. He paused, his face frozen in a soft smile and everything around us froze along with it. The wind stopped blowing, I paid no mind to Charlie, who I would find in a second was gaping at Chris, and I felt the spark that everyone felt when interacting with Chris Bang. The butterflies came in with a strong gust of chilly October air that unfroze the moment we were stuck in. He found his voice then. “Give me a call sometime.” he said softly.

“Yeah. For sure.” I whispered back against the rustle of the trees. Chris Bang winked at me and then he was gone. The piece of notebook paper was the only physical proof I had that he had been there and it sat in my hand until Charlie practically dove to reach for it. 

“Did you just get Chris Bang’s number?” She opened it and showed it to me. The series of numbers wasn’t the only thing on it. They were accompanied by a short message in his very un-boyish handwriting. ‘Call me :)’ “You have to call him later today. And don’t you dare do it without me.”

“Call him and say what? That I’m happy to be on his list of girls? Or to put me down for the newest girl to be conquered? Girl, please. I’m not Rome, I am not to be ‘conquered’.” I nodded with certainty, resolute in my mindset. Charlie just watched me, smirking and pulling her mouth to one side. 

“Yeah. For sure.” She mimicked my earlier words to him. Shaking her head at me and laughing no doubt to herself, she returned to her laptop and started typing. I couldn;t tell her that while I fully believed every word I had just said, that didn’t mean that the butterflies had gone right away. They stayed there, fluttering in the space he created. It hurt that I could feel how badly they wanted to be let out. 

*

I stared at the number on the piece of paper for the next few hours, going back and forth on whether I wanted to act on his invitation. Who knew the weight of a scrap piece of paper was so heavy? On the one hand, he seemed nice enough with no outright bad intentions other than to study. Whether he needed the extra study time or not wasn’t up to me, nor was I in the mood to find out right this second. But on the other hand, was this just a way to find a new girl? Yes, he was selective when it came to who he was interested in and his level of interest was measured by how long he pursued you. Making him wait was the way to maintain his interest. At least, that was what outside speculation had agreed on with further research and trial-and-error. To those he wasn’t interested in, he was always polite about it, but that left room for them to conduct these experiments. And the results were inconclusive. He didn’t have a type, it seemed random at times, and all of the girls seemed physically different. Only one conclusion could be officially drawn: he liked girls. That was it. 

Word that he had given out his number to his newest attempt hadn’t seemed to get around yet since I didn’t have girls eyeing me up and down all day. I was relieved since I hadn’t decided if I was going to use it yet, which was what I was debating now sitting in the shared room I had. My roommate, Rihannon (yes, like the song), was out, as she normally was. Ever the social butterfly, she joined a sorority the moment she stepped on campus and hadn’t sat down since. She was always going out with her sisters, going to mixers with the different fraternities on campus, or making new friends on a blanket of her own on the Great Lawn. All of these things were a perfect fit for her because she, like Chris, had the magnetic pull with people. They wanted to know her. And she wanted to know them too. She was nice, a friend until the very end, making her the perfect fit for the social scene. But her social expertise did me no good if she wasn’t here. 

So I was left to my own devices. Charlie hounded me until I ran away to catch the bus to get home. 

“You better text him tonight! I want to see him at our spot by noon tomorrow if he can! And you better have proof if he can’t!”

I had rolled my eyes at her. Typical Charlie behavior, sticking her nose in every business I had. This time I couldn’t blame her though since she had been present for this cosmic event. Is that what this was? A cosmic event? Had the stars aligned for this moment to happen today of all days? It was up to me if they had. And as the time grew later, the minutes were passing by, counting down until Charlie would kill me tomorrow or not. 

Ugh. Fine. You win this time. Both of you.

To: Chris Bang

I left the message open, thinking for too long about what to say to this mystical man that gave me his number out of blue. I debated texting Charlie to ask what I should say, but I knew her answer. ‘Just text him hi! Nothing scary about that.’ How wrong she was… I took a deep breath, letting my chest rise and fall fully before picking up my phone again. 

To: Chris Bang

Tomorrow, under the tree next to the Lewis building. That’s our normal spot. No later than noon or else I’m toast. 

I threw my phone across the bed, somehow thinking that if I held it when he answered he would know and he would think I was staring at my phone and waiting for his answer. I mean, I was, but he didn’t need to know that. 

My phone lit up across the bed. I couldn’t read what waited for me on my home screen and I could feel my heart beating faster the closer I drew to my phone. It was like a ticking time bomb, even when I knew it wasn’t. I crept until I could see that the waiting message was indeed from him. And what I read when I opened it made those butterflies that had finally quieted start up again.

From: Chris Bang

We can’t have that, now can we? ;) I’ll be there with my books. What are we studying?

I could and couldn’t believe it. Some part of me that was simply a girl was ecstatic that a boy was flirting with me, according to Charlie. The other, more cautious part that was protective of that girl, was wary. I wasn’t looking for another heartbreak and I was not wanting to set myself up for one.  

To: Chris Bang

Why don’t you come and find out?

Damn it.

*

“Why am I nervous? I didn’t talk to him last night. But then again, I didn’t buy coffee for him either.” 

“Charlie, I swear to god.” The chilly September air was unusual for so early in the month, but it was that time of year here. The mornings were colder so you wore a jacket and by midday, you wondered why you even brought one in the first place. “The girl asked me if I wanted a mess-up and you know I’m not one to turn down free anything. So I said sure. End of story. I wanted a muffin too but they didn’t have any left. The girl said some guy came in and bought them all. I did not buy him a coffee. Who knows if he even likes coffee?”

“I don’t know. But I know that if he accepts it, that says something.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“It does too.” 

“It says he likes free things. That’s about it. Who doesn’t like free shit?”

“I know I do.” Chris’s voice came from behind us just then, carrying a bookbag and a paper bag in his hand. “They had more muffins than they knew what to do with so I grabbed some.”

“Such a gentleman.” Charlie leaped for the bag and tore it open. “Ugh, I love Coffee Bean’s muffins. We also have extra coffee if you want it. She picked it up before she got here.”

“Oh, thanks!” Chris grabbed the cup and took a sip, his lips curving to the shape of the cup. It was that moment I took the chance to really look at him from top to bottom. His hair was parted off to the side and he had opted for a white t-shirt with our university on the front. Jeans and vans completed the look and a worn leather bracelet adorned his wrist. It almost looked homemade.

“That’s a cool bracelet.” I said as cooly as I could manage, trying not to stare at it too hard. He touched it with\a gentleness that resembled fondness, like he was remembering something to do with it. 

“Thanks, my sister gave it to me before I left for school. She’s back home in Austrailia.” It wasn’t news on campus that he wasn’t from America. His accent was a dead giveaway. “She likes to say that she hates me but when I remind her about this, she gets real quiet.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister, I have one too. She moved from my hometown to Arizona. Followed where her connections took her or whatever. But she’s happier there than she ever was back home. Even found herself a girlfriend.” 

“Oh wow, she must really be thriving over there then. That’s great for her. I wish my sister would find someone just so she have something else to do other than torture me through the internet.”

“How does she do that?” I took another sip of my coffee.

“She’s really growing in fame on Tiktok. She actually put out an EP not too long ago. Called Perfect Blues. She let me listen to it before she put it out for notes and stuff and it’s actually pretty good!”

“I'll have to give it a listen then if it’s that good. She must have worked really hard on it.”

“Yeah, she’s been working non stop promoting and writing new stuff. She’s actually good. It’s hard for me to believe because I still see her as my little sister. I don’t think that’ll ever change.”

Charlie was being awfully quiet, scarfing down the muffins Chris had brought. When I spotted the wrappers placed beside her and counted them. “Charlie, did you eat all of the muffins? How many are in there?”

“Oh please, there are plenty left. You two just seemed to be engrossed in conversation, I didn’t want to interrupt.” She eyed me like she had the day before when Chris gave me his number. I couldn't help my eyes rolling in response. This girl will be the death of me…

“So what are we doing today? I know I have a paper that’s due on Friday, but I can do it later-”

“See, Chris? Maybe it’s a good thing you came to us this early in the semester. This is the time we do all of those things we say we’re doing ‘later’.”

“Charlie is very intent on keeping her GPA above a 4.0. We’ve been doing this ever since freshman year, but we only found this spot last year during Spring semester. She’s been on my ass ever since, which is why I have the grades that I do. She keeps me on top of my shit and I make sure she comes up for air every once in a while.” Chris nodded along to my words, listening intently and watching. Charlie just nodded along. 

“You’re welcome by the way.” She turned to Chris, coffee in hand. “I’m the reason she passed stats with flying colors last year.” I rolled my eyes for the second time in a two-minute period.

“That’s just what I like to tell her. Makes her feel more important.” I whispered over to him, which in turn made him laugh. I hadn’t heard it up close like I just had two seconds ago. When it was a genuine laugh, he almost squeaked on the intake like a door that needed to be oiled. It was an easy laugh to crave to hear. I knew it would haunt me like a ghost in the weeks to come, even then. Chris grabbed his laptop out of his backpack and started typing, pulling books from the backpack as well to occasionally look up an answer to something he was typing. I pulled out my headphones when the comfortable silence fell, leaving one ear open to the world outside of my own bubble.

“Whatcha listening to?” Chris poked my thigh from where he was laying on his stomach on our blanket.

“This and that.” I couldn’t help my smile when his attention was on me. It was like a shot of sunshine straight to your veins.

“Just this and that? Do you mind if I also listen to ‘just this and that’?” His question shouldn't have caught me by surprise, but I found myself handing him my other headphone despite myself. “I think someone’s music taste says a lot about that as a person. Well, movies and music.” He stuck it in his ear and returned to his laptop, typing away. 

“I love the Princess Bride. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Mine too.” He turned his sparkling eyes back towards me and smiled. I felt the blush creep up to my cheeks and I had to look away or else risk him catching it.

I flashed a glance towards Charlie to see if she had caught the exchange. She had, because she was wiggling her eyebrows at me. ‘Oh my god’ she mouthed at me, glancing at Chris to see if he was watching. He was not. And when she turned back to me, she picked up her phone, indicating that the conversation would continue there. 

From: Charlie

Dude WHAAATTTT??? I told you, he likes you!! That was not a coincidence.

To: Charlie

I still think you’re nuts

From: Charlie

Think me nuts all you want, but I’m about to prove it.

I looked up from my phone to catch her eye. ‘How’ I mouthed in my most disbelieving look. It didn't occur to her that Chris was just looking for his newest girl to conquer, and I didn’t want to spoil her fun, so I just sat back as she mouthed back to me ‘Watch’.

“Hey Chris?” He looked over his shoulder to her with his eyebrows raised. “I promised my friend over here that I would take her out for dinner tomorrow night, but I have to cancel. My boyfriend’s birthday is tomorrow and I totally forgot. He’s not around here so I have to call him and do this whole long distance date and everything. Anyway, I thought maybe you could cover for me with her?” 

I could do nothing but stare at my own textbook. One half of me was embarrassed that she would be so obvious with her plans. And even without my real knowledge of it. She would pay for that tonight, without a doubt. The other half couldn’t watch the trainwreck about to crash when he said he had plans. That half would be crushed when he said no, he’d have to pass like he did when he was trying to be polite when a girl asked him out and he didn’t want to go. Either ‘sorry, I have to pass this time’ or ‘I just don’t have the time right now’. Either of those were the responses I was waiting for. Definitely not

“Sure! Is that okay with you?”

Unable to feign my deafness when he poked me again, I mumbled a quick ‘hm?’ so they could catch me up to speed.

“Charlie had to cancel on you, so I’m taking you out tomorrow night.” His excitement was an unexpected surprise. Charlie beamed triumphantly from behind him at me, relishing in her victory. 

“Oh really?” I said a hair more fake than I meant to. When I tore my eyes away from Charlie to look at Chris, he had a confident but genuine smile to show me. And damn it, I couldn’t help but return it every time. “And where are we going?”

“I’ll text you the details tomorrow. Just be ready by 6, yeah?” He didn’t wait for an answer and returned to his laptop. 

The excitement of going on a date with a cute boy, no matter who he was, still ran through me like it was any other date. Charlie would pay for it, no doubt. But the thrill was still there that maybe, just maybe, he might be what Charlie suspects. But only time would tell. 

Chris was normal the rest of the time he laid with us on our blanket, making occasional jokes with Charlie about their shared class, the professor, and the stupid people in that class. This left me with the opportunity to look around and see if anyone noticed the Mr. Campu Man had picked a new spot to hang out. His usual crowd was seated near the picnic benches where they normally were. None of them seemed any kind of curious as to where their fearless leader was, and that seemed completely fine by them. It was when he left for his class load for the day that Charlie really got her proof. 

“Alright guys, I gotta head to bio. But if the invitation is still open, I’d love to come tomorrow too.”

“Only if you bring more muffins or some other baked good with you. If not, don’t bother showing up, Bang.” To that he chuckled and when Charlie didn’t chuckle back, he glanced my way.

“Oh, she’s serious.”

“As a heart attack.” Chare chimed in without looking up from her laptop. Chris kept his face blank for a second longer, then nodded in resignation. 

“Any specific requests?” He said this part to me, asking me directly. I thought for a second. If he was going to go through with it, then what was the harm?

“Bagels, if you please sir.” I said in my best mocking voice, leaving it up to him to decide if I was telling the truth or not. He laughed again and put on his now fully packed backpack. 

“As you wish.” He replied and left without another word. 

A hard slap hit my arm the second he was far away enough from us.

“Oh my god!” She hit me on the arm again and again until I had to grab her wrist to make her stop. “I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”

“Why are you freaking out more than I am?” I buried my nose in the closest textbook to me to hide my face in. 

“Mainly because I was right. But also because of the simple fact that a cute boy likes you! And I called it. How am I more excited than you?”

“Mainly because he didn’t even ask me. You asked him for me. He’s just being nice, Charlie. No one can say no to you, don’t you know that?” 

“Girl. If he didn’t want to go, he would’ve said no. He has no problem saying no and you know that. I really don’t think he would have said yes if he didn’t want to.” I just shrugged, telling myself that she was right, but at the same time not wanting to believe it myself. I couldn’t bring myself to fully insert myself in the daydream that Charlie was living in, fighting the urge to run away and hide for good. 

“I just-” I sighed and laid back on the blanket, letting the sun warm the air around me and breezes come and go.  “I think I would be more excited if he had asked me himself.” 

“He just needed to know that you would be into it. Give him a chance and see how he acts tomorrow night. If he’s a douche, then call me and I’ll get you out of it. But if he’s nice and into you, then that’s kinda your answer, isn’t it?”

“I guess.” 

Wait and see. That was my plan. That was all I had.

After my classes of the day were over, I went back to my apartment with Rhiannon to unload in a hot shower. Rhiannon came in while I had my towel wrapped around me on the way back to my room. 

“Hey! How was your day?” She asked from her place in the hallway amid the ruffle of bags she dropped by the door. She only brought one to the couch with her and rifled through it to find her laptop. 

“Pretty interesting, actually.” 

“Oh yeah?” She inquired, ready for more details as she peered from behind her computer. 

“Yeah, I got asked out, well not really asked out-”

“BY WHO?!” She shrieked, throwing the laptop aside to jump out of her seat.

“Chris Bang?” She stops in place and turns to face me dead on. Her features were frozen in a mixture of shock and what looked like…sadness. 

“Chris Bang?” She repeated.

“Yeah. He didn’t really ask me out of the blue, Charlie made up some lie about us having plans beforehand when we really didn’t and she asked him if he would take her place, which he did.”

Rhiannon was pensive as she watched me recount the details, not letting me forget a single one. She even asked me exactly what his words were when he agreed to it and what exactly happened afterwards; his mannerisms, the word choice, and the nature of his body language. 

“It sounds like he was actually interested, if that helps you. From what you can recall, you don’t have to worry about that part. But you seem disinterested now. Why?”

“Because he didn’t actually ask me.”

“So?”

“He’s just filling in, he felt bad that I would be left hanging.” 

“I don’t think he would’ve agreed if he didn’t actually want to go.” 

“Rhi…”

She was eyeing me up and down, gauging my words against her own knowledge.

“Why can’t you believe he would like you? What’s so hard for you to believe?

“It’s not that, I just don’t want to be next in the queue. I don’t want to be just another girl he’s gone out with, no matter how cute he is or how smooth he can be. I wanted to be able to resist him because I know better than to believe-”

“Believe what? That a boy with eyes can have a crush on a pretty girl? That a cute boy would see the same thing your friends are seeing? What’s so unbelievable about that?”

I sighed. “All of it. Why him? Why me?”

“Why not him? Listen, if you’re really that worried about it, just take it slow. Don’t do anything you wouldn’t normally do on a date with a guy and just treat him like any other guy. That should ease your nerves, right?”

“No.” 

“Maybe picking out your outfit ahead of time will help give you more confidence. Come!” She sprung off the couch and headed for my bedroom without turning to see if I was following. By the time I passed through my door, she was already piling clothed on my bed a foot high already.

“How do you have nothing in here! What do you normally wear on dates?”

I rolled my eyes.

God help me.

*

He picked a good spot, I had to admit. Not to him, not to inflate what I was sure was a big enough ego. But Marty’s was far enough away from campus that we would be uninterrupted by any of his friends but not so far that we felt secluded from society altogether. The restaurant had a good enough reputation among students to be a good place to bring a date if you want some special alone time together. The implication of him bringing me here was not lost in the bounds of my thinking mind. 

The room was warm and inviting, a red kind of wallpaper surrounded us with candle lit sconces in the upper columns and casted the dining room in a warm glow. The wooden tables helped the cozy feeling as soon as you walked in, as most of the furniture in the large room matched the rest of the dining room. The walls were graced with vintage-looking florals paintings that looked like they could’ve been plucked straight from an art magazine. 

“Did I mention that you look nice tonight?” Chris blushed as he asked, turning his gaze back downwards toward his menu. His repetition of the question caught me off guard, being the third time he had mentioned it.

“Yeah, you did. But thank you again.” I tried to flash him my best comforting grin, which he looked up just in time to catch. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not normally this nervous.” He smiled again and let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing his hands on his pant legs. 

“Why are you nervous? At least your friend didn’t have to ask someone out on a date for you.”

“How do you know she and I didn’t plan something elaborate while we were in class because I was too nervous to do it myself?” I laughed at the preposterous notion that Chris Bang could be too nervous to do anything ever. “What was that for?” His smile was back in place of his nervous chuckle.

“I’m sorry, you just don’t ever seem nervous to do anything. So the thought of that just isn’t possible.”

“Why ever not?” He was quizzical, raising his brow at me from across the table and ruffling his white button down. His black earrings initially had given me some pause but the longer I looked, I saw the Prada logo and how well they matched his tailored pants. They had a light gray pattern going around them and hit him just above the ankle. He oozed wealth when dressed like this, not that I had seen him this way until now. His hair was perfectly styled to a side part, a few strands falling into his face. His dress shoes almost seemed too fancy for the restaurant he brought me to with their gold chain going across the top.

 His family must have had money. 

“You just don’t seem like you get your feathers ruffled very easily. Very go-with-the-flow kind.”

“You’re not wrong. But when the first half of the plan that wasn’t up to me went perfectly and now it’s only up to me, I’m getting nervous. I haven’t been this nervous before.”

“But why? What’s so different about me?” 

“Can I get you guys some wine to start with?” Just then a well-dressed waitress came up to us to hand us a laminated wine list with names I could barely pronounce written in a fancy cursive font. It distracts us enough that I forget what I was thinking before she arrived. 

Chris perused the wine list and selected for us, subtly but not so subtly flashing his knowledge just a touch. He eased up a bit as the night went on, bringing up his childhood. Head bounced between Korea and Australia before coming to the states during high school so he and his siblings could have a ‘normal’ education. They lived a few states away so Chris could ward off any unwanted visits from his parents. It wasn't that he didn’t love them, but they could be a lot sometimes. He talked about his sister and how she had stayed in Australia to pursue a musical path. Chris supported her in any way he could, but that life just wasn’t for him. And his youngest brother was in school back in the home state, going through all of the fun life stages of being fifteen. 

We had just gotten to what brought me to our university when the dessert had come out. The tension in my shoulders from the anxiousness of the situation had eased immensely and Chris hadn’t uttered a nervous chuckle since the appetizers. 

