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ayaboba · 5 months

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WELCOME TO MY HEART

summary: how has loving you changed him?

characters: neuvillette, alhaitham, diluc, xiao. (seperate)

notes: gn! reader, fluff, getting poetic in xiao, weird time skips. wc: 2k!

neuvillette

Hesitancy lingers like a translucent mist around Neuvillette. Thick, but also not thick enough to be indiscernible. As centuries tick by, soon enough, that protective mist wanes into nothing but a fragile facade that threatens to vaporise. That outcome is most unfavourable; simply visualising it already causes a spike in distress in his chest.

Fast forward a few 'scenic meetings’ later, Neuvillette wonders where that mist disappeared off to.

He needn’t put up a missing poster with a contact number because, shockingly, the Chief Justice no longer desired that prudential coverage.

You evaporated Neuvillette’s final layer of defence, stripped his rationality with unwavering strength of character, and erased any uneasiness within the language of love.

Throughout your shared timeline, every point marked with a memorable moment, there are many small aspects about each other that only the continuation of time can reveal. It’s as sweet as it sounds, unless, well, the other finds out about something you did try to conceal.

Sometimes you think to yourself: Who knew the Monsieur Neuvillette could be so…earnest in seeing you flustered?

Truly, there are only very few opportunities Neuvillette would starve himself from such delight. The other times, though, they consist of your rose-tinted cheeks and his charmed chuckle, florid promises ending with a trail of marks of his love down the slope of your neck.

Neuvillette is quite the bold one. Far too cheeky for his own good, really.

alhaitham

It was a warm memory. Still as vivid as ever, despite the years that have passed. A golden tattoo, activated whenever the dazzling drops of summer sunshine radiated down.

Three years ago, summer, the Akedemiya.

Heatwaves weren’t a rare occurrence in Sumeru. For weeks on end, the city of wisdom experienced boiling highs and dry, scorching winds. The streets were empty as shopkeepers resorted to staying under the cool of shaded roofs. That was the correct response, the only response to such situations.

Yet, there were still people willing to test your limited patience even more.

“We’re going to get a heatstroke,” you explained to each member of your darshan. “We can postpone the field trip to the desert some other day.”

“But this weather is indefinite, and knowing Sumeru, it is going to last a very long time. We can’t afford to waste time,” someone argued as nods of agreement travelled across the table.

Wow, you huffed to yourself, sitting yourself down. You were doing this for their own good, and partly yours.

“We should go ahead with the trip,” said the agitating, raucous noise again as a cacophony of voices arose in agreement. Maybe he should be in charge, then. As if you wanted to cancel this trip, you’ve spent endless nights planning the perfect itinerary! Also, the last time you remembered, you were appointed leader of this whole excursion.

“Facing the facts, there’s no traces of concrete evidence that our planned area holds the ruins,” you declared as the table fell silent. “Theoretically, we have more to lose than gain.”

“We’ve already decided,” came another voice. Archons, these people were going to be the end of you. “We’re still going to go next week.”

You came to the conclusion that, to knock some sense into their brains, you needed someone more intimating to interfere.

“…You want me to be pretend to collapse from a severe heatstroke?” the (acting!) grand sage repeated, not even attempting to conceal his bewilderment. “And, preferably, making it look as dramatic and exaggerated as possible?”

At the other end of his desk, you nodded with faux solemnity. “I’m afraid so.”

“Afraid so?” Alhaitham humours. “Everything from your…request to your actions betrays that.”

In the end, you didn’t manage to convince Alhaitham to put on a show showcasing the risks and dangers of heatwaves and heatstrokes, but he did agree to go out for lunch. To negotiate alternatives, of course.

After that lunch, he asked for your presence for dinner, and after dinner, you found yourself making breakfast at Alhaitham’s place.

“Since when did you come over so much?” you asked, sleep clearly clinging to your senses. “Last time I remember, I was waiting by your office door waiting to sneak in ten minutes of your time.”

The coffee he freshly brewed threatens to burst from the confinement of his mouth as he stares at you with a curious expression. “This is my house.”

The realisation spreads through your face like ink in water as you glance at the surroundings. “Oh yeah…that’s right.”

Alhaitham subtly rolls his eyes, letting out a lighthearted tsk as he disappears off into the kitchen. “Do you feel like going to Gandharva Ville in the evening?” he asks, the clatter of dishes echoing through the lounge. “You were groaning over how you hadn’t seen Collei and Tighnari in ages a few days ago.”

He remembered that? You gawk to yourself, mouth and eyes wide open as you trod towards the sunshine of the kitchen . Moreover, he certainly wanted to go. Since when did Alhaitham suggest you leave the house for purposes such as catching up with friends?

“I’d love to,” you answer as you help him load the dishwasher. “You beat me to it.”

A soft smile imperceptibly brightens his face, casting you in slight awe. “What? You don’t think I disregard your desires just like that, do you?”

Alhaitham is the hopelessly romantic one. Those intricate plans he sets up for your happiness are nowhere as simple-minded as he plays them out to be.

diluc

There was always something peculiar about Diluc Ragnvindr. The snarky remarks about the Knights of Favonius’ poor service, which you found highly offensive in the presence of an employee (you), the genuine air of mystery he upheld, but the most interesting thing you were desperate to crack down on was his frosty distaste for the Cavalry Captain, your co-worker, Kaeya.

As far as you knew, Kaeya was a lovely co-worker. considerate, dedicated and reliable, he was an admirable worker. You didn’t understand why Diluc didn’t applaud him for his discipline renowned throughout the city, especially if he was continuously murmuring about the incompetence of the staff.

Amidst the possible explanations, you came to the conclusion that the unwelcoming atmosphere stemmed from something more personal. Jealously? Past disagreements? No, that couldn’t be. They didn’t appear the closest.

Little did you know that all you needed to do was ask. Not really, but you get the idea.

“You…want to talk to Diluc?” Kaeya spluttered, wide-eyed at your determined face, before moving his gaze towards Angel Share’s bartender with a smirk. “Ah, I see what’s going on.”

“You’re very far off, by the way,” you replied silkily, taking a sip of the apple juice. “I’m not interested in him romantically, if that’s what you were thinking.”

Kaeya raises an eyebrow. “If not romantically, then what could you possibly talk to him about?”

You shrug, making a beeline for the counter. “Thanks for the drink.”

Diluc had caught the words, ‘interested in him romantically.’

According to those four words he heard from you, the context of you and Kaeya’s conversation could already be visualised.

For someone who seemed to be interested in him, your choice of words regarding his interest in you were a little all over the place. So, he assisted you.

“How about we discuss this over dinner?”

Sometimes, you think to yourself, how did this ever happen?

For example, the weak beams of lighting from the east signify that it’s the birth of dawn, your neatly tucked in bed, except this bed isn’t actually yours.

The evidence lies with the person’s arms around your waist, tight and warm against the chills of early morning.

“Good morning,” a sleepy voice suddenly erupts from besides you. “Have I told you how even more striking you are in the sunlight?”

Diluc Ragnvindir is the passionate one—the one who would give you his heart if you asked. In some ways, he’s still as mysterious as the first time you laid eyes on him.

xiao

The moon is the muse for thousands of people. Whether it’s written in a rhyme, painted on a canvas, sung in a song or resonated with a soul, it has immersed itself in the complex depths of the sensitive human heart.

There’s a particular interpretation that has stuck with you since the first time you read it. A lyrical piece of literature from somewhere long lost. You were especially tired that night. A most unlucky dilemma, as it might’ve guaranteed to be one of the most critical and serendipitous nights of your life. Not that you knew at the time.

From that somewhere long lost, between the rolling tides of shadows, tucked away in the safety of peaking mountains, a mysterious figure observed with curiousity at your sentiment.

However, the discreetness of Xiao’s hiding spot was tested most instantaneously when you suddenly made a decision to look up. To the sky, or to him? Truthfully, you were actually aiming for the moon, but the pounding chambers of his chest crashed his steaming trains of thought.

He had to restrain himself from investigating further as your figure dissolved one by one into the night. Maybe you'll be there again tomorrow.

What started off as a little exchange of words soon blossomed into short conversations. Short conversations soon bloomed into a gap in time filled with occasional laughter and encouraging smiles. He learned your name, and you learned his secrets. Vicious, woeful secrets plaguing his dreams, or perhaps the title of nightmares suited it better.

On their own, the characteristics were incessant in disaster. Fusing those characteristics with centuries of solitude and emptiness, it assisted in further igniting the raging fire burning away his will.

The idea of somehow unravelling those years of pain seemed so clearly impossible, even if that person felt like they had a chance. Even if they felt just the tiniest bit more special than all the others.

“Some things are impossible,” Xiao had muttered as he watched you go through an assortment of books he lended from Verr Goldet, eyes flickering from your face to the yellowing pages. “It’s better to admit that than spend years searching for hope.”

Skimming through the columns of ancient literature, a strong feeling of suspicion arose as you distinctively felt like he'd seen you do this once before.

“But what if you find the hope?” you whispered gently, switching your attention to his avoidant gaze. “There’s always that outcome, too.”

That outcome. Of course he’s considered that conclusion, wished for it. But Xiao would never dare to believe that far.

“I read a poem a few nights ago,” you started again. “A comparison of us and the moon. Humans, just like the moon, need to wax and wane. We’ll grow and shine our beauty, but that can’t be achieved unless we remember to rest, to wane. After all, a full moon only lasts around three days out of a whole month.”

How can you just return to reading after you told him that?

That moon analogy was shared about a year ago.

It’s likely that you brushed it off, but for Xiao, it’s still freshly etched into the shelves of his mind. And it would be a lie if he said that he didn’t change in small, irrevocable ways because of it.

Particularly tonight.

An exhausted sigh escapes from your lips as you sink into bed. Lying like a starfish, a hollow expression is evident in your eyes alone.