“I picked it because it wasn’t too far from home. I had the same idea you did, except I live in-state. It’s just my mom and me. My dad decided not to be a dad anymore when I was twelve and I haven’t seen him since. From what my mom can tell me, it’s better this way. She doesn’t miss him and that tells me I shouldn’t either. I don’t remember much.” 

“I’m sorry that’s the way it is, though. I don’t know what I would do without my dad.” He gave me a sad smile as he picked up his fork. I did the same and reached for the small tower of chocolate between us. It melted in my mouth just like I thought it would, but my thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of my phone on the table. I picked it up just in time to see Charlie’s name appear on my screen. 

“I’ll be really quick, I promise.” I said with a grimace, standing up from my seat.

“No problem! I promise I’ll leave some for you.” He smiled back, assuring me. I nodded and headed out the front door.

“What?” I bit at Charlie.

“Soooo? How’s it going?” Her voice was airy as it questioned me. 

“It’s still going and you’re interrupting!” I didn’t want to be rude but in spite of myself and how I got here, I was having a really nice time and I wanted to get back to it before the clock struck twelve and Chris Bang turned back into the popular guy who would forget who I was. 

“Okay, sorry! I will await the debrief when you get back! Come straight here!” I hung up on her and reentered the building. Chris was talking to the waitress with an easy smile on his face and my heart sunk. This wasn’t supposed to be a date anyways. Not really. Charlie had done this because she was nice. I had tried not to get my hopes up but the more we talked, the easier it was to believe he might actually like me. So much for that.

He spotted me by the door and waved, motioning to the plate he had left for me to finish if I wanted. I gave him a half smile and headed back over, doing my best to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest. 

“Everything okay?” He asked gently. He was putting something into his back pocket while he watched my movements for an answer.

“Yeah, she’s just nosy.” 

“Ah. Well, thank her for me when you see her later tonight.”

“For what?”

“Oh, I was being serious. I asked for her help to ask you out because I was too nervous to do it myself.” I just stared at him in disbelief. He waited, with held breath it seemed, for my reaction. And when I didn’t give him one, he continued. “I had seen you around campus with her before and when she showed up in my class, I had to take my opportunity. I’m really hoping that helps me come off as cool or something and not a loser.”

“I don’t think you’re a loser.” I replied quietly. I gave him a reassuring smile and he mirrored it. 

“Do you want to head out of here? Go for a walk or something?”

“Sure. Don’t we need to grab the checks first though?”

“Uh, no. It’s all taken care of.” He patted his back pocket when he stood up, which I could now see held a wallet-shaped object. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes I did. It’s only right.” He held out his hand for me to take. “Shall we go?”

Oh boy...

#stray kids #bang chan #skz #chan skz #skz bang chan #chan stray kids #chan x reader #chan x you #christopher bang #stray kids chris #chan fic #chan #bang chan fanfic #bang chan boyfriend #bang chan x reader #bang chan stray kids #bang chan imagines #bang chan fluff #bang chan scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids fic #stray kids fluff #skz fanfic

[sad-fool-i-guess]

My dad gave me a whole talk about why I need to eat more even though I've been nauseous

I have no idea of how I survived without crying from frustration

#sometimes i wish he was more empathetic #he's basically telling me to cope when he knows well I'm extremely scared of puking #and he seems to think that telling me that he knows I'm strong helps #i get that he wants to help me but he needs to be more emphatic #empathetic? whatever it's written lol #he told me that when he felt like this he just told himself “i need to get my body some nutrients” and just ate #even though he felt like throwing up when he saw food #he forgets that I'm me and not him apparently #it must be easy for him to “not have any phobias” /nm #and he suggested that if i ate too much i just throw up and clean my mouth and keep eating #I'm literally still traumatized from the last time i threw up #how the hell does he think i would be able to do that /nm #tw nausea #tw vomit mention

[claw-deen]

their love language:

i can't stop writing for them, someone help me

miles - physical touch

he might be reserved at first but once he gets comfortable in the relationship he is so damn clingy. he loves your touch, sometimes he takes your hand in his and just play with it while he's doing a task on his computer. he's still a bit shy about saying how he feels, he's a lot more comfortable letting you know how much you mean to him through physical touch. cuddle sessions can last a whole day with this boy. and just for you to know, he's touch starved.

gwen - acts of service (and words of affirmation)

she's always there to help you, honestly, if you let her, she'd do all the work for you. queen of carrying your bag even if it's not that heavy. “call me if you need anything.” she often says after your dates. and if you do she answers within a second. she will always be there for you.

pavitr - words of affirmation (and quality time)

pavitr wants to let the whole world you know that he loves you more than anything. he encourages you every time you're working on something, he's your biggest fan after all. he's really loud but he also knows how to listen and emphatize with you. he gives really good advice and he likes to send you texts of encouragement when he knows you're going to have a busy and stressful day.

hobie - quality time (and acts of service)

he genuinely enjoys your presence so much and if he could he would spend the entire year by your side. he loves to hang around with you at his place, you two don't do anything in particular, you just enjoy each other's company. he loves to have deep conversations where all of his attention is entirely focused on you. you always have his attention, he can't help but look at you and focus on you even if there are a thousand people in the same room.

miguel - gifts (and physical touch, he's also touch starved)

miguel's gifts are always spot on. his secret? he never stops listening to you. he knows your love for him is unconditional but he just can't help but spoil you, you deserve it so much. it doesn't have to be expensive gifts, sometimes it's just your favorite snack that he leaves on the dining room table before going to work. his favorite kind of gift is flowers tho, he buys you the ones you like the most.

#spider man across the spiderverse x reader #spider man across the spiderverse headcanons #spider man across the spider verse headcanons #spider man across the spider verse x reader #miles morales headcanons #miles morales x reader #gwen stacy headcanons #gwen stacy x reader #pavitr prabhakar headcanons #pavitr prabhakar x reader #spider punk headcanons #spider punk x reader #hobie brown headcanons #hobie brown x reader #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara x reader #spider man 2099 x reader #spider man 2099 headcanons

[celestialprincesse]

John Price's secretary 💌

John was adamant that he was fine working alone - desperate to convince Laswell that he didn't need help with the mounting paperwork and mission reports piling up on his desk. The last thing he needed was some airhead flitting around base and getting in everyone's way with the sole purpose of lessening his workload. He was a captain, should've been able to file his own paperwork just like the rest of his men.

That's why on your first day, he was no less than brusque with you. You who strode into his office with a polite smile and a practised firm handshake, introducing yourself to him with the obvious statement of your name and position. He couldn't help but immediately think to himself how lovely you were, how out of place the radiance of your smile was in such a dark place as this. His introduction was as gruff as yours was gentle, listing off your duties to you like you didn't already know what they were, a tablet already in hand as you took note of any extra information provided to you with a stiff reluctance, nails tapping away at the screen before you, his calendar already jotted meticulously down to the hour.

"Anything you want me to prioritise?" You chirped warmly, ignoring the way his eyes had already returned somewhat dismissively back to the screen of his desktop. In a way, though, you were almost relieved he wasn't looking at your expression, wasn't looking to see the way your eyes went wide when he pointed at the box of unfilled paperwork stored messily in manila files, dumped on the floor beside his desk, piled so high they leaned. You were sure that even one more piece of A4 thrown on the pile would have the whole thing come tumbling down like depressing corporate Jenga.

The paperwork had you drowning until lunch, heel tapping rhythmically against the linoleum as you stamped off and filed, stamped off and filed, hours crawling by at a snails pace whilst your desk became increasingly cramped for space. The paper overrunning your desk also occupied your mind so much that you didn't notice the tall shadow of John Price looming over you until he cleared his throat, making you jump with a squeaked out "Oh!" and a hand clutching at your chest in surprise.

"Didn't mean to startle you." He rumbled lowly, his warm, apologetic tone making you blush, unintentionally fluttering your eyelashes up at him, an action which causes him to inadvertently ball his fist, trying to hide the appreciative glaze settling over his baby blues. "You haven't eaten." His voice came out softer, trying not to startle you again.

"No. I guess not." You muttered softly in response, torn halfway between staring back up at him and shying away from the intensity of his gaze. "S'pose I got too caught up in all of this." A hand indicating to the paperwork drowning your desk made him chuff out something which sounded pleasantly like a laugh.

"Would you like some lunch?" Had you nodding emphatically in response, not even realising how hungry you'd become in your intense focus.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

The next few months were much the same, paperwork lumped on your desk, working until John came and offered you to join him for lunch. With every meal shared you learned more about him, and with every guiding hand he placed on the small of your back when he walked you to the mess hall, you grew more - appreciative? Your guilty little work crush grew harder to suppress.

It was hard not to be into John Price, with his gruff demeanour and contradictorily soft eyes and gentle hands, you couldn't help it. He was a good, kind man, so different from the others who haunted your past - a fact which you struggled to forget when he'd walk you to your car after working late, occasionally even bringing you coffees on early mornings.

".. You with me?" His voice snaps you from your reverie, his fingers drumming on the wood of your desk, one eyebrow raised in intrigue.

"Sorry?" You murmur in confusion.

"Said I've got a work dinner tonight with some important people. Need you to come along, take some notes for me."

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #tf 141 #John price #captain John price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x y/n #john price x reader #john price x y/n #price x reader #price x y/n #john price cod #call of duty

[luveline]

i love the kbd universe so so much! could you please do one where sweet little bethie (☹️) has been getting a hard time from other kids at school/nursery for being ‘weird’/‘different’ and how steve and reader would handle it?? sorry if that’s too specific my lovely! hope you’re having a good day!! 🫶

thank you!! kbd au —steve employs your help when your daughter needs a pep talk. 1.5k

“Why’s my girl so sad?” 

“I’m not sad.” 

Steve raises his brows at Beth. She looks especially like you when she’s down. It’s sort of sad, thinking about it, how her lips turn like yours would, how she won’t meet his gaze or hold his hand when he tries to intertwine their fingers. 

“Aw, honey, don’t tell me tall tales,” he says, no actual scolding in his tone. He sees the shimmer of tears aligned on her bottom lashes and can’t abide her fibs anymore, scooping her off of the couch and into his arms. “Bethieeeee,” he whines, “tell me what’s wrong! You know I hate not knowing everything about you.” 

“Dad,” she says, letting her head loll in the curve of his neck, “nothing is wrong.” 

Liar, he thinks. From the kitchen he can hear you and Dove and baby Wren singing. Avery potters around in the downstairs bathroom, humming. Steve knows Beth is sad, because Beth is quiet, but she still has as much energy as the rest of her sisters when she’s home. She isn’t introverted when she’s with him, or her mother, and especially not the best big sister in the world. 

“Okay,” he says. He should poke and prod. Instead, he lifts her up as high as he can, which, not to brag, is quite high. “Hi up there. How’s the weather?” 

She jabs him in the chest with her foot. “It’s windy.” 

Steve laughs like an idiot and brings her down for some adoring kisses. “Super windy. Babe, you get funnier and funnier everyday.”

She wraps her arms behind his head. “Thank you.” 

“Ooh, you’re welcome. Should we go and sing some songs with mommy?” 

Beth shakes her head. “No.” 

“No?” 

“No.” She sounds like a baby. 

Steve sits down with an arm behind her back. He’d quite like a bit of peace and quiet. He doesn’t mind if she needs some too. “Then let’s stay right here, bub, jus’ me and you.” 

Dustin once said that Steve was about as much use as a paper cup in a hurricane when it came to comforting people, but that was nearly a decade ago, and it was before he met you. You rushed into Steve’s life (by accident on both sides) and showed him how it felt to be properly looked after for the first time ever. He can’t forget how that felt. Robin loves him but she couldn’t love him like that, couldn’t kiss a bruise and fix it whole, couldn’t ease a migraine with her fingers in his hair. You touch Steve’s arm and he can lift a ten tonner. 

He’s more equipped than ever to comfort someone now. He had a good teacher. 

“You have a long day today, huh?” he asks. 

“Not much.” 

He smiles. “Not much long?” he asks. 

“Dad,” she grumbles. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do… so you didn’t find it too long?” 

“I guess.” Beth touches under his chin. “You have sharpies.” 

“My stubble? Should I shave tonight?” 

“Yes,” she says emphatically. “Don’t like scratchy kisses.” 

“Oh, so you wanted more kisses?” he asks. “Would that help you feel better? How about we meet in the middle and get mom to kiss you? She’s not so sharp.” 

She sighs, her nose shoved into his collar. “Dad, can you rub my back?” 

Steve rubs her back immediately. She makes no other request, lips firmly shut and secret upset sealed away, feeling at his stubble with gentle fingers. She loves foreign sensations like this. It’s why she likes having her back rubbed, Steve theories; the pressure of his hand on her spine is dragging, and grounding. 

He shifts against the grain of a cushion behind his back. 

“I want to tell you,” Bethie says finally. 

“I always want to listen,” he promises. 

She doesn’t sound teary, more uncomfortable as she finally forces it out, “Nobody at school likes me.” 

“Babe, that’s not true at all.” 

“It is true. They all think I’m weird.” 

“I bet they don’t, babe.” 

“Dad, they all say it.” 

Steve bites his cheek as his mouth snaps shut. “Well,” he says quietly, cupping the side of her face, encouraging her head back to meet her eyes. They’re big in her little face, pupils like pearls, “that’s not very nice.” 

“It’s true.” 

“Not true.” 

“It is true,” she says angrily. 

“It’s not true, Beth, you’re not weird, and if you are weird then I’m weird, and that’s not a bad thing after all. Is it?” 

Internally, it breaks his heart. Beth has been different than the other kids for a long time and in lots of ways. She’s picky, peculiar. She eats things in her own fashion, and has interests outside of her peers. Steve didn’t know she was ‘abnormal’ until people started telling him —she’s his second baby. He didn’t think they were all the same, and so didn’t question her differences, and still doesn’t care to beyond wondering what he can do to make her happy. Who cares if Beth eats two bites of sandwich for every celery stick? 

The other kids. Some parents. 

“I don’t want to be weird,” she says, hanging her head. 

You arrive like a well-timed miracle, shimmying past the half open door with a smile. “Hi, guys. I want you to come and do karaoke, what do you think? I’m making everybody mocktails! We’re having pineapple juice and–” You lean back, hand on your hip, a slip of your stomach peaking out of your tank top, total picture of a cool mom as you cross your naked arms over your stomach. “Oh, no. What’s wrong?” you ask teasingly. 

Steve squeezes Beth to his neck. “Hey, none of your business!” 

“No, tell me,” you say, crossing the room to sit beside them on the couch. 

“You wanna tell her?” Steve asks. 

Beth shakes her head. “Didn’t want to tell you, dad.” 

“You did, lovely,” he says, all sympathy as you cuddle up to Steve’s side and wrap an arm around them both. “You said you wanted to tell me. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell us again, though. Mommy just wants to make you feel better, right?” 

“Right,” you say. When you smile at her, it’s with all the love in the world. 

She’s quicker to cry in her mother’s lap. She wiggles closer to your shoulder, her voice fraught as she confesses, “Everybody at school says I’m weird,” and erupts into breathless sobbing, like she’s terrified of the idea. 

Your eyes wrinkle as you close them tight, frowning into the top of her head. “Oh, my poor girl. My baby. Please don’t cry, because that’s not true. You’re not weird.” 

“Everybody says I am!” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, pushing Steve away accidentally as you wrap her into a proper hug. “Who says that?” 

“Mom, it’s everyone. Even my friends.” 

Kids can be so mean, when they aren’t trying and when they are. You mumble sweet placatives, fingers running up and down the length of Beth’s shuddering back. She cries like she’s hurting. Steve’s reminded of the time she fell down the stairs and hit her face on the baby gate, she was shocked but more urgently in pain, and she couldn’t work out why she’d fallen. 

“That’s not nice, Beth,” you’re saying, “I’m so sorry they’re saying mean things about you, but you’re not weird, I don’t know why they’d say something like that. They’re just not as nice as my girl.” 

“I’m different,“ she says. 

“That’s not a bad thing, Beth. You’re perfect. I wouldn’t want you any other way, and neither would your dad.”

Steve jumps in. “Right! We like you like this, babe. I don’t want you to change, I don’t care what all the meanies at school say, me and mom think you’re awesome. Avery and Dove and Wren all think you’re the best sister and best friend ever. Avery’s your best friend. Has she ever called you weird?” 

The baby talk is sinking in. If you used your bubbly voices on Avery it might not work anymore, but Beth is just about young enough for it to take. “No… You really think I’m not weird?” Beth asks sadly. 

No kid wants to think they’re weird, even if they are, and even if that’s okay. 

You sink down into your seat, taking Beth with you. Steve has to fight to cuddle you both. “I know you’re not,” you say. 

For a good five minutes, you just hug her. Steve ends up laying his cheek against your temple, hand on Beth’s back so she knows he’s there. When the baby starts babbling loudly for you to come back, Steve takes the short straw and leaves you both for cuddling. 

“What’s up, dad?” Avery asks, standing on a chair by the baby’s high chair, feeding her youngest sister cut up strawberries on a spoon. Dove eats her own strawberries with sliced bananas and peanut butter, the evidence of the latter staining her blue t-shirt.

Steve pats the top of Avery’s head. “Nothing much, baby. I’ve come to make you your mocktail.” 

“Oh, yes! With sugar? Bethie loves the sugar.” 

She doesn’t know how glad he is that she’s Beth’s big sister. “With the sugar.” 

#kisses before dinner universe #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x reader #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #steve harrington x afab!reader #afab!reader #mom!reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fluff

[dulcewrites]

Fool Me Once (part 3)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (wc: 3.1k)

Summary: With the birth of your child looming, you and Aemond finally lay your cards on the table. A growing problem reaches a boiling point.

Warnings: more lying/manipulation (y’all know the drill by now), Aemond once again gaslighting, mentions of s*icide

A/N: it’s been such a fun time writing this. It is definitely different from most things I’ve written, so it have been a nice change. I’ve gotten so much support from it and I hope to keep making stuff you guys like. Also slight disclaimer that the way I write Alys is not really way I read her in the book. Much like Aemond in this. They both kind of suck lmao. I wanted this to be the last part but then I thought of more things so… we shall see how this goes 👍🏽. I wanted this chapter to be a build up to events in ep 8-10 mainly 9 and 10 of the show.

Fmo masterlist

You can’t remember the last time Aemond and you have had dinner, just the two of you. So, when he insisted you that you two do, you had a feeling it was about the talk Queen Alicent said she wanted to have with him. A private dinner with your husband would have been a dream moons ago.

Alicent did not make you privy to what they discussed. It only made you more weary. You know she is hurt and upset. But you also know she is more hurt that the son she propped up so much turned out to be just as unreliable as the man she made him with.

That is the painful part about love; the only place to go is down.

Nevertheless, his suffering is what you want; it does not matter if the ire stems from a place on genuine care for you. The uncomfortable nature in which he moves the castle makes the pain you have suffered a little bearable. It sounds deranged, but if you are to be trapped, he should be as well. You want him to wake with the same lump in his throat you do.

The letters had stopped. A constantly stream of communication abruptly ended. Lord Strong gave you a funny smile when he told you.

Ser Quinton rarely leaves your side when Aemond is around. He gave you a reluctant glance when you tell him about the dinner. While Aegon, already deep in his cups midday, tells you to keep a grip on your fervor.

The corridor was empty except for the two of you.

“I know how him and mother are,” he point his fingers at you emphatically. “They probably already concocted something to keep you quiet or make you look like the problem. Keep you…. Idle.”

Despite the slurring of his words, and clear bitterness towards the relationship Alicent and Aemond have, he may not be wrong. Alicent had already taken it upon herself to write to your father, suggesting he visits soon. She is proactive to a fault; her behavior simultaneously holding the Seven Kingdom together and enabling her family’s indecencies.

Everything can be hidden under the right tactics and false goodwill. You want to say she got that trait from her father, but you know it comes from years of being a woman in the Red Keep. From being the Queen.

The dinner begins uneventful. You wrinkle your nose at the meat pie in front of you. A dish you normally like making your stomach churn. It is hard not to feel sick or uncomfortable these days. You’re huge; feet swollen and belly protruding to a remarkable degree. The sheer thought of how big the babe will be plagues your mind most days.

It is unbearable having to engage in meaningless small talk with Aemond. Like he is insulting your intelligence by tip toeing around everything.