“This project is never going to work,” you spoke, turning to stuff your face in a pillow. Adjacent to you, Xiao observed as you screamed, once again the same words into the fabric. Only this time, the words were separated by sharp heaves and quiet sniffs. Being a little inexperienced with scenarios such as this, Xiao could only reassure you with the same words and actions that you had endlessly showered him with in similar situations.

He knew you were listening, despite the softness of his voice, which was hardly detectable. He repeated the words you told him a year ago when he felt as if the world was about to end.

“Someone once told me humans and moons are alike,” he smiled as he saw your face lift just a bit, as if you couldn’t believe what he was saying. “We both need to wane before we can emit our light in full greatness.”

Xiao is the quiet one, whose love is often under-looked, but in truth, it’s expressed just as vividly, if not brighter.

#genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #neuvillette x reader #alhaitham x reader #diluc x reader #xiao x reader #anya writes ✧.*

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munson-blurbs · 4 months

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Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: You once again found yourself face-to-face with Eddie not even twenty-four hours after he checked into the motel, and your interactions left you with more questions than answers. (3.8k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, grumpy Eddie, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter two: here today

Bzzzzzz!

Your alarm clock blared its tinny ring at 1 PM. The sun was bright, a welcome change from yesterday’s overcast skies and steady rainfall.

You stretched as you awoke before shedding your oversized shirt and shorts, padding over to the shower and waiting a full five minutes for the cold water to turn lukewarm. The thinning bar of soap formed sad suds in your palm, and you lathered your skin as best as you could.

Despite your best efforts, you kept thinking about your encounter last night—that morning, really—with Eddie Munson. There was a cocky edge to him, evident by his initial refusal to put out his joint, but at least a shred of humanity; after all, he did eventually comply. There was even a semblance of…something that’d you’d shared in your brief interaction.

Or maybe it was just your imagination, the summation of your exhaustion and his high.

The towel scratched as you dried the water droplets from your bare skin, and though the cloth dampened, you could have sworn that it wasn’t wicking any moisture. Dad had been saying for years that he’ll invest in new linens “as soon as business picks up.” But business never picked up enough to do anything more than barely break even for the year, so the ancient towels stayed.

Picking the lint off of your purple T-shirt, you tucked it into your jeans and shoved your feet into your sneakers without bothering to unlace them first. One look in the mirror determined that you definitely needed makeup to look half-decent, or at least awake. There was no earthly way you would sacrifice a minute of precious sleep, so you swiped on some mascara in favor of an intricate routine and quickly fixed your hair.

You plucked a granola bar from the stash on your dresser: your usual breakfast, tossed into your backpack as you headed out the door towards the lobby. The bus would be arriving in about five minutes, giving you just enough time to get to the stop before the doors closed. Barring any traffic, it followed a consistent schedule; one of the few certainties in life.

“Hi Dad; bye Dad,” you called out, stopping in your tracks when you saw an obviously irritated Eddie standing in front of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest and his foot anxiously tapping. At least he was fully dressed this time, clad in a faded band t-shirt, ripped jeans, and the same denim jacket he was wearing last night when he’d first walked in. “Everything okay?”

Dad motioned to Eddie. “Our guest is having some issues with his TV,” he said, his raised eyebrows indicating that the guest was being quite persistent about the matter. “Can you help him?” Before you could answer, he looked at Eddie and explained, “my daughter’s better with this technology stuff than I am.”

There was a temptation to argue that it was probably just a matter of smacking the side or replacing the remote batteries, but you didn’t have time to waste. “Yeah, sure,” you relented, turning to Eddie and waving him over. “Come on.”

Eddie waited to speak until the two of you were completely alone. “That was your dad?”

You nodded, shoving your hands in your pockets and keeping your walking pace until you reached his room.

“So what’s the problem?” you asked as he turned the key in the lock. It stuck for a moment before it fully unlatched, and he opened the door with a shove.

“The reception’s shit,” Eddie muttered, keeping his fingers splayed on the door so you could walk in first. “Every time I try to put on MTV, it’s all static. Tried it last night, too, but I figured it was because of the storm.” He gestured to the now-sunny skies. “But that shouldn’t be affecting it anymore.”

You offered a wry smile, the way you always did when delivering bad news to a guest. “Nothing’s wrong with the reception,” you explained, “there’s just no cable.”

“What?” His brows shot up in disbelief. “How is that even possible?”

“It’s simple.” You shrugged. “Cable costs money, we don’t have money; ergo, no cable.”

Eddie raked a hand through his messy curls. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” His feet could have worn holes in the floor with the way he was pacing. “Where can I watch MTV around here? Like, is there a bar or something?”

“Yeah, I mean, there’s one right down the—” You turned to the window but stopped mid-sentence, your stomach sinking as you watched your bus fly past. You heaved a dejected sigh as tears prickled at your eyes embarrassingly, and you blinked them away.

It’s okay; I haven’t been late at all this semester, you silently reminded yourself. You could take one of the dollar cabs that runs up and down Jamaica Avenue. It wouldn’t get you exactly where you needed to go, but it would be close enough.

Eddie remained oblivious to your inner turmoil, eyes trained on the TV. “Fuck,” he grumbled, sucking through his teeth.