“Are you going to tell me why you wanted this dinner,” you want nothing more to leave his chambers and go take a bath.

“I think we need to talk.”

You can’t help but scoff at him. Aemond looks even more haunting in the dark lighting of room. Like the brutal knights the septas used to make you read about. He has a nasty look in his eye, like he wants a fight. You wonder if his Alys gets this look or if it just reserved for you. One special thing for his wife.

Despite all the formal swordsman training, Aemond plays dirty in personal affairs. Much like a feral cat backed into a corner. You’ve seen it to many times with Aegon. The only thing he responds to is equally cruel jabs.

“Yes dear husband,” you sigh out of boredom, rolling your neck.

His next words take you by surprise.

“Daella told me she is not excited about her egg hatching,” he huffs out. You stop rolling your neck, and blink blankly at him. The two of your stare at each other before you bark out a laugh.

“That is what this is about? You are pouting because a child is no longer enraptured by an egg.”

“It is not only about the egg, and you know it,” a nasty tone to match the look he gives you. “You fill her head with assumptions. You debase something that is her birthright. Something that is the birthright of her father, and her ancestors.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, if I disparaged the great Targaryen legacy or dragons in front of her it must have been a… mistake.”

You swear you see Aemond’s eye twitch a little at the word.

“Have you ever thought maybe it is not the dragons themselves, but the person she most associates them with?”

Daella’s change in behavior was notable. She never wanted to go to the dragon pit with her father, the few times she does work up the nerve to go it is always with her aunt to see Dreamfyre. She is no longer enthused to learn High Valyrian despite how quickly she picks it up.

You did try to keep your child out things, but kids are perceptive. The way from a young age Alicent kids picked on her strife with their father, maybe she picked up on yours with Aemond.

Aemond’s anger radiates off him. Once the truth finally comes out, the words begin to spill from your lips.

“And do not pretend this is just about Daella. That is an insult to her, and a waste of my time,” you lean forward, and lower your voice. “This about you losing your favor around here, and this about her.”

There is an uncomfortable hush comes over the room. The only sound is the crackling coming from the fireplace.

“She was pregnant,” it comes out like whisper. The spite that was laced through his voice is gone. All is left is confusion.

Your vision blurred red. There’s a painful twinge in your stomach, and you wince.

“What do mean was.”

There was always the possibility this could happen. As naive as it sounds, it was not a thought till ironically Aegon of all people brought it up. If anyone would know about possibly fathering bastards it would be him. Then he promptly told you that the two of you could hop on Sunfyre and burn her to a crisp. The offer that you quickly refused in the moment has never sounded so tempting now.

“I-I do not know where she is,” Aemond admits curtly. “One day she is telling me she is with child, and the next she’s…gone.”

He looks so small; his eye has a faraway look in it. It’s utterly pathetic. You never considered that a greater pain to him would be not only to be seen differently by his family, but also have to reason why he did it leave.

“So what now Aemond? She left you, and you want to just erase everything you have done. Pretend you care or love me,” you say coldly.

“No. I do not lo-“

He stops mid sentence, and an empty smile appears on your face. Neither of you have said it out loud but it is the plain truth.

“Go ahead and say it,” there is a deep pressure in your stomach that won’t go away. The pain only makes you even more upset. “Love requires respect. It requires give and take. You surely do not respect me, and all you ever do is take.”

Another twinge hits the underside of your belly. You shift in your seat uncomfortably, eyeing the door.

“You are not completely innocent in this,” your eyes go wide at his remark. “Do not give me that look. I see the way Ser Quinton looks at you. And now Alys is…”

He trails off. It is the first time you have heard him say her name out loud. Another surge of jealously runs through you. She is gone, and you are once again stuck with the carcass. Expected to uphold your end of the bargain while he frets over a child and mother that never should have been around to begin with.

You refuse to sit and let him turn the tables around on you. It is a struggle, but you manage to get up from the table, but only to have him rise and block your way.

“For someone who has such clear distain for my house. You sure do not hide your fire well… just like a dragon.” His eye flutter down to the scar on your arm, then back to your eyes. You see the blame in his.

“If I was that rash, or temperamental, your head would have been on a spike. Along with your whore’s,” you narrow your eyes. “And I would have made Ser Quinton sully his white cloak, because he would for me. Hells, I would have had your brother while I was at it. It’s not like he has not tried before.”

You are not sure you even want Ser Quinton in that way, let alone Aegon. Ser Quinton devotion is not something you know if you are willing to take that level. And Aegon’s cock has been in half the maidservants in the castle and most of the whores in Flea Bottom. Him wanting you is not special, it’s just Aegon being Aegon. But the deep look of rage in Aemond’s eye makes the statement all the more worth it.

You skirt past him quickly towards the door. His heavy footsteps behind you. Ser Quinton leaning against the wall opposite of the door does not surprise you.

“Are you alright,” he rushes over, concerned when you pause to in the hall and lean over in pain. His hand coming to rub your back.

“Oh well is this not sweet,” Aemond’s bitter tone cuts through the empty hall. “I can handle it from here Ser Quinton.”

Blood rushes to your ears, and you can barely hear the hushed disagreement that begins between the two. Your painful groans becoming background fader to their pissing match.

A familiar snap happens in the lower part of your abdomen, and a pool of liquid flows out of you. Both cease arguing, and you and Aemond share a knowing look.

“The babe is coming.”

Alaric Targaryen came into the world fast, and with a haughty disposition. As if he could tell the family dynamic he was coming into. His cries were piercing and sharp, matching the tears of relief you cried when he finally came out.

You had insisted to only have your lady in waiting and some septas in room, especially after the clear tension between Aemond and Quinton. Helaena and Alicent come in and out of the room sporadically, giving you words of encouragement and knowing glances at the pain you were in. Alicent had been shocked to see her son and Ser Quinton trying to get you back to chambers.

Lord Larys followed casually behind her. He gave that funny smile of his again. The smile he gives Queen Alicent when he thinks no one is watching… or maybe he hopes someone is watching.

She’s gone

Even while giving birth to your son, that woman plagued your thoughts. Aemond could be right; you two have more in common than you like. Bewitched by the same woman.

It took everything in you to look up when Aemond finally came into the room. Acknowledging his presence met remembering how he is half of Alaric. How so much of you belongs to Aemond. You live in his home, dress in his colors, your children will be in the history books as Targaryen’s. He will have ownership over your boy after calling him a mistake. No matter how much you try, you will be remembered as his wife.

If that fact did not make you sick enough. Alicent’s next words did the trick.

“Oh, he looks like how Aemond did when he was a babe.”

You look down at him in your arms. While Daella was a combination of Aemond and you, her brother is every bit of his father. Small tuff of straight blonde hair, lips town turned in a scowl. You did not know a babe could look so refined especially after just being born. The only resembles to yourself you see in his in his big glassy eyes looking up at you.

There’s an energy that gets sucked out you when Alicent hands him to Aemond. She sees the weary look on your face.

Opposed to the elation you felt after having Daella. Dread creeps in; dread that comes from a place of sadness and protectiveness. All you have is your children. Even with the bonds and alliances you may have made, only they are extensions of you. Daella, your sweet girl, a reminder of what could of been. You have Alaric, the flesh and blood reflection of what you have been through.

“Have you two thought of a name,” Alicent asks. Before Aemond, who is still looking down can answer, you beat him to it.

“Alaric. Ser Quinton told the sweetest story about a knight he admired as a child. I thought it would be fitting.”

Alicent’s brows raise but she does nothing but nod. “Handsome name for a handsome boy.”

Aemomd does not say anything about the name. He just quietly hums a melody when Alaric starts to fuss. He turns his back to you as he bounces him in his arms.

All you have is your children

All you have is your children

When you think about a sword to the throat. You don’t know which situation would be more satisfying. One to his or one to yours.

“I am sure you were… relieved to hear about your problem being gone.”

You do not see Lord Larys again till weeks after Alaric is born. The day of a feast Alicent insisted you have to celebrate his birth. Your father and mother writing you that they can not wait to see their second grandchild.

While Daella was a fussy, energetic baby, all Aleric does is sleep and eat. He stares at you with curious eyes. Always taking in the scene around him. He lays sweetly crib next to your bed. After his birth, you were all but forced to move back into the one you shared with Aemond.

“Do you know what happened to her,” it’s been on your mind for since Aemond uttered those words.

Larys tilts his head to the side with a wry look. “You and I both know it is hard to place the whims of a difficult woman, especially a supposed magical one.”

You know he is not just talking about Alys.

She is out there, possibly with Targaryen blood in her and no one knows where is. It does not make any sense. Larys can read the skepticism all over your face.

“It is quite suspicious, witch or not. A bastard woman with no means or worth to her name, gone in an instant. And right after the truth comes out within the family. Right after the Queen and the Prince talk.”

He gives you no help, only more questions. Makes you more suspicious of those you have to call family. In this moment you hate the way he speaks in riddles. He never states things plainly till he is ready to. As if he expects you to do something before he can reveal anymore.

“But look on the bright side princess, your family will be back at court soon enough.”

Alaric begins to coo, as if he trying to tell you something.

“Well, thank you for your time, Lord Larys,” you give him a fake smile. “I should start getting ready.”

Your lady in waiting, Jayne, comes in once Larys finally leaves.

“I quite like this one princess,” she holds up a green and black dress. It is old dress of Alicent’s, one she gave you when you first married Aemond.

A flash of satiny purple in the back of you wardrobe catches your eye. A smile appears on your face. It may be a bit snug as you have two children since wearing it but it worth the try.

“I think I might want to try something a bit different Jayne.”

Your father used to tell you that the strongest flowers grow even when there is little sun. In conjunction, your mother told you that flowers are meant to be admired. Prettiest ones will often be picked and disregarded when a new bloom happens. Wilting was never an option for you in their mind.

You are their lower. Planted, watered, and urged to grow. Even in the deep darkness that is King’s Landing. The darkness they said was critical to helping your house.

The looks you get when you walk into the Godswood, head high in your deep violet dress only spurs you on when in other times it would make you want to hide. Daella and Alaric both in darling lavender outfits. You three stand out against the various muted greens, blues, and greys amongst you. Except for the few specs of purple that you see on the side wooded area.

“My dear girl,” your father’s hug makes you want to cry. Seeing your parents put into perspective how young you feel… how young you are.

Already married, mother of two, and all you want is your parents to hug you and tell you everything will be ok. When your father pulls you to the side and asks you about the letter Queen Alicent sent him, you are surprised to hear what she put in it.

“She said you are having a hard time,” he runs his hand over your arm. “That it is affecting your marriage.”

It should not surprise you she failed to mention her son’s cheating. But the onus being placed on you only proves what you already felt. They will protect their own, so you must protect yours.

Before you can muster up an answer, an anxious looking maidservant comes over with Jayne in tow.

“My Lady, I am sorry to interrupt. I went back to grab Alaric’s sweater. I saw something you may want to see; it was left it your chambers.”

Your eyes go to a box Jayne is carrying.

You must hold back a scream when you open the box and see Alaric’s favorite blanket, the one always in his crib, soaked in blood.

You frantically look over to the opposite side of the garden, your mother happily holding Alaric, Daella by her side. You look over to catch Aemond and Alicent giving you a questioning looks from across the Godswood.

As your vision blurs, you notice box had a tripartite of pale blue, red, and green on it.

“Jayne, please go fetch me Lord Larys and Ser Quinton.”

All you have is your children

Tag list: ok I’m sooo sorry to anyone who does not get a tag. I swear I am not ignoring you. I am only allowed to do 50 which is so annoying bc I want to tag everyone that was kind enough to support and ask. Also sometimes tumblr won’t let me tag certain people idk. If y’all know a better way please let me know, so I can try it ❤️❤️.

@simp-is-what-i-am @rey26 @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @crispmarshmallow @dc-marvel-girl96 @stargaryenx @b00kdiary @grey-water-colors @neenieweenie @iwanttohitmyself @helloitsshitzulover @lazypinkpig @shisuchiha @leoramage @viperixsworld @luvremlu @this-is-a-bad-idea @landlockedmermaid77 @inpraizeof @blacpiink @carriellie @s0urmarvel @blackravena @bregarc @hvx @let-love-bleeds-red @fangirls94 @v7nt7 @m1ndbrand @highexpectationsgurl @m1tzifa1ry @spaceslutty @elleclairez @kitkat-writes-stuff @paprikaquinn @widemiffyhappy @poisonedsultana @what-is-your-wish @lilliansstuff @rebelfleur22 @aloneatpeace @alastorhazbin @alexa4040 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @ensolleildelune @clora95 @yu3kkii @mischiefmanaged2 @its-sam-allgood @papery-maniac

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd imagine #aemond x fem!reader #black!reader #aemond x oc

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: I'm so tireddddd

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The keypad beeps and Lloyd quickly flicks the handle, kicking open the door so it hits something solid. You hear a grunt as the man on the other side stumbles back. It all happens so fast you don't get a glimpse of the code. Not much use if they lock you inside.

“What the fuck?” Ransom grabs the door and swings it open, “she got away–”

“Right here, peachy keen,” Lloyd sneers as pressure pinpoints on either side of your neck. You whine and try to loosen his hand, “she got you good, huh?”

“She’s sneaky,” Ransom mutters, “whatever. She can’t get out.”

“But she locked you in,” he snorts.

A growl ripples through the air. You’re turned back to face Ernie as he stands at the end of the hall. His head goes low as his jowls bunch up and he bares his teeth. He snarls as he slowly walks closer.

“Oh fuck,” Ransom puts the door between him and the hall, peeking around it.

“This fucking thing,” the other man utters, “tell it to stop.”

“Ah, ah,” you squeak as Ernie gets closer. “I– you’re hurting me. It’s making him mad.”

“I’m about to hurt him,” Lloyd threatens.

“Ernie,” you yipe and put a hand out, “Ern, please, I’m–” you choke, “okay.”

His thunderous warning grows louder. You reach with your fingers and he touches them with his nose. You caress the rough ridge and hush him, “please, sit. Please.”

His teeth gleam dangerously but he puts his rear down and hides his canines again. His chagrin nestles just above his usually doleful eyes and he looks between the two men; the one hiding behind the door and the one latched onto you.

“We need a fucking cage for that thing,” Ransom comments.

“And here I was thinking we need one for the girl,” Lloyd scoffs.

“Or you know, you could let us both go,” you suggest, writhing on your toes.

“Smart,” Lloyd sneers. “I can’t wait to train that mouth.” You turn your head and show your teeth, snapping them shut. His brows arch at the gesture and he gives an emphatic shiver, “I’m starting to like the feisty thing.”

“You’ve never been picky,” Ransom lets the door fall open, “get her in here.”

“Here,” Lloyd spins and flings you at the other man, “I’ll keep watch, make sure you don’t get locked in again.”

“Shut up,” Ransom grabs your arm and drags you away. He shoves you so you hit the foot of the bed. “Listen, you little bitch,” he keeps his voice low, “don’t fucking embarrass me again, got it?”

You flip your head back and gape at him. What are you supposed to do?

“And dont give me that fucking look,” he points in your face.

Or what? You swallow the words and stand straight. You face him and shrug. He’s not half as scary as the man outside the door, but both together are insurmountable.

You try to wipe away your irritation. You want this night to end. You want to go home. You don’t know how much more you can handle as your anger gives way to something more potent. Fear.

He slowly turns to the open wardrobe, peeking back at you as you cross your arms. You nibble your lip and avert your eyes. Your adrenaline dissolves and fatigue tugs at your muscles. You’re not giving up, you’re only biding your time. It might just take a little longer than you like.

“This,” Ransom tosses a furry white sweater on the bed, “this.”

You consider the outfit. The sweater is cropped and there’s a gold sequin heart on the front. The skirt is almost as short with ruffled tiers. It’s not really your taste but it hardly matters.

He slams the doors of the wardrobe and tosses down a pair of sheer stockings with ribbons wove through the top. These are just a few pieces of a full collection. How long have they been planning this? Had they followed you long or were you just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

You lift your eyes as he stares at you. You frown. He lowers his chin, “well?”

“Well, uh, can I get some privacy?”

He blinks slowly.

“Come on, pussy cat, show us some peach,” Lloyd taunts from the doorway as he peers through.

You gulp. This is getting too real. The only thing keeping you from full panic is the fact of your futility. Freaking out would only play into their game.

“Right, I get it,” you turn to the bed, “you can’t trust me. I ran. I ran and I got pretty far. So I don’t blame you for being paranoid.”

“Paranoid?” Ransom scoffs.

“You didn’t get that far,” Lloyd intones.

You ignore him and pull the clothes to the end of the bed. You put your back to Lloyd but can’t avoid Ransom. You look down at your jacket and slowly unzip it. Your scalp is itchy with sweat as you let the heat out from under the downy layer.

You drop your coat on the bed and bend to unlace your boots. You focus on the little things first. Boots, socks, your favourite red sweater with the white hearts. You lay each piece down deliberately, closer and closer to the inevitable.

You peel off the camisole you wore under the wool layer and take the furry sweater from the bed. There’s clucking from the door. You stiffen and clutch the fluffy fabric.

“Everything,” Lloyd orders. 

You put the sweater back down and shudder. You hear Ransom’s breath catch as you reach behind you to unhook your bra. His eyes bore into you as the floor creaks. You sense the other man breaks the threshold.

“Little help?” The call from down the hall makes you flinch and a hum escapes Ransom. You look at him as his eyes linger on your chest.

“Shit,” Lloyd huffs, “don’t tell him.”

He leaves you alone with the other man. You take a breath and let your bra fall down your arms. You quickly swipe up the furry sweater and pull it on, but not without causing your tits to jiggle one last time.

“Those almost make it worth it,” he snickers.

You undo your pants as you keep to task. It’s so surreal but undeniable. It’s entirely clear what this is. Their intent is written in every glance, every comment. You roll down your jeans and stand in your undies and the fluffy sweater. Your thumbs hook in the elastic of your underwear as you pivot, trying to hide yourself as best you can as you strip the cotton away.

You just as swiftly step into the skirt, pulling it up to cling snugly around your waist. Ransom gets closer, petting the sleeve of your sweater as he does. His breath grits in his throat.

“Wanna close that door again,” he purrs.

You take the stockings, ignoring the proposition. Shit. You bend and roll the first one up to your thigh, the lace speckled with the little hearts. You slip on the other and stand straight.

He looms over you and shifts slowly towards you. His sole drags on the floor. He’s stopped only by a low drone from the doorway.

Ernie stands watching, glaring at that man. Your heart leaps and you do too. You flit forward to the dog and rub his ears.

“Shh, boy, it’s okay,” you glance back at Ransom, “I won’t let him hurt you.”

His eyes narrow. His shoulders drop slightly, the disappointment of your evasion clear. The close call sears down your back.

He trails you down the hall as Ernie walks beside you. You keep your hand in his fur, clinging to him for strength. It’s not about you, it’s about keeping him safe. 

You enter the front room and find Lloyd scowling at a string of lights as Andy kneels in front of a box. It’s a weird scene to come upon. These two villains in such a wholesome position. Their sinister intentions could almost be mistaken.

Andy looks up and pauses as he holds a large red ornament. His lips part as he sees you. Fire blazes across your cheeks at the way his eyes dilate. He clears his throat and holds up the oblong decoration.

“You gonna come help, honey?”

You nod and let go of Ernie. He stays at your heels as you go to the other side of the box. You bend your knees and reach in, plucking out a clear ball with fake snow inside. You feel the eyes on you, waiting for a hint of something more.

Ernie paces behind you, a wall of fur roving back and forth. You want him to calm down, his energy fueling your own. You pause and turn to pet his broad back.

“Ern, it’s okay, boy, relax,” you twine your fingers into the thick strands and scratch him, “lay down… please.”

You nudge him slightly. He resists. His head moves from side to side as he looks at each man. He huffs and flops down, thumping onto the floor beside you.

“That’s cute. He takes care of you,” Andy says, “sweet girl like you, who wouldn’t?”

You make yourself smile. It’s not very difficult. You have extensive training in faking it. You step around the box and take the ornament to the tree. Lloyd is there, trying to wrap lights around the branches. He sidles closer as you reach to hang the decoration.

“Little higher,” he leans back, looking behind you. You don’t know why you listen but you do. 

You stand on your toes and hook the ball over the upper tier. You feel cool air tickle the bottom of your ass, you’re not the only one to notice. Lloyd groans, Ransom chokes, and Andy exhales sharply. You feel like you’re on display, the tree is just secondary.

You put your arms down and tug at the sides of the skirt, cautiously going back to the box. You reach down, bending in your legs not your waist. Your eyes meet Andy’s as you reach for another ornament. His lashes flick hotly.

“Did I tell you how good you look, honey?” He growls.

Lloyd chuckles and Ransom joins in. You’re not sure what’s so funny or how to react. You look around and toy with the decoration in your hand. You stand on the sides of your feet, swaying nervously.

“Lawyers, man. They’ll never say what they want outright,” Lloyd remarks.

“Shut up,” Andy hisses, “I’m being nice.”

“You’re being a fucking simp,” Ransom sniffs.

“Don’t listen to them,” he says to you directly, “I mean it, you look really… pretty.”

“Well, every time she moves, her ass falls out, so I’d say she’s not too bad on the eyes,” Lloyd chortles. “How do you think she is on the dick? That sweater looks soft, let her keep it on, maybe put her in my lap–”

“Hey,” Andy tosses an ornament at him as you back away, mortified. “Don’t be disgusting.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to get disgusting all over her. What’sa matter? The wife doesn’t put it in her mouth anymore and you can’t get past half-chub–”

“You’re both fucking pathetic,” Ransom comes forward to reach into the box, retracting as Ernie pops his head up and growls. You quiet the dog as the man drops several ornaments onto the floor in his fright.

“Pot, kettle, black as our souls,” Lloyd says.

“Let’s get the tree decorated,” Andy insists, “it’ll be Christmas soon enough…” he plants his foot, straining as he stands, “we’ve wasted enough time.”

He rounds the box, brushing by you. You don’t fail to noise how his fingertips tickle your upper thigh, along with the other men’s gazes as they note the same thing. You turn to trail after Andy and hang your decoration next to his. Another cool flow wafts up your skirt, eliciting another communal hum from the other men.

“Who’s gonna trim my tree?” Lloyd jokes crudely.

He gets only a growl from Andy as you refuse to acknowledge the comment. Ransom hovers at the edge of the room as Ernie stares him down. The large dog doesn’t get up but remains alert. You feel awful to bring him into this. He must be so confused, even more than you are.

🎀

Once the tree is decorated, your energy is completely spent. Your vigilance drains away what’s left and you lower yourself to the floor to sit with Ernie. He lets you lean on him and puts his head on your knee.

“Tired?” Andy asks.

You can only nod.

It’s a strange, almost numb hollowness. That sort of surrender that comes with just not having anything left in you. There’s that voice that tells you not to give up but it can’t drown out the blaring fatigue.

“You should lay down,” he suggests.

“With who?” Lloyd asks as he stretches his neck side to side.

“That’s not the deal,” Andy girds.

“Fucking chill. I’m kidding. Don’t worry,” he shows his palms, “I won’t open my Christmas present early.”

“Can I?” You ask as you drag a hand down Ernie’s side.

“Yeah, come on,” Andy offers his hand.

You should refuse. You should get up on your own but you’re not sure you even can. Before you can reach for the helpful hand, you’re scooped up from behind. You yelp and Ernie barks as he jumps to his feet.

“Woah, woah,” Lloyd dodges him as he holds you in his arms, “tell the mutt to cool it. I’m helping.”

“Ernie,” you eke out, hanging a hand down for him.

“Oh, pussy cat, you’re gettin’ sleepy,” he teases as he carries you past Andy, a defiant look shot in his direction, “let daddy put you to bed.”

Andy follows, Ernie too. Ransom keeps a cautious eye on the latter.

You don’t protest as you’re carried down the hall. He turns into the bedroom and takes you to the bed. As he puts you down, his hand shamelessly stops on your ass and spreads wide.

“Oops,” he feigns embarrassment, “must’ve slipped.”

“Hey,” Andy charges in and rips his arm back, “enough. She needs to sleep.”

“Look, she can sleep and I can do my thing. Multitasking–”

“We agreed–”

“Actually, you just talk at us and assume we do,” Lloyd counters sourly.

“I’m tired,” you mope.

“Yeah, well, who’s fault is that?” Lloyd snaps.

You frown and roll your eyes. You look past him as you pet the bed. Ernie bounds over and hops up, nearly knocking over Lloyd as he leaps onto the bed. He lays down beside you, his fluffy tail stretching past the end. You lay back and pet his head.

“Come on,” Andy inserts himself between the other man and the bed, “we all do our part, we all follow the plan.”

There’s silence. You peek over at the men as they stare each other down. You don’t say a word as you hug Ernie’s large head.

“I had a better one,” Lloyd hisses.

“We agreed,” Andy repeats. “We let her sleep. It’s her first night.”A sigh. Lloyd backs up and Andy looks over his shoulder at you. He gives a small smile and you nestle down into the bed. You close your eyes as your heart pounds in your ribcage. First night? Of how many?

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #dark!ransom drysdale #andy barber x reader #lloyd hansen x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #three for one #multicharacter #multifandom #the gray man #defending jacob #knives out

[pursuitseternal]

“The Fourth Day” of Bats, Blood, and Mirror Smut in “Antics of the Newly Ascended”

Ascended Astarion x Reader |E| 2.3K of Batstarion and Self-indulgent mirror sex

Summary: He’s late to arrive back, and then you hear… scratching at your window. Bat nibbles and head scritches quickly shift into other sensual indulgences. Ones that allow him to experience other benefits to his ascension… and to your own pleasure.

CW: “Right Hand” puns, Batstarion bites, cunilingus, mirror sex, Extra Emphatic performance from the Ascendant cause he likes the way he looks, “oh yes, I see what all the fuss is about”

Previous Ch | Ao3 Link | Masterlist

A gift for @icybluepenguin

🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞

You lay in your bed, tossing and turning. Waiting for Astarion to return. The camp needed supplies—potions and scrolls and armor. And it was Astarion’s turn to go fetch, even as he had grumbled how beneath him it was as the Ascendant.

Of course, Wyll had only laughed all the harder, shoving the purse of coin in his pale hands and slamming the door on his ass. The goods had been sent ahead by a maid from the Elfsong’s tavern, the Ascendant adding in the message delivered along with the bundle that he would return anon, once he deemed his presence sufficiently missed.

That was hours ago… Now even sleep sounded good. Long, lonely sleep. With him somewhere out there in the dark of night.

Your stomach swirls, knowing he is powerful, knowing he is experienced in how to care for himself, but… you have so many enemies now. So many assassins and monsters and soldiers. The list of beings that wanted you dead seems to grow ever bigger.

He shouldn’t have gone alone.

Stupid, arrogant, exalted idiot.

Every sound in the tavern, every creak on every floor reaches your ears. And it’s not your heightened vampiric senses.

You’re worried. For as much as he preens and postures and bites and drinks, you can see it plainly with your eyes and your heart. You see what others can’t since his Ascension.

He’s still just the same, poor at planning, smooth brained rogue. Good with his hands, silken with his words, bad at anything to do with plots or logic or calculations or…

A soft scritch scratch at the window made you sit up from your good- humored, condescending musings.

Something… big… rests against the panes of glass. You look closer. Something largish and fluffy and… white.

“My dear consort, let me in…” he speaks in that way that caresses your mind with his own.

“You have got to be kidding, Astarion. Are you stuck again…”

“No, not stuck. I am positively famished. I need to rest, to feed, before I can use my magic to return to the handsome body you know and crave and worship….”

“Pfft,” you roll your eyes. “So you need help, is that it… mighty Vampire Ascendant?”

“You wound me, my darling…. My treasure…” he flaps against the glass again. His little claws scratch so hard as he grows clearly more and more agitated. “My right hand…” he purrs so silkenly.

You cross from the bed, your body naked as you stroll so slowly towards his blurred shadow on the other side of that pane. “It’s funny, my love, that night you offered me this…” you pause to flourish your hand the same way he had, “gift of immortality… I didn’t realize by your Right Hand, you meant things so literally.”

That made him flutter harder and bang his little bat feet against the window. “I swear when I do get in there… when I do finally feed and shift back… I’ll make that right hand do so much more for me than opening this fucking window….”

You laugh…. So adorable. So dramatic and ridiculous. So… him. “You should see yourself, my love. I suppose II would miss you if I should leave you so… indisposed.”

You cackle, reaching for that handle. The instant a gap was big enough, he flapped his way inside. Circling on his beautiful, membranous wings, you feel the wind brush your hair away before he lands on the back of your shoulder. His itty, bitty fingers hook onto the crest of your back, the only warning you get before you feel his small razor fangs bite into your neck.

So much smaller than normal, you gasp in surprise more at the sensation of warm fur on your skin. His little claws hook tightly, and his quiet breath snuffles beneath your ear as he drinks. You reach your hand around, his little ears twitching as you blindly brush them, scratching one finger in that small space at the top of his head. His mouth still contentedly suckles on your blood.

Tingles of magic wash down your back, and suddenly your hand raises with the top of his head, that silken mess of curls wrapped around your finger. Lips replace bat teeth, the wide span of his warm tongue swirls lazily over the teeny marks he’s left.

“Now… about that defiant, rebellious right hand of yours,” he rasps against the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“Oh…. This little thing?” you taunt, wickedly, childishly, gripping that bulge between his legs from behind you. The “oof” that comes from his smirking mouth is music to your ears. You spin smoothly, pivoting your grip on his cock, and you give it just a few hard strokes to make it harden under your touch.

It doesn’t take much. It never has. He bucks against your palm. One of his elegant, long-fingered hands clutches underneath your chin, dragging your lips for him to consume. You taste the blood on his tongue, feel his hunger mixed with yearning. The way his tongue dances with yours hides nothing of the want you were so quick to incite in him.

You lose your breath as he shoves you against the wall. Moonlight floods from behind him, his sharpened face barely lit in the shadow. But those curls, ravaged by the winds of flying, mussed from his shifting, those silver-white curls sit like a halo in the pale light. Left hand closing around your right, he presses it against the wall, a silent command to hold still. Very still.

A single kiss on your lips, a rakish arch to his brow, and he drops to his knees. His hands force your leg over his shoulder so quickly, you have to grip that wall behind you, caught only by the way he shoves his shoulder under your thigh. His face already presses hard into your mound, fingers already prying your folds wide for his tongue to lap. Careful, you use your left hand to comb through his curls, riding the circling of his head as he licks through your seam.

The same sort of little noises come from between your thighs, little low hums of feeding, muffled grunts amidst the wet suck of his tongue on your clit. Your hips buck, catching on his nose, his hands keeping that new angle for him to push deeper into that wet.

You pound your right hand into the wall, a closed fist, and your legs shake. He drives you closer and closer, pools of heat and lightning racing to your belly and down your nerves. He laughs into your cunt, fingers slipping into your channel from somewhere below your ass. You can’t see, can only feel that rhythmic lap and suck of his perfect tongue and thick smirking lips. But those fingers crook hard to catch your spot, that itch he knows how to scratch and make you shatter.

You pant, riding the brush of his nose on your clit and the suck of his tongue as he devours you even in climax.

“Fuck me…” you groan, head smacking against the wall as you raise your hips even higher. His hands hold you firm, even as your legs twitch and threaten to go boneless in your orgasm.

“Oh yes, darling, I am about to do just that,” he stands to rasp into your ear. “You did say… if only I could see myself… a delightful suggestion, my pet. Come now,” he purrs, “but you will only use those defiant hands of yours as I see fit. And…”

He flips you around, drags you across the room to the corner, until you’re staring at your own reflection. The simple wooden-framed mirror shows every pale line of your bodies as one. You can barely tell where your soft curves melt into the edges of every hardened rise of him behind you in the moonlight. “…you’re going to watch ever little way I fuck you…”

“You mean you’re going to watch every little way you fuck…”

His hand reaches from behind you, clawing around your mouth and twisting to bring your ear against his smirking lips. His crimson eyes lock into yours in that reflection, a matching color. “Well, it was your suggestion, my love, since we both have been given such a gift. And I haven’t yet seen how ruinous I am in this process…”

“Tch,” you suck your teeth, a humored and condescending shake of your head. “Fine… it is a sight to behold. And after all, these days are about you discovering yourself, indulging in your powers.”

“And I’m so grateful it’s you who enables my indulgences, my darling,” his silken voice croons. His tongue visibly sticks out to run that warm, wet pad up the curve of your ear.

His gaze watches yours flutter, your body shivering involuntarily as you want more. “Bend,” he growls into those little circles and folds of your ear. His grip fastens on your wrist, making you reach for the wall beside you, turning you sideways to that shimmering mirror glass. You look through the messy curtain of your hair, watching in that reflection as his hand smooths down the vertebrae of your spine, his other grips and pumps his cock. That hard, veined length dripping onto the floor, twitching relentlessly as he catches your eye with a wicked grin.

“You keep those insolent hands where I can see them, darling, and you… will… watch me.” His voice drops into a deep-throated growl, his head cocked back, hips bucking into his fist. Even as he clutches the cheek of your ass, his sharp nails finding purchase, drawing blood to the surface as he marks you.

His. Forever.

Fingers leave your skin, pulling back that long, tousled mess of your hair so you can obey him.

So you can watch.

Watch as he lines himself up with your entrance, watch as he drags that blunted tip, forcefully and slowly back and forth through your slick. Watch as his hand beats his shaft against your folds, smearing your arousal up and down his velvety smooth skin as he does so.

It’s… burning in your belly, the way he’s licking his lips, stare alternating between watching his body in the mirror and your eyes drinking in his every sensual stroke.

You can’t look away, watching him shut his eyes, head thrown back in pleasure, arching as he sheathes himself until you feel that brush of his balls against you. You want to shudder and hang your head, instantly filled and throbbing and so… very… full.

“Don’t you disobey me, pet,” he hisses. “Best keep watching, or else…” Eyes still shut, he groans in deep delight as he pulls out once more only to grip your hips and shove inside again.

Deeper. Harder. More punishing. Fangs bared, he smirks down to watch his perfect shaft entering you, a slow beating rhythm to the snaps of his hips. Every little ripple of muscles in his body, you get drunk on the sight of him. Even that slight gleaming slick on his cock that you see, that base of his shaft as it glistens before it disappears to ram you full again. It makes your mouth water.

He picks up the pace now, your body so warm and wet from how he pleasured you. He smiles at himself, tilting his head back towards the mirror. You can feel it, the extra undulations of his body, a little extra shove, a little harder buck of his hips to make your ass slap hard on his body.

A performance of pleasure just for him.

Deep, subtle pants leave his gaping mouth with each thrust, his eyes watching the way his own flawless, ruinous body clenches as he fucks. Every tweak of his abs, every clench of his ass, you can see his eyes dart in the mirror to savor the sight.

You laugh, well, barely laugh. As breathless as you are, riding every pummel into your cunt, you manage to speak. “Careful, or I’ll have to get a blindfold if you can’t stop watching yourself…”

“Oh darling, I finally see what all the fuss is about,” he pants between his words. And you hear it, that edge to his voice, reckless and uncontrolled. His words catch in his throat just as stilted as his thrusts become.

Hard and random and rough.

Your cervix grows numb, your channel walls so swollen, so hot. Pounded over and over again until he finally groans and folds over you. Arms yank you back against him by your hips, slamming your body against his wild bucks. You watch that magnificent reflection as he unravels, how his knees buckle as he comes.

How his seed spills so hard from his cock deep inside you, it’s already dripping to the floor at your feet. The sight of sweating pale skin and undulating muscles bent over for you… you shatter too. And it makes another groan, a whimper come from where he’s laid his head on your back, just below your shoulder blades. Your walls milk him of every last drop, your own arousal joining the mess on the floor beneath your feet.

Breathless, your arms shake, still extended towards the wall. A naughty grin on your mouth as he looks at your lust-hazed eyes and tousled hair. His face is a matching set of post-coital mess and beauty.

You reach that right hand of yours between your legs, slowly, delicately teasing over your own slick clit, drenched in both your cum. Stroking further to brush the soaked base of his cock that is still buried inside you, he nips into the skin of your back, not hard enough to break the skin.

Just enough to make you look again in that mirror.

“Your right hand is forgiven… I’ll allow it…” he purrs one more time.

His crimson gaze still looks hazy and dunk on that sight of you coupled. And you wonder if he will ever let you stand.

#astarion #ascended astarion #mirror sex #comedy and smut #oh he does see what all the fuss is about #batstarion #astarion smut #astarion x reader #reader x astarion #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #Astarion being self-absorbed #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 smut #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #baldur’s gate iii #baldur gate 3 #baldurs gate smut #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Keith, I need a favour.”

Keith stops in his tracks. Slowly, he sets down the helmets he’s holding, freeing his hands, then holds the phone out in front of him. He ponders it carefully.

“I could throw you into the sea,” he says to it. He does some quick calculations. If he drives to the nearest seafront now, he will be approximately twenty-three hours late to his date with Lance by the time he gets back. However, if he skips the fanfare and drops his phone into the disgusting oil-filled puddle right next to him, he can proceed to his date on schedule.

“Decisions, decisions,” he muses. Fanfare is important. Dropping his phone into a puddle is whatever. It’s derivative. But dropping his phone into the North Atlantic…now that is revolutionary.

“Fucksake. Keith,” sighs the voice coming from the phone. “If you don’t answer me, I am going to change the Netflix password.”

Keith frowns. “Hey.”

“Thank you,” says Shiro emphatically, “you brat.”

“Netflix is sacred,” Keith protests. “You can’t joke about the Netflix. I am a delicate orphan, Shiro. What will happen to me if my primary care figure breaks his promises? I’ll regress and act out and end up in prison. Do you want me to end up in prison?”

“A little, honestly.”

“Gasp, Shiro. Gasp. How dare.”

“I think you should consider a degree in the dramatic arts.”

“I think you should eat my farts.” Keith snickers. “Hey, that rhymed.”

Shiro sighs, long and loud, and Keith can practically see the smile twitching on his face. “Where did I go wrong. Truly. To think I tried to raise an upstanding young man, respectful to his elders, happy to help when needed. Shame that you’re a gremlin and a changeling.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Blah blah. Get to begging for my help. I have places to be, old man. A new jacket Adam bought me to wear in front of pretty people. Well, one pretty person. Anyways.”

“God, you’re whipped,” Shiro says, and Keith ignores that because if he doesn’t he’ll combust. “You and Lance going out?”

Keith tucks his phone between his ear and his shoulder, picking the helmets back up and continuing his walk to his bike. “Yep.”

“Where’re you going?”

“Dinner at Caribella. It’s an excuse for a ride, really. Maybe walk around downtown for a bit.”

“Sounds fun. How much more fun would it be with your little sister, huh?”

Keith stops for the second time. He can see Red maybe fifty metres away. He looks at her mournfully.

“So close,” he despairs quietly, then turns back to his phone. “Not super fun, Shiro. Since she’s, you know. A year old. And a date is something you traditionally do with your boyfriend. Alone.”

Shiro makes a weirdly strangled noise halfway between a laugh and a stressed croak. “Well! The thing is.”

Keith waits. No thing is listed.

“Shiro.”

“It’s no big deal! Really.”

“Oh? I guess I’ll just hang up, then —”

“It’s just that Adam and I are at his sister’s, right, and —”

“There we go.”

“And we have a sitter. Obviously. All is well. Except, you know. The storm forecast. And everything.”

“And you’re four hours away with a car that you haven’t put snow tires on yet,” Keith surmises. He looks forlornly at his bike, sitting all pretty in her parking spot, freshly polished red paint gleaming under the fluorescent lights of the parking garage. So, so close. “You dumbass.”

“The forecast was clear this morning!”

“You’re a dad! You’re supposed to know these things!”

“Well!”

“Can’t the sitter just — stay? Overnight, or something?”

He feels bad. Any other day, he’d be happy to have Hana over, or go stay over there. He does it all the time. Hana is the coolest. He has no idea how she’s the daughter of the two biggest goobers he knows. Hell, he’s already got plans to watch her this Thursday, so Adam and Shiro can go to their old person museum date thing.

But he has plans tonight.

Fuck.

“She’s sixteen, Keith,” Shiro explains, sighing. Keith envisions his brother slumped against a wall somewhere, rubbing over the scar on his nose. “She’s too young for that. She’s Adam’s friend’s daughter, and she’s a sweetheart, but she’s got school. She can’t be responsible for a baby overnight.”