“The clock radio plays music,” you offered as you hiked your backpack higher up on your shoulder. “I know it’s not the same as watching videos, but–”

“It’s not about the stupid videos!” he snapped, curling his palm into a tight fist and biting down on his forefinger knuckle. Dark eyes exuded distress, and you couldn’t help but think that his sheer panic mismatched the problem’s minimal severity.

You recoiled at his sudden outburst and took an instinctive step back. He noticed this, his expression instantly softening. His hand unfurled and fell to his side.

“Shit, I–”

“I’m gonna be late to class.” You composed yourself, straightening your posture and forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “But the bar is right on 144th and 89th.”

He sputtered as he searched for the right words to apologize and explain himself. If you had time, you’d wait for him to unscramble his thoughts, but you were already behind schedule now that your bus was long gone.

You strode across campus like you were on a mission, feet flying over the pavement. The cab had left you at another bus stop closer to school, and that bus had thankfully arrived on schedule. At this rate, you would only be ten minutes late to class.

Sweat trickled down your back from midday sun’s warmth and your fast pace, but you kept walking until you reached the lecture hall’s double doors. This class was a smaller one, only twenty or so students, so there was no sneaking in unnoticed.

You shot your professor an apologetic look that she accepted with a polite nod, sliding into your usual seat next to your friend Nora.

“Is everything okay?” Nora whispered, moving her own bag from the chair. The concern on her face was palpable; if you weren’t able to make it to class, you would have called her.

“Yeah, just stuff at the motel going haywire as usual,” you reassured her with a small smile, digging out your notebook and a pen. You flipped to the first blank page and scribbled today’s date next to the right-hand margin. “What did I miss?”

Nora shook her head as if to say, nothing. “She just gave back last week’s homework. I grabbed yours, too.” She handed you a sheet of paper with a bright red A+ on top. “I figured if something had happened to you, you could be buried with your most recent perfect paper.”

She winked, and you rolled your eyes to mask your burgeoning pride.

Truthfully, you’d worked hard on the assignment. You might have already been accepted to graduate school, but NYU’s prestige didn’t come without a hefty price tag, and you still needed to apply for scholarships in order to afford it.

Now was not the time to slack.

You tried to pay attention to the lecture, but your mind constantly drifted to the way Eddie had behaved in his room, having a meltdown like an overtired toddler. The man who had lost his temper over a television channel was starkly different from the one who had readily swapped playful jabs with you the night prior.

Maybe whatever buzz he’d managed to acquire before you’d interrupted him had made him uncharacteristically pleasant, and today’s outburst was indicative of his true self.

You bit the inside of your cheek and willed yourself to focus on the case study being presented on the board rather than your own personal Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Try as you might, you couldn’t shake the mystery that was Eddie Munson. Guests had had their choice words with you before—there was a reason why you had pepper spray at the ready—but this felt different. When most guests screamed like he had, they were specifically angry at you; it was the reaction you had expected when you’d told Eddie that he couldn’t smoke pot in the motel. Others simply were not in their right minds and didn’t realize that they were shouting at a random woman and not their mom or childhood bully or the monster under the bed.

Eddie differed from both categories in that he’d recognized his mistake. That he was frustrated at the situation, not at you. That he had started an apology that he might have finished If you had stuck around.

Or maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe he would have continued yelling, face growing red with rage. Maybe he would have stopped his tantrum but stormed out to the bar without a second thought.

You looked down at your notebook page, still blank except for the date.

Maybe you should stop playing this game of what-ifs and actually listen to the lecture.

After your professor handed out the rubric for the final paper and dismissed the class, you and Nora made a beeline for the food cart outside the building. Dining hall food was too expensive and bland; besides, Niko knew both of your orders by heart.

He greeted you with a chipper smile as soon as you approached the cart. Bacon sizzled in its own fat, drowned out only by the sound of the chopper scraping against stainless steel as Niko scrambled the eggs.

“Better enjoy this nice weather while it lasts,” he said, fuzzy gray brows pinching together. He grabbed two styrofoam cups from a stack and filled them with coffee. “Temperature’s s’posed to skyrocket this summer.”

You grimaced, pulling a few bills from your backpack’s front pouch. “If food service doesn’t work out for you, Niko, you should look into meteorology.”

He brushed off your sarcasm and adjusted his apron over his protruding belly. He added cream and sugar to the coffees and slid them towards you. “Been doin’ this a long time,” he said, gesturing to the food cart set-up. He took your four singles and handed you back two quarters, doing the same for Nora. “Longer than you two’ve been alive. And some things never change: you kids always have somethin’ smart to say.”

Your mouth watered as he toasted the rolls and added a slice of American cheese to yours before combining the ingredients into hearty sandwiches. He carefully wrapped them in tinfoil and handed them over.

You smiled, uncovered the sandwich, and took a hearty bite. Melty cheese oozed out from the roll and clung to your lip, and you collected it with the tip of your tongue. “At least we’re consistent,” you teased, waving goodbye as you and Nora walked to the bus stop.