“No, I — I figured.” He drags his free hand down his face. “You need me to go over there?”

“Yeah. Mara – the sitter – can’t drive yet. Her parents are coming to get her in an hour.”

Shiro’s voice is quiet, subdued. He sounds guilty. Keith hates when Shiro is guilty. He covers his hand over the phone so Shiro can’t hear, screams a little, breathes deeply, then forces a smile wide enough that it will bleed into his voice. Hopefully.

“It’s fine, Shiro. Seriously. Lance and I’ll reschedule, Hana and I will make sure to fuck up your Netflix profile. All is well.”

“Thank you, Keith. I owe you.”

It is a dire thing when Shiro doesn’t complain about Keith messing up his Netflix profile. Once, three years ago, Keith forgot to switch the TV in their living room and watched some Hallmark movie as he sketched, just to make noise in the background. Shiro made snide comments about his taste for three months, because he’s a pretentious indie loser who watches shit like Empire unironically.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll start a tab.”

That, thankfully, makes Shiro snort. “Brat.” He brightens. Keith can almost hear the ding of a lightbulb going off in his head. “Hey, I know it’s dorky, but maybe you and Lance can still go on your date! Me and Adam used to when you were little, in the old apartment.”

Keith furrows his brows. “What, like when you marathoned Lord of the Rings on the shitty futon and ordered the greasiest pizza known to man? That’s not a date.”

“Is so! We enjoyed it, you had pizza so you weren’t having a tantrum, what else could we need?”

“You guys have been weird old people your whole entire life. Did you know that?”

“Only because you aged me. You pain. Anyways. Go pick up my daughter, or you can stay at our place. Minivan keys are where they always are. I gotta go. Love you, kiddo.”

“Ugh. Love you too.” He hangs up, blowing a raspberry at the phone. “Minivan keys are where they always are, he says. What a soccer mom.”

He stares, hands on his hips, at his bike.

What to do, what to do.

He really doesn’t want to cancel on Lance. It’s been a couple days since they’ve seen each other, because Lance’s job hates him. Plus, Hana isn’t very fussy. It’s kind of dweeby and embarrassing, but. Well. Lance likes kids. So it could be fine, honestly.

“Hana first,” Keith decides, nodding to himself. He lifts the seat compartment under the bike and shoves the extra blue helmet in, strapping on his own and starting Red up. To bring Lance to Shiro’s for an embarrassing old person date, or to cancel. That is the question.

Eh. He’ll decide on the ride.

— — —

He does not decide on the ride.

“What do you think,” he asks his sister, lips pursed. She gurgles happily at him from her high chair, shaking her soggy-Cheerio-covered fist at him. “I mean, you go to bed in a couple hours. So it’s not like it’s pure babysitting.”

“Abdalalala,” she says, which Keith translates to mean actually, now that I know you want me to sleep, I will spend tonight completely resistant to sleep, as karma. Enjoy.

“That’s rude,” he informs her.

You’re batshit, says the Pidge that lives in his brain. Also, quit procrastinating.

“Ugh,” he says, out loud. He pulls out his phone and hesitates over Lance’s contact.

to: lance <3

hey you like kids right

from: lance <3

oh my god

from: lance <3

keith, are you…

from: lance <3

pregnant??????

Keith laughs.

to: lance <3

you are not funny

from: lance <3

i’m hilarious actually it’s a tragedy

from: lance <3

i carry the burden of knowing i am solely responsible for my friends’ good humour

from: lance <3

heavy is the head that wears the crown. pensive face emoji solidarity fist emoji broken heart emoji

Keith refuses to dignify that with an answer. Also, he has been informed by Lance’s best friend that if he ignores the emoji bit it will go away eventually. So far it’s been going strong for three months, though, so Keith’s not certain. He can only hope Hunk is correct.

from: lance <3

anyways yah i like kids why

to: lance <3

how much cooler and charming would i be if i picked you up in a minivan. with my sister

from: lance <3

aw, keith!

from: lance <3

to be coolER and MORE charming you have to be cool and charming to begin with :)

from: lance <3

and you are a dweeb 💖

from: lance <3

sounds good tho

from: lance <3

Bring Forth The Child

from: lance <3

oh also bring forth burritos on ur way over

from: lance <3

i’m hungry

Hana yells and bangs on her tray. When Keith looks up, she lobs a Cheerio at him. It hits him squarely between the eyes.

“You’re right,” he says sagely, peeling it off and flicking it back at her. She shrieks in joy. “I cannot let this shit slide. I cannot simply allow myself to be roasted, Hana. I must have self respect.”

She blows a raspberry at him and bangs harder on her tray. Baby conversations are, honestly, riveting.

“Exactly, squirt. You get it. Let’s get cleaned up and go, hm?”

— — —

He picks up burritos on the drive.

Hana laughs at him.

— — —

He’s hardly pulled up in front of Lance’s apartment building when a blur streaks across the front walkway, yanking open the van’s side door.

“Oh, hell-o, precious darling!” gasps Keith’s boyfriend, tumbling into the backseat and slamming my the door shut behind him. “Hi, Hana! Hi hi hi! Aren’t you the bestest ever? You are!”

Hana, evidently pleased with the attention, babbles something incomprehensible and pats Lance’s cheek. He melts, babbling something so quickly it’s equally incomprehensible and shaking her hand. Keith watches, torn between endeared and affronted.

“Hello, boyfriend I have not seen in days,” he deadpans. “Yes, I missed you also. No, I don’t mind at all that you leave me to wither away, alone, in the front seat. Excellent chat.”

“You have a very very grumpy brother, don’t you, Hana,” Lance coos. His shoulders shake with held back laughter.

“Lance, get your ass in the front.”

“But I’m meeting the baby!”

“She is not going anywhere! Meet her at home! You turd!”

“Name-calling is not very nice,” retorts Lance primly, crawling over the console and finally settling in the passenger seat. “What kind of example are you setting, huh?”

He leans over the armrest once he’s buckled in and kisses Keith gently, cradling his hand against his jaw and tilting their heads together. He smells, as he always does, of flowers and sunshine, and Keith sighs as he sinks into the softness of him, the curve of his smile and nip of his teeth.

“Hi,” Keith murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his chin, and then squarely on the mouth again.

“Hi,” Lance responds, a little breathless, grinning widely. His hair is damp and curling at the edges. He’s left out his contacts for the night and the gold lenses match the gold flecks in his brown eyes. Everything he’s wearing is stolen right from Keith’s closet, except his socks, which are bright purple and covered in obnoxiously orange weiner dogs. Keith is so in love with him that the intensity of it embarrasses him, and he pulls away, face red, very interested suddenly in adjusting is rearview mirror.

Lance, knowing, only smiles.

“These are for you,” he says gruffly, shoving the paper takeout bag at Lance’s chest. Lance wastes no time digging through and shoving half of one in his face.

“Aw, baby,” he says, mouth completely full. “You’re literally the best. Sweet, attentive, manipulable, obsessed with me. Everything I intended when I did the love spell on you.”

Keith eyes Lance from his peripherals. He’s digging through his patched backpack, face completely serene. Keith is reminded of the actual sigil he has tattooed on his ankle. (He’s very familiar with it. It’s often right at eye level. Hard to miss, really.)

“…You’re a strange, strange man.”

“Anyways!” Lance continues, visibly gleeful. Keith reminds himself to focus on the goddamn road and remember his sister is watching with her giant wide eyes in the backseat, probably committing all his embarrassing actions to memory to report to Adam the second she is capable of speech. “I brought lots of movies. Mostly Jurassic Park, but also some educational stuff for the baby. Ghostbusters, High School Musical, you know. All that good stuff. And I stashed popcorn behind your microwave last time I slept over so we’re set for snacks.”

“Oh, we’re going to my brother’s place, actually, ‘cause Hana’s more comf— wait, behind the microwave? Why behind?”

“Wait, wait, hold on. We’re not going to your place?”

“No,” Keith says carefully. “I have some baby stuff in my apartment, but not a lot. Plus, Shiro has a better T.V. and also Adam just bought Moose Tracks. So.” He slows to a stop at a red light, noting Lance’s odd expression. “That okay?”

Lance screws up his face for a second, thinking. “I’m pretty sure? As long as there’s an extra toothbrush there. I have one at your place so I didn’t bother bringing one. And I guess I can survive a night without my face serum, but if I get one single wrinkle we’re beefing.”

“You’re not gonna get a stupid wrinkle,” Keith grouches. “And why would you get pissy if you get a wrinkle? We’re gonna get them eventually, and you —”

“‘We’?” Lance teases. “You gonna grow old with me? Gonna marry me someday, Kogane?”

“—can even use Shiro’s face stuff, anyway, I’m sure it’s the same.” Keith clears his throat. “And plus —”

His voice cracks horribly. Lance makes a valiant effort to keep his giggles to himself, but as Keith face continues to get hotter and hotter he loses control and laughs, head thrown back, adam’s apple bobbing with every hitched breath. His laughter sets Hana off, too, both of them encouraging each other’s ridiculousness until they’re as red as Keith is, gasping for breath.

“I hate it here,” Keith mutters darkly. “I’m turning around and bringing you back. You’re the worst. Why do I go out with you.”

Lance, barely recovered, makes kissy faces at him. “Because you want to maaaarrryyyyy meeeee, you think I’m seeeeexxxyyyyy, you want to kiiiiisssss meeeee —”

He cuffs Lance in the back of his head, pretending to check his blindspot and ignoring Lance’s cries of spousal abuse. “I actually just want you to watch Miss Congeniality twelve percent less often. For your own mental health.”

“Lies and slander! Peddling of falsehoods! Perjury and defamation!”

“I’m burning your thesaurus.”

“And now threats! Hana, you shall be my witness! I will testify against you in court! You will be jailed! I will visit you twice monthly!”

“That’s the second person today who wants me in jail,” Keith comments, pulling into Shiro’s driveway. “You’d visit me even if you put me in there?”

“Well, duh. Have to make sure you don’t go around kissing cute criminal boys or I will become a cute criminal boy.”

“Right, of course. I should have known.”

“You should have, yes.” Lance leans over and kisses him on the forehead with an exaggerated ‘mwah’ noise. “But it’s okay, I like ‘em a little dumb.”

“Help me get the diaper bag, goober,” Keith snorts, shoving him away. “I want to get inside so I can have a burrito before you eat them all.”

———

Lance was not kidding about High School Musical.

Obviously.

“Do you want her to grow up with no understanding of community, Keith,” he scolds, and pays no mind when Keith replies, “Well, she has a family, dude, so I’m not worried.”

They watch the stupid musical.

Keith is horribly endeared by Lance’s extensive knowledge of the choreography. Lance is horribly appalled at Keith’s ignorance. Hana is intrigued, mind body and soul, by every scene with Sharpay Evans. Keith assumes this will be a problem for Adam in the near future, and resolves to make that problem worse.

All this to say he’s having a very embarrassing night, in terms of mushy thoughts and feelings.

“I can’t wait to have kids of my own someday,” Lance sighs, a very sleepy Hana tucked into the crook of his arm. He watches her, soft, and Keith pauses with a DVD held loose in his hand, enraptured, because there’s a curve to Lance’s smile that he’s never seen before, and suddenly his left hand looks bare. “I know it’s supposed to be stressful and everything, but I used to force Hunk to play house with me when we were kids. Literally every day. And when my neice and nephew were born I hogged them all the time, even when they were screaming. I dunno. Being a parent sounds awesome. You get to…like…grow a person. It’s like growing a plant but a bajillion times better, probably.”

“Yeah,” says Keith, softly, and without meaning to he’s thinking of Shiro’s tired smile and the gentle hand Adam lays on the back of his neck, of their door that was always open for Keith’s nightmares, of Shiro’s clothes ruffling as he slid to the floor and sat for hours as Keith screamed himself hoarse and cried for a mother who left. Of Adam’s boiling pots and gentle hands as he guided Keith around a chopping knife. Of both Shiro’s choked-off sobs and Adam’s right embrace as Keith came back, thirteen, in the middle of the night, scared and no longer angry, and their quiet I’m so glad you’re safe. Thank you for coming back. “Yeah, family is important.”

Lance hums. He’s quiet long enough that Keith looks up, realising for the first time his gaze has been locked, unseeing, on the pictures on the wall, of Shiro and Adam and the two of them together and with Keith and with Hana and with Keith and Hana. Lance is watching him, quiet, dark eyes knowing, Hana finally asleep in his arms, beautiful and strong and everything Keith has ever wanted, suddenly, at once.

“I love you,” he blurts.

Lance smiles. “I’ve noticed.”

“Oh, you dickhead.”

“I’m saying it back!” Lance says, snickering, free hand held up in surrender. Keith walks over and slots their fingers together, squeezing slightly, leaning in and holding, a second, a hair’s breadth away from Lance’s mouth, watching his lips part, feeling the heat of his breath. His words are breathless, near silent, mouthed as much as spoken. “You changed my life, you know. I made you chase me because I thought it was funny, but — I made Hunk get me your number from Pidge the night I left the bar. I was going to text you if your brother’s tweet didn’t go viral and cement your dorkiness for eternity.”

“That’s a lotta words to say ‘I love you’, dorkbrain.”

“I know. You make me nervous.”

“You never get nervous.”

“I do with you.”

“Yeah?”

They’re so close now that their lips brush with every word, and Lance is grinning, eyes crinkled and lashes fluttering against Keith’s cheeks, and Keith has a hand careful on Hana’s head so he doesn’t crush her and is smiling just as wide. Cheesy, dorky, corny, and everything Keith wished for after every romance novel he’d steal, fooling no one, from Adam’s shelf and read long after bedtime.

“Yeah. ‘Cause I love you. Even though you’re a dweebus and a simp.”

He is, really, because he lets Lance get away with that, kissing him to shut him up, to feel his laughter right up close. It’s sparks flying and warmth spreading and heart slowing, and in the gentle darkness of the night.

It’s the promise of more to come.

#i just love writing simp keith genuinely. ANS FIRST LANCE APPEARANCE IN THE HANA VERSE #vld #voltron #keith #keith kogane #klance #lance #lance mcclain #established klance #soft klance #whipped keith #broganes #keith & shiro #dad shiro #hana shirogane #baby hana #hana verse #my writing #longpost #banter

[millytherat]

Reading through @badaziraphaletakes inspired me to make a post about reasons:

Why people tend to choose Crowley of Aziraphale, and, consequently, think Aziraphale is bad

This might be a long post, i'll cover some topics and i might get all over the place at some point! But please be patient! Can i get into it?

Inversion of values

When first watching Good Omens, you might expect a strong inversion of values, that Heaven is bad and Hell is good, angels are the oppresors and demons the victims

It is mostly religiously (religious trauma) motivated, aka "christianity is a fucking bullshit" motivated, to expect seeing the ones who calls themselfs good (Heaven, who we interpret as Christian religious figures) be actually bad (wich, in real life, they tend to be) and, the ones they cast out as evil and sinful (Hell, wich we interpret in this case as anyone the church calls sinful, like the queer comunity) to be good and innocent and just different, it makes us feel emphatic for them, even seeing that they are, indeed, bad

I believe some people just dont want to accept it, they want to believe the angels are inherently bad and the demons just questioned their bad ways

But they arent, if anything ALL angels and demons are naturally good and innocent, "oh but Gabriel!" He was naturally good, we saw it, the same with Michael and Uriel too, they're all just tainted by the strong grip Heaven demands for them to have; in episode 1 season 2, we see both Crowley (as starmaker) and Aziraphale being totally innocent and adorable, they're good by nature, no one in the story is actually evil

When this inversion of values we wish for isnt fulfilled, it might cause an annoyance, i know a lot of people who dont accept it, and just make it up because... well is expected!

Queerness

This was originally taken from a post of "Bad Aziraphale Takes"

Crowley is "more queer" than Aziraphale, at least thats how people see it as, in fics too, how many times Crowley gender is explored, with pronouns and labels and identities? While the more i saw for Aziraphale was a vulva or they/them pronouns, and never in a human au! Aziraphale is depicted and seem as a cisgender male

I have seem even people saying Aziraphale have internalized homophobia! I- how??

Found them! @theelastword made an ask on the "bad Aziraphale takes" blog that inspired this bit <3 thank you love

Need for a villain and favorites

As we saw, people that hate Aziraphale choose to see Heaven as evil, as the villain, and that is also followed by many people who dont hate Aziraphale! Well, might i say that... we dont have a real villain in Good Omens? The angels arent evil for wishing to follow what they believe to be God's plan, nor for deminishing humanity- but i'm getting ahead of myself here!

The need to see Heaven as inhetently bad, the big bad villain, makes people see Aziraphale, going back there "freely", hurting Crowley's feelings, saying Hell/demons are the bad guys (wich they ARE?? There is not an inversion of values!) As him being evil, as him going to the side of the villain instesd of choosing Crowley, going back to CROWLEY'S abusers, not his, not theirs, Crowley

I do believe humans have a natural need to have favorites, when you're a kid is always "wich caracther of this cartoon am i?" and later is always "wich do i relate to more? Wich do i like more?", and people choose Crowley for all those reasons above and probally some personal ones too

So! As a small conclusion:

People choose to prefer Crowley, they choose to see Crowley as better because he's a "good demon", he's the victim that fell from Heaven and hates Hell, he's the queer caracther, he's kind and genuine and helps Aziraphale and have a car he loves

Because of the idea that Aziraphale is: A) opposite to Crowley; B) an Angel! (The abusers! The bad guys! The evil!); C) a BAD angel for that matter, he's selfish and mundane and comes across as rude to Crowley (because he acts so fucking autistic too!); people tend to DISLIKE Aziraphale, small simple minded people, but people nonetheless

I know the whole post is a bit over the place, it might sound confusing here and there, but i really wanted to put all this together to try and understand why people hate Aziraphale

I though maybe this can give a small input on why people think like that, it sures helps me to understand how they think that and what they mean by their terrible takes! I guess is mostly them being naive

Oh! You know how in the 2000's the media was demonizing femininity by having blond, pink, feminine villains in their high school romances? How we, to this day, tend to see feminine girls as fake, vulgar, naive, etc? How most teen girls go through a "not like other girls phase" because of that?

Same principle! Is the same reason for why they see Heaven and Aziraphale as evil

I hope someone can appreciate this lil silly thoughs put together <3

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #innefable husbands #good omens 2 #badaziraphaletakes #good aziraphale takes #for once

[dewdrops-whammy-bar]

Anesthesia Ramblings

Dew gets top surgery and says some things while loopy on anesthesia.

(Not part of mushy may, though I’m considering writing something for it.)

Words: 877

Rating: T

Warning: mild description of surgery and medical procedures

Dew’s surgery had gone well, the doctor had told him as she‘d led Aether to Dew’s recovery room. She’d waited until the door was closed before letting him know that they’d had a few problems regarding the more supernatural elements of Dew’s body, but they were able to work around them.

Surgery on ghouls was extremely uncommon. Quintessence was the main tool in helping ghouls heal from sickness or injuries, so they rarely needed a physical procedure. Not to mention, ghouls couldn’t hold a glamour while unconscious. Their bodies healed themselves very quickly as well, which wasn’t ideal in surgery.

Through a stroke of luck, one of the few top surgeons in Sweden was a Clergy member. She’d previously lived at the Ministry headquarters, so she had full knowledge of the existence of ghouls. She had pulled together a surgical team who were willing to operate on a ghoul.

As a precaution, they had to have a Quintessence ghoul in the operating room to make sure Dew’s body didn’t try to fight the surgery. Omega had volunteered- he was the oldest Quint, had the most medical experience, and wasn’t about to let Aether go through the experience of watching his husband get cut open.

But now Dew was safe and sound, newly boobless and knocked out in the hospital bed. Aether was happy to have Dew back, but he was a little frustrated at how long it was taking for him to wake up. The doctor had assured him Dew would be fine despite the higher dose of anesthesia needed to knock him out, but Aether was still anxious.

He reached over and took Dew’s hand, lacing his fingers with the other man’s. He instinctively gave it three gentle squeezes- I love you.

Dew’s fingers twitched and Aether released his hand, worried he’d caused Dew pain. Then Dew’s hand moved again and he let out a soft grunt.

“Dew?” Aether asked, touching his husband’s arm. “Can you hear me?”

Dew grunted again in response. He moved his head to the side and cracked his eyes open. Aether smiled brightly.

“Hi, love. How do you feel?” Aether took Dew’s hand again.

“I…” Dew mumbled. “You’re… nice. But I… married. Sorry.”

“Yeah, married to me.” Aether snorted. He sneakily pulled his phone out of his pocket and started taking a video- the rest of the pack would definitely want to see this. It wasn’t every day that Dew was off his ass on anesthesia.

“Nooo…” Dew rolled his head back and forth, his eyes still barely open. “He’s… big. Strong. Makes good…” he trailed off, seemingly searching for a word. “Yellow fruit. Bread out of that.”

“Banana bread?” Aether chuckled.

“That’s the bitch.” Dew mumbled. Aether snorted.

“Alright, tell me more about your husband. He sounds pretty cool.” Aether teased.

“‘S… strong. Biiiiig arms. Size of… damn big arms.” Dew tried to gesture but couldn’t manage to lift his hands more than a few inches off the bed. “Sexy. Ooooh… he plays guitar, too. He’s sooo cool.” Dew grinned sleepily.

“Mhm. You really love this guy, don’t you?” Aether chuckled. Dew nodded emphatically.

“Mmm… love ‘im lots. He’s reeeeally hot.” Dew giggled. “Good ass. Better dick.” He yawned and nuzzled into his pillow. “Fuckin’… balls, too. Real set of hangers on ‘im.”

“Yeah?” Aether could barely contain his laughter. “Anything else about him?”

“Mmmm… no. You can’t have him.” Dew replied stubbornly. “‘M sleep now. Night.”

“Alright, goodnight.” Aether chuckled and patted Dew’s hand. He ended the video, looked over at Dew (who was now drooling on the pillow), and burst into giggles.

He’d never let Dew live this one down.

—

“I said what?” Dew asked incredulously. He’d woken up from his nap fully lucid and immediately demanded food, which Aether had delivered from the hospital cafeteria. He’d devoured his tasteless burger with surprising speed, considering he couldn’t move his arms very much.

“Let’s see… you said I made good banana bread, had nice arms, and had, and I quote, ‘a real set of hangers.’” Aether grinned, another round of giggles threatening to make its way out of him.

“The fuck does that mean?” Dew snorted, taking a cautious bite of a lukewarm fry and making a face. “Ugh, these have like, no salt on them.”

“You wanna see the video?” Aether handed over his phone. Dew watched the video, his expression slowly morphing into one of surprise and horror.

“Oh no.” Dew muttered. He handed Aether’s phone back to him, glaring as the other man laughed at his horrified face. “This can never see the light of day, understand?”

“Uh… about that…” Aether composed himself, though he was still grinning.

“You didn’t.” Dew gasped and tried to grab the phone back with his T-Rex arms. “Give it!”

“For the record,” Aether laughed, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “The general consensus was that ‘hangers’ was an excellent way to describe my balls.”

“I want a divorce.” Dew huffed, pointedly turning back to his food.

#I went on a tangent about how ghoul surgery would work but oh well #cw surgery #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #transmasc dewdrop #dewther #dewdrop/aether

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

So i was hoping to request for trope tuesday. I was thinking grumpy reader x sunshine sirius and like kinda 10 things I hate about you type storyline but obviously in your own way of course. :)

happy trope tuesday! omg i kind of adored this request, so i got a bit carried away; i hope it's not too long... it ended up being very 10 things i hate about you inspired but i just love that movie and it just kind of flowed that way... hope you enjoy!!

for my 250 Followers Writing Event!

Tropey Tuesday 🎭 trope: grumpy x sunshine, enemies to lovers-ish

pairing: Sirius Black x reader

word count: 5.9k

“C’mon, Pads, pleaaase,” James pleads for the millionth time that morning. “No. Can’t you just drop it yet? You’re starting to seriously get on my nerves,” Sirius replies, flicking ashes off his cigarette and taking another drag. 

“Fucking hell. What are friends for then, huh? If not to have your back in the darkest of times?” he accuses. 

“I’d hardly call taking Evans out the ‘darkest of times,’ you drama queen. I mean, you are a pretty dull date, Prongs, but don’t be so hard on yourself.” “Hilarious,” he deadpans. “But the point is there isn’t going to be a date unless her sister goes too. Their dad is mental. Thinks Lily shouldn’t be going out alone her first year at uni or something. And he’ll know if she goes; I think he can track her and Y/N’s phones or some psychotic shit like that.” “Yes, yes, you’ve mentioned it.” “Have I? Because you don’t seem to be getting it, dickhead. C’mon, I’d do it for you.” “Oh, would you? You’d go out with the most grim girl you’ve ever laid eyes on, having to worry all night she might stab you if you don’t open the door for her — or if you do actually, knowing her,” Sirius muses. “I would,” he replies certainly. “In fact, I’d do it even if I knew she would stab me. I’d take a knife for you, Black.” “Alright, easy, Prongs. I love you too, but no need to get so dramatic.”

“If you really loved me, you’d do this for me.” “You aren’t gonna let up are you?” “Not a chance.” “Fucking hell.” Sirius flicks away the butt of his cig and walks away, thinking he still had until he found you to change his mind. 

You’re sitting in a courtyard outside reading, and it crosses Sirius’s mind that in the odd moments in which you didn’t look so angry, you were actually kind of… beautiful? 

You’re engrossed in your book when you hear, “Hello, gorgeous.” Sirius smiles at you, taking a seat beside you, leaning close. 

“Can I help you?” you shoot. “Funny you should offer,” he jests. “Yes, yes you can in fact.” You look annoyed, not amused; he’s not used to this reaction but treads on, “It would be a marvelous help actually if you’d join me on Saturday. As I’m sure you know, there’s a party. Half the uni is going, but I reckon it will be rather dull unless you’re there.” He puts on his most seductive smirk. “No, thanks.” You close your book, get up, and leave. He’s sitting there, a bit awe-struck, when he sees you simply sit back down somewhere else, in plain view of his, and continue reading. 

“She’s mental,” he whispers to himself. 

“I tried, Prongs. Leave it, won’t you?” he sighs exasperatedly later that afternoon.

“No, I won’t. Since when are you one to give up so easily? So she didn’t say yes right away, big deal.” “She didn’t not say yes; she said ‘no.’ Very emphatically I might add.” 

“So be more charming! That usually works for you, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that earlier. Thanks, James. Thanks so much,” he says sardonically. “I tried. It’s not as if I went up to her and didn’t try to be charming.”

“If you manage to get her to the party, I will buy you that new guitar you want so much.”

Sirius freezes. Interesting. 

“You can’t afford it,” he shoots.   “I can.” “You’ll back out for some idiotic loophole reason.” “I won’t.” Sirius groans and goes off again. 

“I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.” You’re lying in the grass, headphones on, eyes closed. You look serene. You don’t respond. He shifts and steps closer, accidentally shielding your face from the sun. This gets your attention. 

“What?” you ask, freeing one ear from your headphone, sitting up. He clears his throat and squats down in front of you. 

“I said, I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.” “Oh. Didn’t hear you,” you say simply, pointing at the headphones. “Yes, I gathered.” 

There is an awkward pause. It lingers.

“So…,” you say softly. “Is there something else, or…” 

Bloody hell; was it just him, or did you hate everyone this much?

“What are you listening to?” he tries. “Why do you care?” you reply. You don’t sound angry, though. It comes out like a normal question; he’s just confused as to how you think it is one. 

“I love music,” he says, taking a seat. 

“Okay…” You look genuinely confused. “I love music too, but it doesn’t mean I give a shit what that bloke over there is listening to.” You gesture toward some guy with his headphones in too. 

“Right. Well. I’m interested in music, but I’m also interested in you.” “Why?” “Are you serious?” “Do I sound like I’m joking?” “No, you sound like you’ve never had a conversation with anyone in your life.” He sounds a bit exasperated. He realizes this after the fact and internally cringes for his lack of patience, thinking it will set him back (if he’s made any progress at all) but is surprised at your lack of reaction. 

“I just don’t see why you would be,” you say calmly. 

He’s heard girls say similar to him many times, some out of actual insecurity, some just fishing for his compliments. Your tone is unlike any of theirs, and he’s not sure what to make of it.  “You don’t see what? Why I would be interested in you?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve been vaguely aware of each other for a long time; had a class together and such. You never seemed interested then.” Feeling a bit more himself again, he replies smoothly, “Did you want me to be, love?”

You groan a little. 

“Oh, I was dying for it,” you say, deadpan. “You were all I thought about,” you add dramatically. “I couldn’t focus on anything all day, and at night,” you lean toward him, like you’re about to tell him the deepest secret, “I’d touch myself to the thought of you.” You make a fake-scandalized expression, gasping sarcastically, then turn away as if nothing strange had just happened, turning the volume up on your music and adjusting your headphones again. You laid back down and closed your eyes, ignoring his presence beside you. 

His mind had no idea which thread to chase. It was torn between dissecting how what he thought would offend you didn’t and what he thought would charm you offended you, marveling at how easily you had just joked about your wanking, or coming up with A) a way to convince James this was not happening or… (he seemed excited at the thought) B) a way to convince you to pay attention to him. While this all churned on the surface, in the back of his mind he registered the song you were listening to, which he heard in the fraction of time between your turning it up and putting your headphones back on. He loved that song. 

“How’d it go with Fender?” James asks, entering their flat and plopping down onto the sofa next to Sirius. 

“With what?” Sirius looks at him as though he’s gone mad. “Fender,” he repeats, as if that clarified anything. “Okay. See, the way I see it,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “is that you can think of her as your guitar. That way you’ll want her as badly as that bloody fender and you’ll get off your arse and figure it out.” “Don’t you see how that’s a little, I don’t know, objectifying?” 

“Perfect, she’s rubbing off on you already; I know how much of a feminist she is. This is great; one step closer to love.” “Love?” Sirius’s disbelief is palpable. “When did this go from a meaningless date to help you out to love?” He grimaces a bit… then he grimaces a lot — but this at his realization that it wasn’t the idea of love, or even being in love with you, that made him grimace, but the idea that that didn’t even seem like a possibility. 

“She’s mental, Prongs,” he says quickly, trying to distract himself. “I have no idea what to say to her, and everything I say falls flat, or worse.” “So now you know what it’s like to not look like a demigod and just have to flash a smile to get a girl’s attention. Have you ever thought about talking to her about something she likes? or something you like even. Just not vapid lines that would work regardless of who’s on the receiving end?” 

Sirius squints at him and says, “I tried that, you twat. Asked her about music.” “And she didn’t like that?” 

Sirius pauses, thinking back. “I don’t know,” he responds honestly.

“Well, did she seem annoyed?” “No. Not yet.” “When did she get annoyed?” Sirius winces. “When I asked her if she’d had a crush on me when we had a class together.” 

James slaps the back of his head.

 

A few days go by, the weekend and fated party soon approaching. Sirius is out at a retro record shop in the late afternoon, and a t-shirt with the band name and logo of the group you were listening to the other day, Greta Van Fleet, catches his attention. It’s a cool shirt. And he likes them too. He’s not just thinking of getting it as a potential conversation starter for you. Truly… 

He walks out of the shop, up two records and a t-shirt. 

He runs a couple errands, kills a bit of time, and heads over to the campus pub to meet James and Remus. When he walks in, he’s struck by the sight of you, sitting alone in a corner booth, a pint and a book in front of you. 

James comes to greet him, and he reciprocates, trying to act natural, but as soon as he gets the chance, hoping you haven’t spotted him (he’s pretty sure; he’s barely taken his eyes off of you, so he probably would’ve noticed), he dodges to the toilets, bag in hand. 

When he comes back out, James asks, “Did you just change, mate?” 

“Uh, yeah. Spilled something on my shirt earlier and had a spare.” James accepts this explanation as reasonable and doesn’t spend more time on it. 

They get some drinks and are met by Remus, but as James heads to an empty booth, Sirius grabs his arm and drags him in the other direction. “Let’s sit over there actually.” “Why?” “Just looks more spacious.” And grants a better view of you, he doesn’t add. James looks skeptical but follows, and the three of them settle in. 

Sirius is distracted, occasionally gracing the conversation with a nod of his head or a simple “oh, yeah?” 

James is so caught up in a story, he doesn’t seem to notice, but Remus, ever observant, teases, “You know, if you’d rather go sit with Evans, Sirius, we won’t be offended.” James looks over, catching sight of you for the first time, a little disappointed at which Evans it was.

“What?” Sirius replies lamely. 

“Oh, come on, Padfoot. You haven’t stopped staring at her since we got here.” 

“Brilliant! Another chance,” exudes James. 

“Another chance at what?” asks Remus. “Sirius is taking her to the party on Saturday.” “I’m not,” Sirius interjects harshly. After a beat he adds exasperatedly, looking toward Remus, “James wants me to be taking her to the party on Saturday. That way her sister will come along too and grace him with her presence.” 

“You know,” James muses, “Fender doesn’t look as scary from this far away. I reckon you should go talk to her, Pads.” “Fender?” asks Remus.

“Don’t ask,” deadpans Sirius. “Well? Go on, then,” James urges. “Relax, mate. I’ll go later; just give me a minute.” 

“Are you… nervous?” “Oh, and you wouldn’t be? After she’s rejected you twice in one week?” “Oh, I definitely would be, but you? It’s shocking. This might have a few upsides beyond my date with Lily. I like seeing you flustered.” “I’m not flustered,” Sirius shoots defensively. “I’m just trying to have a drink with my mates without all the nagging, alright? Is that too much to ask?”

“Yes,” James jokes but has mercy on him and continues his conversation with Remus after a threatening, “We’ll come back to this” and a grin. 

Sirius is watching you when the song in the pub changes. You smile a little bit, and he hates how it makes his heart flutter. When the lyrics start, your mouth moves along with them, singing under your breath, and you move a bit with the music. You look beautiful lost in your own world like that. Just then, you look up, and your eyes meet his. They widen, and you freeze, looking a bit embarrassed. He wants to look away but braves on, holding your gaze and attempting to smile in greeting. You give a strained smile in response and look down shyly. It’s a strange look on you, timid. Sirius is not surprised to find it suits you, but he is surprised to find that he misses snarky and strong on you. 

You look back again as if you couldn’t help it, and he catches your glance go down toward his shirt. Yes, he thinks. God, is this how most people normally feel? He feels pathetic, trying so hard to look interesting in front of you, wondering whether you could like him. Your attention is pulled away by the arrival of your sister, and when you stand up and hug her, he sees you smile brightly for the first time. It’s blinding.

“Heads up, Prongs,” he says, not looking away from you. James follows his gaze, and his hand instinctively goes to his hair. Remus scoffs amusedly. 

You both look over, and James awkwardly pulls his hand from his hair and waves at Lily. She gives a giddy laugh and waves back. She turns to you and whispers something, and you shake your head vehemently in response. You start to argue in loud whispers that are still too far away to make out, but eventually Lily just rolls her eyes, looks back over, and gestures for the boys to join you. You look furious.

James doesn’t skip a beat, grabbing his drink and heading over with a confident, “Come on then.”

He pushes Sirius into the booth on your side and slides in next to Lily, Remus sliding in after him, ending up on his other side. Lily, James, and Remus start up an easy chat, but you and Sirius stay quiet. He feels tense, his palms probably sweaty, and the feeling is quite foreign to him. He fiddles with his glass in front of him, not looking sideways at you. “Nice shirt,” you say softly. 

He looks down, as if he doesn’t know exactly what shirt he’s wearing, then looks up at you, responding “thanks” in his best attempt at a casual tone. “You like them?” he adds, knowing the answer. 

You nod. “A lot actually.” “Me too.” “Clearly,” you laugh a little, nodding toward his shirt, and he loves the sound of it. “Why else would you wear this shirt?’ Why else indeed. 

“Yeah,” he laughs, a bit strained still but starting to loosen up. 

“You seem different,” you say. Again with the directness. He needs to learn how to handle it better for future conversations. He catches himself in this thought and can’t help but register his high hopes for the existence of said future conversations. 

“Do I?” “Yeah. I don’t know. You seem…” You seem a bit lost for words then finish, “like the acoustic version to your regular electric.” 

His eyebrows go up, surprised at such phrasing, followed closely by the corners of his lips, intoxicated by it. He doesn’t know what to say, and for the first time, that seems like the beginning of potentially beautiful possibility instead of just an obstacle to overcome as soon as possible. He’s never been so at peace with not saying anything. He just smiles. 

You smile too, and into the quiet space he’s created, whisper, “I like it.” He can’t help his smug smirk at this; he’s still himself after all, but it’s more teasing than before, and this time when you roll your eyes, you lips don’t lose their smile. 

You shift a bit, listening to whatever your sister is saying then tense up suddenly. Sirius has been so distracted just watching you, he has no idea what was said that stressed you out so much. He finally pays attention to try to piece it together. “Right, Y/N?” Lily asks. “Umm,” you don’t answer. “That’s brilliant, right, Sirius?” James says now. “Sorry, what’s brilliant?” “Y/N. Going to the party Saturday,” he responds. Sirius looks inquisitively at you. 

“I never said I was going,” you say, your demeanour back to its regular grumpy one. “In fact, I wasn’t planning to,” you finish with some finality. Lily leans into your shoulder, making puppy dog eyes at you. “But you’ve reconsidered just for me, right? Pleeeaasee, Y/N, pleeaasee.” 

You roll your eyes and bump her off of you but don’t say anything. You opt to take a swig of your drink instead despite the four pairs of eyes still intently watching you. Sirius has the odd sensation that that somehow actually doesn’t affect you, being seen, and it fascinates him. You don’t even look like you’re considering anymore when Lily bumps your shoulder with hers and fake-whispers, “pleeeaaaseee.” 

You roll your eyes again, but give in with a simple, “fine.”

“Ah!! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Lily chants, wrapping her arms around you and kissing your cheek between her praises. You’re grimacing; James is beaming. 

Saturday rolls around, and James and Sirius are finishing getting ready to go. Sirius is searching the messy living room for his leather jacket as he says, “No, mate, I’ll just meet you there.” “What are you talking about? Of course you should walk her there.” “She never said she was going with me. She just said she’d go. I don’t know why she’d expect — or want — me to show up at her flat.” “Just ask her.” “Don’t have her number.” 

James takes his out of his pocket, types something, waits a moment. A ding sounds; he sends another message, and now Sirius’s phone sounds. He opens it to a text from James with your phone number. “Just asked Lily,” James says smugly. Sirius rolls his eyes and plops onto the sofa, debating, spinning his phone in his hand. 

“What do I say?” “Figure it out, playboy,” James says as he goes back into his room, probably to check his hair again.

Sirius starts typing a message. 

hey, Y/N, it’s sirius… how are you? What am I, fifty? he thinks to himself, shaking his head. He erases the how are you?, replacing it with lily gave james your number then james gave it to me. Fucking hell. He erases that too. 

He writes, hey Y/N, it’s sirius… do you want me to come with james to get you and lily? and hits send before he can overthink it. 

He tosses his phone to the side, but he can’t stop looking over at it, and his leg is bouncing up and down rapidly. He’s wringing his hands together, fiddling with his rings when his phone vibrates. He snatches it up immediately, opening it to find one word from you: sure. Good enough, he thinks, and there’s an energy to his step he didn’t have before as he grabs his jacket, saunters to James’s room, and drags him out of the flat.

As you follow Lily out the door, Sirius swallows hard. You look stunning. Lily is all made up, her face looking much more perfect than most days, her heels looking like they’ll hurt after one block. Your look is more low-key. Your eyeliner makes your eyes even more striking than usual, but you still look like yourself. You’re wearing a classic pair of converse that look cool with your long leather coat. 

“Hey,” he greets when you’re standing in front of him.

“Hey,” you say back. You sway from the heels of your feet to your toes a bit then you both turn to walk behind James and Lily, who have their arms wrapped around each other and are already talking animatedly.

The first few minutes of the walk are completely silent between the two of you. Though it’s strangely not awkward, Sirius wants to talk to you, just doesn’t know where to start. He decides to just dive into the deep end. “What’s it like not caring what people think about you? Just saying what you want to say, or,” he chuckles at the current situation, “not saying anything?” You look at him seriously for a moment, considering him.