“What went down at the motel today?” Nora asked, chewing her food as she spoke. “I mean, I’ve seen you get to class early during a blizzard,” she added with a knowing grin.

You remembered that day, February winds whipping around you and cutting through your layers of clothes like a knife. The snow stung your nose and cheeks and made it nearly impossible to see three feet ahead of you, but you’d made it to class before the professor had even arrived.

“Nothing really,” you tried to say nonchalantly, taking another bite of sandwich to keep your mouth busy. You don’t want to think about the way Eddie had raised his voice at you this afternoon; more specifically, the shame that tugged at you for being disappointed. You’d had one decent interaction with him and you’d foolishly assumed some kind of mutual respect had been built, but it all boiled down to the basics: he was a guest at the motel who would be checking out on Friday, and then you’d never see him again.

Nora wrinkled her nose, not quite believing you, but any further interrogation was interrupted by the bus squeaking to a stop. You dropped the five quarters into the tray before squeezing your way through the aisle.

“Just…” Nora dropped her voice to avoid drawing the ire of your fellow commuters, grabbing onto a pole to steady herself, “you didn’t need to break out the pepper spray or anything, right?”

You gave her a grateful smile. “Nothing like that. I promise.”

“Good.” She reached over and gave your hand a small squeeze, careful not to brush up against anyone else. “Because I need my study buddy in one piece.”

“I’m fi—” The bus lurched forward suddenly, the driver slamming on the brakes just as the yellow light turned red. You tightened your grip on the pole and planted your feet into the floor to keep your balance until coming to a complete stop. The other passengers grumbled and groaned as they shifted, leaving trails of mumbled sorry’s in their wake.

The Metropolitan Transit Authority would likely cause your demise well before any motel guest could get to you.

It was barely after six PM when you got back to the motel. The sun began to creep down from its pedestal into purpling clouds and teased dusk’s beginning. Horns honked as rush hour traffic dragged along the expressway as though their cacophony would make the other cars evaporate into thin air.

You had about four hours before your shift started; it was just enough time to work on the paper, take a quick nap, and boil water in your electric kettle to make some Cup Noodles.

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Eddie leaning against the wall, a cigarette burning between his pointer and middle finger. It was freshly lit, but he still extinguished it under his foot before stepping closer to you. His brown eyes flickered from the ground to your face and back down again.

“Hi.” Short but polite, your customer-service smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. You could see Mom through the glass door, leafing through paperwork that was almost certainly a stack of past-due bills.

Eddie shoved his hands in his pockets, scuffing one Reeboked heel against the pavement. “I went to that bar you told me about.” He said it all in one breath as though he expected you to take off running.

“Oh.” One corner of your mouth quirked up in a hesitant half-smile. “Did you, um, did you get to watch your show?”

He nodded, a forlorn look clouding his eyes. His right incisor dug into his lower lip. “Yeah. Thanks.” He paused, and you started for the door once again before he spoke up. “Sorry, I—you said you had a class today?” he asked, clumsily tripping over his words.

There was no sense in lying; not with your backpack hooked over your shoulders. “Mhm.”

“Were you…” His tongue swiped nervously over his lips. “Did I make you late?”

You shook your head. “I got a dollar cab.” Not quite a lie, just omitting the truth. At this point, you were willing to let him smoke weed again if it’d result in easy conversation.

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek, head tilted slightly as he assessed your response. He seemingly accepted it at face value, exhaling a quiet, “that’s good,” and fumbling in his pocket for another cigarette.

You took that as your cue to leave and ducked into the lobby to greet your mom with a quick wave. She returned it with a weary smile, eyes creased at the corners. The soft lines etched into her forehead had deepened over the past few months. The Reagan-Bush trickle-down economy era might have come to an end, but its remnants still affected small businesses and the even smaller people running them.

“How was class?”

“Good.”

The usual exchange, no real information revealed. The mother-daughter song-and-dance performance of the ages. As long as neither of you disrupted the routine, the music played on.

Ten PM rolled around too quickly, and you plodded into the lobby with a stomach full of sodium-drenched noodles and your tote bag full of books. A street light flickered outside, more off than on, illuminating the sidewalk in a hazy glow every so often.

Mom handed over the register keys and placed a kiss on your cheek before she left to go to bed in the room she shared with Dad. Nighttime was the only time they got to be together uninterrupted, and it was spent sleeping.

That wasn’t what you wanted. When–if–you found somebody to share your life with, you wanted to have conversations with topics besides financial upkeep. You wanted to talk about meaningless topics and make each other laugh. You wanted to lay with your head on their lap, gazing into their eyes and revering in the beautiful silence. Nothing forced or planned. Just being.

You positioned yourself behind the desk, spreading your supplies in front of you. You’d managed to draft the opening paragraph for your essay before sleepiness overtook you and you’d had to nap, and your goal tonight was to revise it to perfection. The upcoming weekend would be spent at the public library, nose deeply buried in every psychology book they owned while you outlined the body.

Red pen marked up your page, commas added and removed three times over. Arrows shifted sentence order, while some sentences were altogether crossed out with heavy lines.