“I care what some people think about me. Just not everyone. And especially not random guys just because they’re attractive, and I’m supposed to put in some big effort to make myself attractive to them. I have better things to use, even better things to waste, my time and energy on.” You shrug. 

“What’s your favourite waste of time?” he asks, grinning, his eyebrow raised in curiosity. You’re looking down in front of you, but he can see you smile. 

“Um, funky question. Because I guess it’d be music. Getting high and just lying there listening to it, feeling it,” you laugh. “But that hardly seems like a waste.” You’re cheerful, and it’s addicting. Sirius laughs and says, “Hardly sounds like a waste at all. Sounds brilliant.” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, still smiling. “How about yours?” 

“Hm. I don’t know. Can’t just copy your answer, can I?” “Nope,” you pop. 

“Damn. Well, in that case, I’ll go with just hanging out with James and Remus, not really doing much in particular.” 

You nod. “Hardly sounds like a waste at all.” You smile at each other and chuckle. 

When you get to the party, music is blasting, and it’s already full of people, many of whom seem to be drunk already. Sirius catches you looking around with a huge grimace on your face, and he finds it adorable. “Your favourite way to spend a Saturday night?” he asks cheekily, having to lean close due to the noise. You look at him and roll your eyes, but there’s a trace of a smile on your lips. 

Several people greet Sirius, and he laughs and jokes with them. He’s clearly great at being the life of the party. You’ve already lost track of James and Lily. Hoping she’s having fun, you just hang back near Sirius, not engaging with his friends. No matter how glad he seems to see someone, though, he always comes back to you.

“You don’t have to linger, you know. I’ll be fine by myself.” “It’s everyone else I’m worried about. Given the murderous look on your face,” he laughs, though he can’t ignore the sting of the word “linger.” 

You scoff but seem amused. “Besides,” he adds more quietly, “I want to be with you.” 

“Okay,” you smile. “Okay,” he confirms happily. 

As the night goes on, you actually chat more and more easily. Commentary on the DJ’s (usually subpar) performance helps. You’re laughing together, and his hopes are high that you’re having a good time. “I actually like this one,” you say, wincing in amused embarrassment when a dancey pop song comes on. 

“Wanna dance?” he asks excitedly. 

“Um, I’m not much of a dancer,” you admit. “That’s alright. Me neither. Fancy it anyway?”

You bite your lower lip, considering, before nodding. 

He takes your hand and guides you between crowds of people to the area functioning as a dance floor. You stand close to each other, face to face, and it takes some time to get into the rhythm. Sirius finds you adorable as you cover your face with your hand, laughing at yourself. He grabs your hand, uncovering your face, and spins you. You laugh and put your other hand on his shoulder when you’re facing him again. He puts his hand on your hip, and you two move with the music, letting go. You dance a few more songs before you lean into his ear to say something. The contact shoots a thrill down his spine. “Wanna get some air? I’m getting really warm in here,” you semi-yell. He nods and grabs your hand again, walking with you out onto the quieter, emptier patio. You take a deep breath and sigh in contentment at the fresh air, leaning on your forearms on the porch ledge. You look lovely all flushed. 

“What?” you ask, laughing lightly. “What?” he repeats, smiling but uncertain. “You’re looking at me funny.” He’s debating telling you the truth, telling you it’s because he thinks you’re beautiful, when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He just shakes his head casually as he goes to check it. He sees an unimportant message and just puts his phone down on the ledge in front of you both. You just stand there quietly with each other, shoulder to shoulder, and he fucking loves it. He feels at peace and excited simultaneously.

“Mind if I smoke?” he asks you, reaching into his pocket. 

“Not as much as your lungs,” you retort. He gives you a “very funny” look. “I don’t mind,” you say more softly. He pulls out his cigs but keeps digging in his pockets. “Shit, forgot my lighter. Gonna go steal one from anyone I know real quick. Be right back,” he says, bumping your shoulder with his. You nod happily. 

You’re standing there alone when his phone lights up in front of you. 

A text from James reads, saw you sneak off with fender 👀 looks like you oughtta be grateful instead of annoyed in the end 

Followed quickly by one from Remus, okay can one of you please explain the nickname now? it’s weird

James again, i promised sirius i’d buy him that fender he keeps going on about if he suffered a date with Y/N for me

Your stomach drops, and you feel like you’re going to be sick, your ears ringing with more than the after-effects of the loud music. 

Sirius comes back, putting his hand on your lower back with a sweet “hey.”

You grab his phone, shove it in his chest, and seethingly say, “Fuck you, Black. Hope you didn’t have to suffer too much.” Your shoulder shoves him aggressively as you storm off. 

He looks at his phone, and pure horror courses through him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he keeps repeating as he speeds after you through the crowds. He doesn’t catch up until you’re a good way down the street away from the party. 

“Y/N! Wait! Please wait a second,” he calls, out of breath, as he reaches you, grabbing your forearm to try to turn you toward him. His heart shatters at the sight that meets him. You’re crying. 

You yank your arm away from him and spit out, “Leave me alone.” 

“Please. Please just let me explain. I wanted to be with you tonight. Please,” he pleads, walking fast to keep up with you. 

“Oh, fuck off. You don’t have to keep it up anymore; your friend got what he wanted.” “It’s not like that, okay? You can ask him if you want! He’ll tell you I wanted you to come with me; he’ll tell you I like you.” “I’m sure he’ll tell me whatever you want him to, Black, but I’m really not interested. Please just leave me the fuck alone.” You start walking faster, and he stops dead in his tracks. He doesn’t know what he could possibly say, and he just stands there in the middle of the road, the worst feeling he’s ever felt weighing him down to the spot.

You’re back in your flat, still crying, when your phone buzzes. 

Y/N

please 

can we please talk? 

it’s not what you think

i really want to talk to you

please

You put it on silent and toss it away.

You wake up with puffy eyes and four missed calls from Sirius from last night and another three from this morning. You delete the notifications and go take a shower, blasting your music. 

You get dressed carelessly, grab your bag, and shove your headphones on. You meet Lily in the living room on the way out, and she looks concerned. She tries to stop you, but you just say “I’m fine” and hurry out the door. 

You walk to a nearby park, a favourite spot of yours, and roam around for a while, hoping unsuccessfully to drown out your feelings in the music and movement. You sit down at a bench and take out your book. After reading the same sentence about ten times, you slam it shut and shove it back in your bag. You just sit there, and you’re struggling to keep the tears away as you let yourself replay your emotions from last night. You lie down on the grass, listening to your music again and shutting your eyes tight. After a while, it suddenly gets darker behind your eyelids, and you open your eyes to see what’s blocking the sun. Fuck. You’ve got to tell Lily to stop giving your phone number and probable locations to arseholes. 

Sirius is standing above you, a desperate look on his face. He squats down and grabs your hands as you move to grab your things, clearly planning to leave.

“Wait, Y/N. Please wait. I’m begging you.” 

“What do you want?” you ask harshly, taking your headphones off. 

“Just to talk to you. Please. Please let me apologize.” “You’ve apologized. Now leave me alone.” You turn away from him again and get up. 

“No, that’s not it. I want to make things right. You have to understand.” “Understand what exactly?” “I like you. I really like you. I think about you all the time; I want to spend more time with you.” “Another instrument in it for you?” you say scathingly. “No, no, of course not. That guitar thing was stupid. Really. It was really fucking stupid, and it was before we’d ever even talked! Well, you’d said a total of six words to me, but still, I had no idea how much I’d want to keep trying to get you to give me a chance without any other incentive.” You don’t say anything, but you also don’t go to leave, and Sirius sees this as serious progress. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I was a complete and total idiot to ever even entertain the idea, but it was just a silly thing before anything else happened.” “And what exactly is it that you think happened?” Your arms are crossed, and you still look like you want to murder him. 

“I saw how fucking incredible you are. And I got it in my head that the thing I want most in the world is a chance to keep seeing how incredible you are. Let’s see. What else happened? I bought a t-shirt just to get your attention; I made a fool of myself in front of my friends from how nervous I was to talk to you; I lost sleep thinking about everything you’d ever said to me, and how you’re like no one I’ve ever met; I wrote and rewrote the simplest message last night like a lovestruck idiot because I was dying for you to say you wanted to see me. Then what else? Oh, right, and correct me if I’m wrong here because this is where you come in: then I had a fucking brilliant time with you last night. I dreamt of wasting time with you, of getting to dance with you again, of making you laugh even though you’re gorgeous even when you look cross — like right now by the way — I even dreamt of sitting in silence with you for fuck’s sake.” He was out of breath by the time he finished his speech.

“How’d you know I liked Greta Van Fleet?” “What?” “I assume that’s the shirt you bought to get my attention. How’d you know I liked them?” “That’s what you’re asking me right now?” “Yes.” “Fucking hell, Y/N.” A beat. “I could hear it from your headphones that second day you blew me off.” You just nod, still looking solemn.

“You’re not,” you say after a moment.

“Not what?”

“Wrong. About last night. You know, its being brilliant. Before… well, before —”

“Before I cocked it all up with silly games I never should’ve played in the first place,” he interrupts. “Before my stomach fucking flipped at reading those messages and my heart broke at seeing you…,” he swallows the knot in his throat, “at making you cry.” He ventures a step toward you, and you don’t move away, just tighten your grip on yourself and look down. “I’m so so sorry I did, Y/N. And I’ll make it up to you if you’ll let me.” He puts a hand on your cheek, caressing you softly. His other hand comes to your arms, uncrossing them and intertwining your fingers with his. He steps a bit closer and speaks more softly as he asks, “What do you say, love?”

You stay silent for a few seconds then say, “Okay.” He scoffs in relief and disbelief, chuckling. 

“I just poured my heart out to you, and all you say is ‘okay’?”

“Yes,” you say, but after a second, a subtle smile lightens your features. He barks a laugh.

“I’ll take it,” he says, kissing your forehead. He lingers there a moment, still caressing your cheek, his lips hovering at your hairline, and when he leans back, he stays very close to your face, looking down at your lips. You push your chin up, bringing your faces even closer together. He smiles at this and closes the shrinking gap. 

Your kiss tastes like possibility, and as Sirius shifts, deepening it, he’s not surprised to find your tongues fall into rhythm with each other as easily as your bodies did on the dance floor last night. 

You clutch his jacket, pulling him closer as he envelops your mouth with his, the warmth of it coursing from where you’re connected down through your entire body. 

He leans his forehead against yours when you break apart. He gives your nose a peck then, your fingers still intertwined, says, “So. What do you want to do now?” “I don’t know.” Not letting go of his hand, you grab your stuff and start walking with him. “Maybe we can waste time. Or sit in silence.” He squints at you.

“Are you taking the piss?”

“Yeah, a little bit, yeah,” you grin guilty. 

He’s laughing, shaking his head, as he sarcastically says, “We’ll see when I make the effort of giving you another romantic speech.”

“I can’t wait to hear it,” you say, squeezing his hand and kissing his cheek.

#marauders #10 things i hate about you #marauder x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black one shot #james potter #lily evans #remus lupin #james x lily #angst #fluff #enemies to lovers #grumpy x sunshine #fanfiction #reader insert #ria250

[holidayinhell]

Whumpay: Attack!

Panic or heart attack implied. You be the judge.

Characters: actual psychopath/ serial killer Whumper, simp Whumpee CWs: restraints, electrocution, male whump, eyeballs (?), murder, it's pretty dark, you have been warned!!

“Push your ankles against the legs of the chair.” He unrolled a length of duct tape. 

Whumpee’s smile dropped. He wrinkled his eyebrows, puzzled, and stared open-eyed at the larger man skeptically. “More?”

“It’s for the thrashing.” He reasoned. “Like I said, you need to be completely still if you’re gonna get high.”

“This is really weird.” Whumpee dismissed. But if this is what it took, fine. He’d go along with it.

Whumper wrapped the tape around his legs and ankles, securing them to the legs of the narrow wooden chair.

Now that his ankles were tethered down in addition to his wrists, Whumpee couldn’t move anything but his head.

“Good, good. You’re a trooper. Getting excited yet?”

“Not really.” Whumpee said flatly. In truth, being tied to a chair had excited him, but certainly not in the way Whumper was inquiring about.

“C’mon. It’ll feel really good once it gets going.” Whumper cracked a smile “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

The scholar crossed the room to the couch that was heavy with clutter; books, equipment, and garbage it looked to be. The entire basement had a stinking, foul odor, Whumpee wondered if it was coming from the junk piled high on the sofa.

Whumpee rolling wrists and ankles to loosen the tape securing him to the chair, but they were wrapped snugly in their duct tape cocoons.

“God damn this is uncomfortable. Argghhh! My nose itches and I can’t scratch it.” 

Whumper disregarded Whumpee’s objections. The man grabbed a silver and black case resting on the cluttered couch, popped the latches open and removed a camcorder box. He unfurled a roll of canvas containing a tripod. 

Apprehension settled over Whumpee as he watched from his chair, his anxiety mounting with every passing second. A rancid smell in the air made him recoil. “Can you smell that? It kinda stinks down here.”

I should really stop complaining, Whumpee thought to himself. He didn’t want to annoy Whumper, much less offend him. He considered himself lucky that Whumper had even chosen him, of all people, to assist with his thesis project. 

Thankfully, it seemed Whumper didn’t hear him. He was entirely focused on assembling his recording gear.

Whumpee felt a pit in his stomach. Whether he was being annoying or not, he reminded himself that he had to make his boundaries clear before they did this thing.

“Hey. Hey. Whumper!” he yelled to get Whumper’s attention for the first time. “Remember what I told you, I’m gonna to tap out after twenty minutes. Hard stop then, okay?” Whumpee said emphatically. “Got it?”

“Yeah, sure. Got it.”

Whumper silently loaded a roll of film into the camera, snapping the plastic compartment closed with a click. He pressed the power button and framed Whumpee in the center of the video screen.

“...and now,” Whumper hit the red recording button. “We are officially ready to begin.”

Whumpee’s breathing increased. He had anxiously awaited this moment since he agreed to it days ago. Whumper had been so happy he volunteered to help with his project, he reminded himself that this was a small sacrifice for the greater good, this was the first step towards forging a real friendship. And if he played his cards right, maybe something even more.

He steeled himself and summoned every last ounce of courage from the depths of his being.

“Oh shit, I forgot. Safety first.” Whumper retrieved the object he’d been fingering in his pocket. A short leather strap. “I have to put this in your mouth--”

“What is th--!” Whumpee tried to interject.

“--so you don’t bite your tongue.” 

Whumper already grabbed a handful of Whumpee’s hair and tilted his head back before he could protest. The bound man jerked his head back and instinctively pursed his lips closed. Whumper attempted to push the strap past his lips but they were closed tight.

“Wha — STOP! Stop it!” gasped Whumpee, breath ragged and nerves shaken by the sudden assault. “Fuck. What the hell was that??!”

Shit. Too heavy handed. Impatience always got the best of Whumper.

“Heh, sorry, sorry. ‘M sorry.”

“Sorry?! That was fucked!!”

“I’ll be nice this time. Promise. Here. Now bite.”

Whumpee looked at the man incredulously and sighed, but bit down on the gag obediently. He had to stay in Whumper’s good graces, he’d come all this way. Plus he really didn’t want to bite his fucking tongue off.

“Comfy?”

Whumpee firmly shook his head no.

“Well you look like a million bucks. Ya ready?”

Whumpee’s sigh was muffled by the strap of leather trapped between his teeth. He was completely immoble and incredibly uncomfortable, with absolutely no control of his body beyond his mouth and head. To add to his discomfort, a looming putrid odor hung in the stale basement air and the anticipation of being electrocuted made him nauseous.

His cheeks burned and he prayed Whumper didn’t notice him blushing. Whumpee reminded himself: he was going to be fine, Whumper wouldn’t hurt him, and he was lucky to even be there.

“I’ll start with the calf.” Whumper commented, touching the cattle prod to Whumpee’s leg. His breath audibly quickened.

“Easy. Shh. Relax.”

ZAP

It felt like all of the air, light, and sound had been sucked from the room and replaced with searing pain.

“Mmmmmmph!” His leg jerked upwards involuntarily, if he wasn’t tied to the chair he’d have kneed himself in the jaw. A biting soreness ran from his toes to his hip even after Whumper pulled the cattle prod away.

It was intense, the most blinding agony Whumpee had ever experienced. But now that it was over, Whumpee felt strangely... good?

Whumpee spat the strap from his mouth, and the saliva-coated leather fell on Whumper’s shoulder. The slimy gag slid down the taller man’s shirt like a snail leaving a path of slime, and plopped to the ground unceremoniously.

“Oh shit!!” Whumpee cackled as Whumper rose to stand. “My bad, my bad.” He felt delirious, but amid the chaos of his mind there was a course of energy that left him invigorated. He giggled at the trail of saliva that glistened against the larger man’s black sweater.

Whumper glared at the discarded leather gag on the floor. His eyes shot back to the human filth sitting in front of him. He exhaled slowly. A tempest of rage brewed beneath his calm.

“There is some kind of weird pleasure, I guess.” Whumpee offered, “I see what you mean. But it hurts like frikin’ hell.” Whumpee started laughing again and turned to Whumper. “I wonder what pervs actually use this to get off. Maybe we should think of a safe word.” He giggled.

What, like this was supposed to be some fucking sexual exercise? 

The very concept made Whumper want to gag.

Playtime was over. 

His vision went red. It was time to end this fucker.

Whumper retrieved the roll of tape and wrapped it around Whumpee’s mouth, circling his head once, twice, three times.

The man under him struggled to fight against his motions, bobbing his head and trying to bite at him as he layered his face in duct tape. But the ambush happened quickly, and Whumpee was powerless to stop him.

Whumper felt like all the duct tape in the world couldn’t silence the miserable brat.

The large man rolled the dial on the cattle prod to maximum voltage out of curiosity. Holding the device against Whumpee’s skin, he administered white-hot pain directly into his forearm. The small man heaved in his narrow wooden chair and nearly fell backwards.

Whumpee screamed. He screamed so much that his yells bled into one another. If his mouth were free it would have been the loudest he’d ever shrieked, but under his adhesive gag he could never eke out more than a muffled MMMmph!

Whumper pushed the device deep into the flesh of his arm, stabbing the prongs into him with so much force it nearly drew blood. Whumpee thrashed wildly, the excruciating electric shock traveled up his arm all the way into the deep veins of his neck.

“Mmm. Mmm-mmph!!” Whumpee hummed into the tape that sealed his lips. He awkwardly blinked to get the moisture out of his eyelashes, which were heavy with tears. It was all he could do at this point: blink.This was the only thing he could control in the entire world right now.

“What was that? Use your words, Whumpee.” He grinned wickedly. “You’re crying now? We’ve barely warmed up!”

Whumper took his captive’s chin in his cold hand and tilted it back to get a good look at his face. Tears rolled down Whumpee’s cheeks rapidly and his breathing was rugged and quick. He averted his eyes from the larger man’s intense, hungry stare.   

“Time to come clean, Whumpee. I know you’ve been stalking me all years. The way you’ve injected yourself in the background of my life--” A remorseful tear ran down Whumpee’s cheek.

 “--what, you didn’t think I noticed? It’s not like you were subtle about it. You’re like a fly and shit, your presence is a constant annoying buzz in my ear. So I thought, what’s the best way to kill an insect?”

“Do you know, Whumpee?”

Whumpee groaned.

“Zap ‘em.”

Whumper retrieved a box cutter from his pocket. “Don’t get too excited.” He warned, pressing the blade from its plastic sheath. The knife found the neckline of Whumpee’s shirt where it traveled down his torso, digging into his flesh in places. Whumpee sliced the shirt into jagged strips and let them fall to the ground, one by one. 

Whumper took a moment to admire the pearls of blood that seeped from the shallow gashes he made on Whumpee’s bare torso. He stepped back to ensure everything was in frame of the camera’s viewfinder.

“You only have yourself to blame for this one, Whumpee. I mean who the hell volunteers to get electrocuted?” The scholar grinned wickedly.

He thought they were supposed to be friends, he thought he was helping him with his project…

“I’ve never even been to college. Didn’t even graduate high school, not that I needed to. Did you know that, Whumpee?” Whumper rounded the corner so he was out of Whumpee’s sight, not that he could see much through his watery vision. “I was pretty convincing though, wasn’t I? You didn’t make it easy on me, with you stalking me for so long.” Whumper came back, holding a heavy metal object and thick rubbery wires. “I appreciated the challenge at first.”

He sat the car battery on the floor at Whumpee’s feet.

“But now it’s annoying. So I came up with this solution.” Whumper retrieved a box of cigarettes from his pocket and placed one between his teeth.

“I had to do a little practice with Big Bertha over here.” He said with the unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. Whumper tapped the car battery with his foot. 

“Winston was fucking old as hell-- you remember old man Winston right? The fucker up the street with the dog that bit me that one time?”

Whumper raised his eyebrows at his captive, silently demanding a response. Whumpee didn’t realize. He nodded his head, sniffling.

“One little zap and boom, he was gone. You wouldn’t believe it.” He shook his head. “Must’ve been like two, maybe three minutes? I don’t know. It was disappointing.” Whumper lit his cigarette.

“But his eyes did shoot out of his face, which was pretty funny.”

Whumpee squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. His muffled cries intensified, he shook his head violently. Snot ran down his tape-covered chin and he was screaming bloody murder into the sticky adhesive that silenced him.

Whumper’s fingers grazed his hot wet cheek.

“I kept one of his eyes. And you know what I did with the other?” A sinister grin crept across his face.

“Fed it to his dog.”

Whumpee was reduced to a puddle of wailing mucus.

“All that to say that the old man actually did teach me a little something about electricity. So I went to the library-- like a real goddamn scholar-- and I did a little research on how to control this shit. Check it out: this is an alternator and this one is a voltage regulator.” He presented the two small devices. 

“You want to know why I went to all this trouble?” He took a drag and exhaled a plume of smoke.

“Because, Whumpee, I don’t wanna just zap you like a mosquito. I want a real show.”

“And you’re going to give me one hell of a show, too, because this gear was fuckin’ expensive.” He glanced at the bifold doors to the closet. “At least Winston picked up the tab.” 

Whumper crouched down to assemble the parts of his machine, leaving Whumpee helplessly taped to the chair, awaiting his impending doom. Tears welled in his eyes and he was silently thankful that they blurred his vision almost entirely, at least he wouldn’t have to watch as his life was literally fried out of him. All he could see through the haze in his eyes was the steady, rhythmic pulsing of the camera’s red recording light.

Whumper rose to his feet, his full focus fixed on Whumpee, who shivered in place.

“Now then,” he declared, ashing his cigarette. “Let’s get started for real this time.”

#sorry #whumpay #whumpay2024 #whumpay day 10 #whump writing #whumpblr #whump drabble

[daresplaining]

Daredevil vol. 2 #48 by Brian Michael Bendis, Alex Maleev, Matt Hollingsworth, and Cory Petit

I've written about this scene before, but I just keep coming back to it. Matt has just been attacked by Typhoid Mary, approximately thirty seconds into his second date with Milla. With the help of Jessica Jones and Luke Cage, who are bodyguarding for him at the time, Matt manages to fight Typhoid off and get Milla out of harm's way. He brings her back to his apartment, where he can treat his injuries and Milla can get some breathing space to recover. As the evening progresses, they end up in bed together.

There are so many stories— heck, so many Daredevil stories— in which a scene like this would turn sexual. And there isn't anything inherently wrong with that, and there are certainly undertones here for anyone looking for them. But instead, Milla and Matt get into something much more somber: a direct examination of what they've just been through, and what Milla wants to do about it. The bed scene begins with Milla tracing her fingers over the scars on Matt's body while he tells her which villain gave him each one. The conversation slides into the exchange above. This is not long after Karen Page's death (a fact that will pop up in more emphatic ways later in the run). Milla has just been on two disastrous dates, the latest of which put her in direct physical danger. Matt is brutally aware of the kind of target he is putting on her in by allowing her to associate with him, and now he knows that Milla knows it too. In previous relationships he might not have brought it up; before Karen's death, before Elektra's, before Glori's, he might have said nothing here, eager for love and brashly confident in his ability to be the hero and keep his girlfriend safe. But no matter how much he likes Milla, and no matter how desperately he might want this relationship— because he's into her, because he needs something pleasant and consistent in his messy life, because the guy rebound dates like it's his damn job— he has the wherewithal, and the honesty, and the fear to tell her that she should take all of this danger seriously and leave. He gives her that choice.

It's easy for us as the readers, with the benefit of hindsight, to say that Milla was foolish to ignore the warnings and to pass up this opportunity to get out of the relationship before it turned ugly. But what I think hits me so hard about this scene is her conviction, and her courage to push all of that aside and offer up the hope that this time, things might be better. Milla has not known Matt for long, other than by reputation, but she has already proven that she is willing to go to great lengths to protect him. She isn't easily frightened, and she likes Matt too much to let him go this easily. Look at the framing and pacing of this moment. Matt makes his long speech about the horror Milla has just been through, and how much he likes her and how little she deserves what she will go through by being around him, and how he can't imagine why she would possibly want to stay. It's a speech full of stutters and pauses; Matt is rattled and frightened. And then there are two panels of silence, in which Milla seems to consider him, and he seems to consider her (it's almost framed as if they are looking at each other, and while obviously that's not what they're literally doing, it does create the sense that an examination is taking place). And then Milla just snuggles in closer and gives her answer: "Because I'm quite fond of you." And there's immense power in such a simple, almost casual response. She has witnessed the danger. She has thought about the danger. She wants to hang out with him anyway because she likes him.

The final panel is beautiful, framing Milla's single line of dialogue. A breeze lifts the curtain on the open window. The walls of the bedroom are transparent, letting in a view of the city and the sky, as if they are lying outdoors, perhaps invoking that feeling of the sounds of New York coming into the room and shattering that illusion of spatial separation. In this moment, neither of them can know what is coming, but with her choice to stay, Milla has conjured a world in which they can both imagine that this kind of peace might be possible.

#Milla Appreciation Day #Daredevil vol. 2 #Milla Donovan #Daredevil #Matt Murdock #Commentary #ID in alt text #(One more post under the wire.)

[luveline]

What would happen if Roan went through a phase of calling Eddie by his name instead of dad because she hears reader and Wayne calling him it?

(This was loosely inspired by this TikTok https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGJqukwNU/)

thank you for your request! eddie and roan —roan starts calling eddie by his first name and he doesn't know how to feel. fem!reader, 1.5k

"Eddie? You want horseradish?" Wayne asks, wiping his hands in a rag. 

Your eyes widen as Roan leaps up into your lap. You wrap your arms around her and almost get your teeth knocked out as she makes herself comfortable, one of her high ponytails tickling your cheek. Your laughter shakes you both. 

"Yeah, please. Ro, horseradish?" Eddie asks, standing behind the chair next to yours, hand out to receive the jar of horseradish. 

He takes the spoon. Roan settles at a sideways angle, giving you an ample view of her wrinkled nose. "No thanks, that stuff is stinky." 

"You can't have tenderloin without horseradish, sweetheart," Wayne says, putting your plate in front of you. Fragrant steam wafts your way. "Now come on, sit in your own seat." 

Roan sighs and turns to you morosely. "They always do this." 

"They're tearing us apart," you say agreeably, fondly, rubbing her arm before lifting her from your lap and into the seat right beside you. 

"They don't do anything. Horseradish smells a little strong, but that doesn't mean it isn't really, really yummy," Eddie says, sitting in the seat to your left. 

It's dark outside, later than you intended to eat. Wayne and Eddie went out looking for ground beef to make meatballs and came back with beef tenderloin instead, which takes way longer to cook. It's been a nice evening while you were waiting, filled with VHS kids movies, conversation, and a secret bowl of hard pretzels. 

"You said those pickled onions were yummy, too," Roan says, clearly disbelieving as Wayne puts her plate down in front of her. 

"They're an acquired taste," Eddie says. 

"A what?" Roan asks. 

"They're not for everybody," Wayne explains. "Do you need help cutting your dinner?" 

"It's okay," Roan says, picking up her fork eagerly. The tines look longer, more dangerous in her small hand, but you've learned not to worry. 

"Come on, sweetheart, I'll cut it up for you," Eddie says, rolling up his sleeves. 

You pick up your drink as Wayne offers it with a thank you, eyes closing in momentary bliss. Wayne makes the best sweet tea, and he doesn't skimp on the ice.

"No thank you, Eddie," Roan says, stabbing a piece of tenderloin. The fork scratches across the plate. Unbothered, she brings the beef to her mouth. 

You almost choke on your drink. 

"Excuse me?" Eddie asks. 

You laugh. Wayne sits down for the first time in the last hour and tucks in his chair, shaking his head in defeat as he grabs for the horseradish and begins spooning it onto his plate. 

"I said no thanks," Roan repeats around a nibble of beef. 

"I heard that part. What did you call me?"

"What, Eddie?" Roan asks. A little smile has her lips tilting upward, a fleck of beef on her chin. It's evidence that she knows what she's done. 

You lean over to wipe her chin. "Oh no." 

"No thank you dad," Eddie says emphatically. "Dad, daddy, hell, I'll accept papa." 

"Everybody else calls you Eddie," Roan says, shrugging little shoulders, her hair bouncing either side of her face. 

"I'm not everybody else's dad," Eddie says, slipping between your chair and Roan's. He sounds strange —not upset but shocked, an unusual colour on him. He eases the knife and fork out of her hands and begins slicing up her food into smaller bites. "I'm your dad."

"Okie dokie, Eddie." 

You can see Eddie sticking his tongue in his cheek while he stands there. He isn't mad; he rarely gets angry over things like this, and even less with Roan. Doesn't mean he likes what's happening, though. 

The evening continues like that. Roan can tell Eddie doesn't like being called by his name and it eggs her on. By the end of the night she's smirking every time she speaks to him, Wayne's clearly amused, and you're not sure how to feel. 

You have to use the bathroom, catching Eddie on the way back with a kind hand on his wrist. 

"Hey, handsome," you say, looking over the soft slopes of his cheeks, his puppy dog browns, his brows where they've furrowed. You stroke the pulsing vein bisecting his forehead in concern. "You cool?" 

"Why is she calling me Eddie?" he asks, shaking his head gently.

"'Cos she could tell you didn't like it. Want me to ask her to cut it out?"

Eddie nudges you. He's dressed nice for a day at home, a slightly too tight t-shirt bragging the lines of his chest and stretched at the curves of his biceps. You tug on one mindlessly. 

"No. Maybe I'll start calling her daughter, see if that works. Or tell her she can't call me dad, reverse psychology." 

"Probably shouldn't." 

"No, I shouldn't." He covers your hand at his sleeve. "Thanks for worrying about me, but it's fine." His face inches closer to yours. "It's kind of funny. I guess I just got so used to being called dad I didn't realise I'd miss it this fast." 

"She'll forget it by tomorrow," you assure him, closing your eyes quick as he presses a good kiss to the corner of your mouth. More than a year down the line and still his kisses make your heart skip. 

"She better." 

Eddie steals another kiss before giving your hand a finger-tingling squeeze and ditching you for the bathroom. 

You return to the living room faster than Roan must anticipate, catching her crouched by the doorway, eavesdropping. You raise your eyebrows at her.

"Whatcha looking for, gorgeous?" 

Roan looks as though she might pretend otherwise, but eventually admits, "I heard what dad said." 

"Which part?" 

"That he misses being called dad. Am I in trouble?" 

"Do you feel like you're in trouble?" you ask, bending at the waist to meet her eyes.

"No, but," —she touches her tummy— "I feel bad." 

You hold your arms out for a hug. Roan grabs your waist as much as she can with her shorter arms, head tilted to the side as you murmur in her ear, "It was only a joke, babe. Right? You were just being funny. Daddy doesn't mind." 

"Are you sure?" 

"You're so lovely," you praise, easing her head back, your hand encapsulating her cheek and ear. Her hair and skin are incredibly soft beneath your palm. "You have a super big heart, just like daddy. It's no biggie, okay? Ask him when he comes back if you want to. I know he'll tell you you're not in trouble." 

You rub the apple of her cheek in a tight circle as you stand. Roan nods against your hand, her back straightening as the bathroom door closes and Eddie's footsteps approach. He beams when he discovers you both together.

"Everything okay?" he asks, wiping his hands in his shirt. 

You encourage Roan toward him. "Tell dad." 

"Tell me what?" he asks. 

Roan puts her hand out toward him. You make you way to the kitchen as Eddie takes it. 

Wayne's smoking a cigarette by the open back door, smoke furling lazily from between his fingers and out into the backyard. 

You turn your attention to Eddie pulling Roan up onto his hip, poking at her sweetheart chin. "Babe?" he asks her. 

"You're good with her," Wayne says, flicking Ash haphazard into the breeze. "I don't think I've ever told you that. You can see how much she trusts you." 

Internally, you glow like the heart of star, joy like an intense and sparkling heat. Externally, you stay cool. Wayne is a chill man. You endeavour to be totally chill. 

"Thank you," you say, crossing your arms across your stomach. "I have a really good teacher." 

Wayne brings his cigarette to his lips. "You do," he says, taking a drag through his smile. He looks past you to where Eddie's standing, his arm holding Roan like a seatbelt to his chest. 

"Sorry if I hurt your feelings," Roan says quietly, looking down at his shoulder.

Eddie nudges her face with his, forcing her to look up. Her hesitance melts away at the loving smile on his face, more so when he says, "You didn't hurt my feelings, superstar. Don't get me wrong, I don't want you to call me Eddie 'cos I'm your dad. That's nice for me. It feels kind of like getting a hug. It makes me really proud 'cos it's you, but I was just being dramatic. You'll get it when you're older, all the grown up junk." 

It's charming to hear his attempt at explaining sentimentality. 

"Plus," Eddie whispers, nose to nose with her, "it was a little funny." 

Roan presents her face for kissing. Eddie plants a big one on either cheek. 

"I love you," he says.

"I love you too, dad." Roan fidgets. "What about if I can call you Eddie on the weekends?" 

"I'll have to think about it."

#eddie and roan #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Ok my friend Imma gonna hit you up for some more 😜 Fic Roulette!!!

1. 6 and 16

2. 10 and 39!

Hehehe, I'm almost afraid to ask but yes, Hunter 😂

You did marvelous on the last ones! Can't wait to see what you'll do with these!!!

Ohhhh sweet @dragonrider9905 You thought you could stump me huh? Well you almost did. LOL. Just kidding.

I hope you enjoy both stories. This is 6 and 16.

Love oo,

Not Your Fault

Warnings: Feelings of guilt, mentions of death, fluff, grief, sadness, I think that's it. If I miss anything please let me know.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Omega laughed as you tried to do a fishtail braid, “Sorry,  hun, I’m doing my best here, but it’s coming out a little …” you scrunch your face as you look at your handiwork, “Let’s just say if this was a real fish’s tail, this fish would be dead. Do you mind if I start over?”

“No. Go ahead.” She answered with patience and love, just happy to spend time with you.

“Alright.” 

So you set to remake the fishtail, yet, no matter how hard you tried, the tails didn’t look even or how Omega wanted them, and she couldn’t stop laughing, “Omega,” you laughed unable to hold back, “I’m trying to fix your hair, so hold still.”

It was about another hour when you had finally managed to get the tails to look like tails and to make them even enough they wouldn’t embarrass her, make her look odd or like a crazy person. She ran around telling her brothers about her fishtails and showing them off. 

You chuckled to yourself, slowly following her footsteps. However, you stopped midstep, your eyes focusing on Hunter sitting in his patio chair looking out over the water. There was a near blank expression on his face, yet his eyes held all his emotions. It broke your heart seeing him so … lost? Guilt-ridden? Maybe it was just overwhelming grief.  

After all, it hadn’t been long since Omega and Crosshair came back. Frankly, you were happy to have them back, especially after losing Tech. Everyone on Pabu felt his loss, and getting to know Crosshair had been challenging at first, yet Hunter somehow took on the responsibility of making sure Crosshair got along with everyone.

As each day progressed, the emotions in Hunter’s eyes were slowly becoming more and more overwhelming. It wasn’t hard to see he was still learning how to move on without Tech. How to live his life without his brother. 

You’ve suffered more than your fair share of losses, and you knew how difficult it was to just start living again. To start putting yourself back together without having that support you relied on so heavily. If anything, Hunter needed a friend first and foremost right now. 

Not wanting to disrupt his peace too much, you did what you could as you quietly walked over and sat beside him. 

Hunter didn’t flinch or react as you took your seat, he knew you were there, but he’d rather focus on the horizon, at the moment.

It was almost half an hour later, when you finally spoke up, “You okay? Caught you staring off into space again.”

His face turned to look at you, doing his best to give you a smile, even if it was half hearted. 

“I’m fine.”

It had been his go-to response lately. Everything was either ‘I’m fine,’ ‘I’m okay,’ or ‘I’m just tired.’ Honestly, you had to keep reminding yourself not to get upset with him, he and his family had been through a lot. More than most families and it didn’t help if all you were going to do was nag him. 

So you did what needed to be done. Find a way to get him talking. Whether you two would still remain friends after this conversation, was yet to be seen. But he needed this, whether he admitted it or not. 

“It’s not your fault you know,” you rested your clasped hands on the table as you looked at him.

“What’s not?”

“Losing Tech, Omega getting captured or even Crosshair choosing to stay with Empire for as long as he did before leaving them.”

He let out a vexed noise, “It is.”

“It’s not.” You told him emphatically. 

“You weren’t there.” 

His eyes narrowed as you talked about the unspoken topic that was never to be mentioned between the two of you. He knew you cared, it was evident by how you took care of them. Ever since they moved into the house beside yours, you were quick to offer any assistance. Helping Omega, cooking dinner, even giving a listening ear to whoever needed it and keeping what you had learned to yourself. 

However, he didn’t want you to be tainted with his failures. He wanted you to remain separate. 

“You’re right.” You nodded, as your eyes focused on the sunset, “I wasn’t there, but you know who was?” I turned to look at him and smiled, “Wrecker, Omega, Echo and Tech. I’ve spoken with Wrecker, Omega and Echo, and each one of them said Tech made a choice. It was a difficult situation and it was either he delayed the inevitable and you all got captured or killed, or … he’d make the ultimate sacrifice to ensure his family survived.” 

You reached over and took Hunter’s hand in yours, “Considering who Tech … was, do you think he would’ve been happy knowing you would’ve been captured because of him?”

He shook his head, as he let out a choked laugh, “No. No, he would’ve made us go over the scenario a thousand times to make sure we never let that happen again, and then he would’ve come up with a plan to enforce that.”

“And would he have blamed you for going to the outpost you went just to find information on Crosshair?”

“No. He … he was the first one to suggest it.”

You nodded, tightening your hold on his hand, “Then would it be right to say it was your fault? I mean Tech made the ultimate sacrifice for his family, that’s commendible and honourable. Don’t cheapen his sacrifice with your guilt.”

Hunter let out a long sigh as his free hand ran down his face, “If only it were that easy.”

“I know, it’s easy for someone like me … an outsider … to look in and tell you what you need to do; but as the person who lived it,” you smiled as you looked at him, “… you can just tell me to shut up and just hold your hand.” 

A small smile of understanding appeared on your face as you offered it to Hunter. 

“I’d never tell you to shut up.”

“Maybe I haven’t irritated you enough, yet.” You looked into his eyes letting him know you were there, as you squeezed his hand, “Hunter, nothing that happened was your fault. Omega getting captured was as Echo put it ‘an overwhelming amount of force.’ Crosshair choosing to join the Empire was no more your fault, than him choosing to leave the Empire.” You reached over brushing his hair back and tucking it behind his ear, as you cupped his cheek. “You can’t take on people’s choices or circumstances beyond your control, simply because you’re a Sergeant, or were a Sergeant. Life gives you no karking choice but to play the cards you’re dealt, and I for one, am glad you guys found your way into my life.”

He leaned into your hand holding it against his cheek, “Your friendship means more to me than you know.”

You smiled as you looked into his eyes, “I know. Your friendship means a lot too. Just … promise me, you’ll talk to me when you’re letting your emotions overwhelm you. If not me, at least someone. Please?”

“Alright, mesh’la. I promise.”

Hunter’s smile grew as he kept looking at you, even as you pulled your hand away. He’d been holding off on telling you how he felt for so long. However, he couldn’t hold back anymore, he was going to tell you.

“You know, one of these days, you’re going to have to tell me what mesh-a-la means.”

“I will,” he leaned forward, keeping your hand in his, “I promise.”

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