It was perfect. It was all wrong. You loved it. You hated it.

Maybe I should scrap it altogether and start over.

Your palm pressed to the notebook page, ready to tear it out and crumple it into a ball with jagged edges that would dig into your skin.

“Hey.”

In your intense focus, you hadn’t even heard anyone walk in. A rookie mistake; somebody could have snuck up on you and you’d be none the wiser.

Eddie stood there, a folded one-dollar peering out from between his thumb and forefinger. He shuffled to the desk and held out the money, his eyes offering a silent apology.

“I owe you for the, uh, cab,” he mumbled, lips forming a tight, nervous smile. “And don’t argue with me. I know my bullshit made you late, so…” He flitted his free hand as if dismissing potential concern.

You clicked your tongue in mock disapproval. “You’re not from New York City, are you?”

Eddie shook his head with a laugh, fingers scratching at a stubbled patch along his cheek. “How’d ya know?”

“A New York man knows better than to tell a New York woman not to argue with him,” you teased, capping your pen. “Also, you tried starting a conversation with me earlier, and any New Yorker knows that’s a cardinal sin.”

“Having a conversation?”

“Making small talk with a stranger.”

His nose crinkled in adorable bewilderment as though the thought never occurred to him. “We’re not strangers. We met last night.”

The innocence of his remark drew a genuine laugh out of you. “I see the same people on the bus every day,” you told him, “and they’re still strangers. Being more than mildly aware of someone's existence doesn’t mean I know them.”

“Fair point,” Eddie conceded, leaning in slightly, “but I’d argue that we know each other’s names, so we’re not total strangers.”

Humming your acknowledgment–but not necessarily agreement–you plucked the dollar from his grasp and tucked it into your back pocket. “I’ll put this towards your bill.”

“Oh, yeah. About that.” Eddie cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Are there any pawn shops around here that’ll buy a guitar?”

“No, sorry.” There had been one down the street but it had already been shuttered for a few years. Guests would go there all the time to hock whatever they could to pay for another night at the motel.

He let out a long, disappointed sigh. “Shit. Okay.” The playfulness behind his eyes faded. “Um, thanks anyway.”

He turned away from the desk, shoulders slumped. You knew that look all too well; it was the stance of someone who just needed life to cut them a break.

“Eddie?”

He swiveled back around, his curls a half-second behind. “Yeah?”

“Do you know how to re-wallpaper a room?”

“Huh?” Your question caught him by surprise, and he took a moment to collect himself. “I mean, yeah, kind of. I did it for my uncle’s trailer once. But I’m not, like, a professional.”

You smiled. “No professional experience necessary.” You gestured to the various spots on the wall where the paper was cracked and peeled. “If you can make this look presentable, you can stay a few more days. Free of charge.”

His expression immediately darkened, eyes narrowing and crossed arms closing off his body. “I don’t need charity,” he asserted through a tensed jaw.

“It’s not charity; it’s a favor.” The harsh reaction caught you off-guard, but you refused to let him unsettle you again. “Look around: do you really think we can afford to hire someone to install new wallpaper?”

You didn’t bother to wait for his response before continuing. “We need to fix this place up, and you need a roof over your head.” Shrugging casually, you held onto the hope that he would also view this as a mutually beneficial offer and not a pity handout.

Eddie just scoffed, a rejection in itself, compounded with a growling reprise: “I said, I don’t need charity.”

Spikes jutted out from his words and pinched your skin, each one a reminder of your uncanny ability to worsen every problem you tried to solve.

Offering a job to someone you barely knew? He gave you a buck to pay for the cab you only had to take because of him—not exactly the best character statement. The man could be a serial killer who preys on low-budget motel owners and you’d be none the wiser, signing his checks like you weren’t his next victim.

Maybe next week, you could hire Ted Bundy to change bed linens.

“Understood.”

He looked at you so intensely his pupils should have bored a hole right through you. Behind his eyes wasn’t an ounce of hate or even anger.

It was raw shame.

I’m sorry got caught in your throat and didn’t reach your tongue until he had disappeared back down the hall, out of sight.

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @chrissymjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @reidsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @bewitchedmunson @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #lam

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nochukoo97 · 8 months

Text

boyfriend drabbles (pt.30)

pairing: jungkook x oc

summary: the one where you’re jungkook’s pillar of support

word count: 700+

boyfriend drabbles masterlist!

You watch from the corner of the practice as your boyfriend huffs in frustration for the third time within the last five minutes. The current dance routine he had been learning consisted of complex and intricate moves causing his patience to be tested. Jungkook’s once enthusiastic and confident demeanour was now replaced by his furrowed eyebrows and slumped shoulders.

Jungkook always took great pride in what he did, making sure that he gave his 100% effort, that he perfected and learnt things quickly. Yet this same trait your boyfriend carried came with its downsides.

Today was a clear example of how affected Jungkook was whenever he did not pick stuff up as quickly as he normally would, or if it took more correction than usual for him to perfect a dance move.

His dance teacher, noticing his growing frustration, steps in with a reassuring pat on the back and encourages Jungkook to take a short break and hydrate. Jungkook nods in acknowledgment and wearily makes his way over to where you're sitting. You offer him a sympathetic smile as you hand him his water bottle, watching as he slumps down beside you and lets out another sigh of frustration.

“It’s okay,” You whisper, reaching out to swipe a strand of hair away from his face, “You’re frustrated, don’t be too hard on yourself,”

Jungkook shakes his head, clearly too engrossed in his frustration to fully absorb your comforting words. As appreciative as he is of your support, he finds it difficult to accept it when he's in this state of mind.

“I don’t know what’s up with me today,” He confesses with a sigh, “I was fine and making good progress yesterday,”

Your eyes fill with concern as his head hangs low, his distress evident. Jungkook has always been his harshest critic, and the weight of public expectations only adds to the pressure he places on himself.

“You wanna take a breather outside? Maybe some fresh air can clear your mind a little,” You offer him, stretching a hand out.

He doesn’t say much, only hums in response as he links his hand with yours, standing up and walking with you out the practice room.

When the both of you reach the outdoor area on the floor of the building, your boyfriend reaches into his pocket and fetches out a familiar box.

He pulls a cigarette out and lights it. You shoot him a warning glance, but he meets your gaze with a softened expression.

“Promise this is the only one, just need some relief,” He assures you, and you reluctantly grant him this concession.

As you chat about your day, Jungkook opens up more about his frustrations, and you listen attentively, offering your thoughts and support. You watch as he takes another drag from the cigarette, turning his head to avoid blowing the smoke in your direction.

Finally, you decide it's enough, gently taking the cigarette from his hand and extinguishing it on the ground before stomping it out. Jungkook doesn't protest, instead pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around you.

“Ready to go back?” You ask after a period of silence, head tilting up to meet his gaze.

Jungkook nods, quickly leaning down to softly peck your lips, whispering, “Thank you,” He offers a small smile before linking his hand with yours, heading back in.

Throughout the rest of his dance practice, Jungkook definitely felt better, although the pace was still slower than usual, your subtle reminders and gestures to him pushed him through it.

“You did well today,” You praise as he sits panting next to you on the floor, letting you use a cloth to wipe the sweat away from his face. His eyes light up at the compliment, leaning towards you to kiss you affectionately.

“All thanks to you,” He muses, a hint of playfulness in his voice, “Or else I might have just fallen apart,”

A genuine laugh escapes his mouth, contrasting to his earlier frustrations. You make it a point to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and offer a warm smile.

“When we go back we can take a long bath together?” You offer, and Jungkook immediately lights up at the offer, nodding enthusiastically as he grabs his bags and packs up, making you chuckle at his antics.

taglist!: @imlyfie @jksgirlhere @laylasbunbunny @borahaexoxo @jklvrs-world

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #jungkook ff #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #bts ff #bts #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagines #boyfriend jungkook #jungkook scenario #jungkook scenarios

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indigovigilance · 9 months

Text

The Erasure of Human!Metatron

The elephant in the room is that Neil has [purportedly] denied the existence of a human Metatron. But I, for one, think an elephant really ties the room together. So let's get started.

First, I will address Neil Gaiman’s apparent denial of the Human!Metatron storyline (below the cut):

Caption: The Metatron in Good Omens wasn't ever human.

Which would seem to put the debate to bed.

Except.

Caption: That’s not really his father. It is. It is now, and it always was.

By Adam renouncing Satan as his father, we have in-story canon evidence that the past can be retroactively changed. So a storyline past can be divergent from an in-world past which has been modified. But only to a degree, because Aziraphale and Crowley clearly remember that Adam ~was~ Satan’s son, and Adam still retains some residual powers. Like pencil marks on paper, the past can be erased, but the shadow of its former self will always be there. But if that's not enough for you, there's also...

Lucifer!Satan

Neil Gaiman has also been pretty consistent with this characterization about the non-existence of the past in other characters, for example Lucifer!Satan:

Basically (not to be rude), if you think that these statements can be taken to mean that we will definitely not get a story about Enoch aka Human!Metatron in S3, you have fundamentally misunderstood how time, history, and identity work in Neil Gaiman’s Good Omens universe.

So what Neil said about Metatron never being human… can we just collectively set that aside for a moment?

Caption: Work with me, I’m extrapolating here. Yes? Good. Read the rest of the meta.

Evidence of Human!Metatron

Now that we have established that a former, no-longer-existing version of Metatron could have been human, let’s examine the in-world evidence. The best direct evidence is:

Caption: I’ve ingested things in my time, you know.

This is weirdly important in the Book of Enoch. Food is mentioned in the Book of Enoch at least fourteen times, and consistently it is associated with being human, and having earthly desires, and subsequently with sin, whereas the angels are described as not needing to eat food but instead being nourished by faith alone. Enoch!Metatron’s own relationship with food is also explicitly elucidated:

Enoch answered to his son Mathosalam (and) said: Hear, child, from the time when the Lord anointed me with the ointment of his glory, (there has been no) food in me, and my soul remembers not earthly enjoyment, neither do I want anything earthly.

I propose that "in my time" is a direct reference to Metatron's prior existence as a human, and the fact that this time is over serves to underscore his current inhumanity, making him all the more sinister.

Other Evidence Pointing to Book of Enoch

This next bit is somewhat dubious evidence, but the entire reason I wound up investigating this is that I was actually investigating Baraqiel:

…and for the God-fearing life of me, I cannot find any reference to Baraqiel except in the Book of Enoch. So this is a pretty big ✨Clue✨ to just leave hanging out there if it’s not supposed to lead us to this text.

The Scottish Mason

Okay guys, this the part where it all comes unhinged, but I promise the payoff is worth it.

The Book of Enoch was recovered from Ethiopia in 1773 by a Scottish explorer named James Bruce, who also happened to be a Mason. In 1774, upon his return, he was made a Fellow of The Royal Society of Edinburgh. And if this quote doesn’t get you, I don’t know what will:

Amazingly, Bruce brings back not just one copy, nor two, but three! Three copies of this text, which was previously thought to have been lost to the West forever. This inevitably led to all kinds of accusations as to where he had come by them, and more importantly how? Add to this that Bruce was a Mason in one of the most influential lodges, a Bruce descendant, and an imposing physical figure and 6 feet 4 inches tall, with dark red hair and an irascible temper, it is no wonder that so much excitement and mystery surrounded the man. [source]

So, you know, this guy:

In summary:

There are reasons that we should be looking to the Book of Enoch, and the story surrounding its reintroduction to the Western world, as source evidence for Good Omens S3.

If you enjoyed this, you may also like my meta on Baraqiel and Azazel, which draws upon the Book of Enoch.

My original (in retrospect, kind of terrible) Metatron meta is here.

#good omens meta #good omens #good omens 2 #the metatron #metatron #book of enoch #crowley #satan #lucifer #baraqiel #book of life #ivoc #erasure theory

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agustdiv1ne · 9 months

Note

congratulations on 3k!!! can i request beomgyu + the devil wears prada + smut please

NOW SHOWING...

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: smսt

wc: 2.2k

details + warnings: mdni!!!, assistant!beomgyu, boss!mc (girlboss moment), mc is Mean, power imbalance, dom!mc, sub!gyu, oral (f receiving), hair pulling (m receiving), mc calls gyu: good boy, baby (once), gyu experiences slight subdrop but it's ok in the end !

note: thank uuuu ^^ enjoy!!

beomgyu knows next to nothing about fashion. in fact, he has no interest in the subject — that’s more his friend, yeonjun’s, speed — and he’s quite critical of the industry itself, so he’s genuinely unsure why he decided to accept the position of junior assistant to you, the devil herself.

he initially found it hard to believe that you, someone a mere few years older than him, had climbed all the way up to the top of the corporate ladder to become the editor-in-chief of a major fashion magazine. nepotism was his working suspicion, but he quickly realized that you were just that good at your job. fashion is what you live and breathe, it’s what runs through your veins, and while he doesn’t have a particularly keen eye for cohesive style, he can tell that your outfits are intentionally put together. he gets an eyeful of your wardrobe (and, if he’s being truthful, your ass) each day when you come into the office, throwing your designer coat and bag onto his desk without a single glance in his direction. recently, he’s found himself trying harder to curate his own sense of style, though he is not entirely sure why — perhaps he’s seeking approval from you, even if the words you direct towards him are consistently scathing in nature. he kind of likes it, though.

(what can he say, he’s a bit of a masochist.)

he’s well aware that your chronically stoic, unimpressed expression and sharp tongue help you keep everyone pinned under your perfectly manicured thumb. you may not have authority in age, but you sure as hell do in attitude. the whirlwind that the office becomes right before you enter is enough to indicate the sheer amount of influence you hold over his fellow coworkers — and evidently, him as well. it’s fear-based admiration, he thinks. fear, yes, but there is that tiny little part of him that experiences this overwhelming attraction to you as well.

on the bright side, even though his lack of fashion knowledge has gotten him in trouble more often than he’d like to admit, he’s eventually gotten in your good graces, albeit with quite an unorthodox method — one which also satisfies his odd fascination with you.

“tell him that i will not be accepting the girl he sent for that layout. i asked for clean, athletic, and smiley. i received dirty, tired, and drabby— no, i will not be changing my mind. if he does not fix his mistake by tomorrow morning, i will not be working with him in the future,” you sigh on the phone, voice monotone and unaffected despite him kneeling beneath your desk between your legs. this is his master plan: if beomgyu can’t get you to approve of him through his (to be fair, subpar) work as your junior assistant, he’ll just have to prove himself worthy in other ways. please you in other ways.

“so, what i’m hearing is that you want to whore yourself out to me in order to keep your job. what an…interesting proposition,” you had said to him when he’d first come to you with the idea, while he quaked like a leaf in the wind as he sat across from you. your stone-cold face allowed little of your internal state to slip, your eyes scanning over his pressed suit jacket and fashion-forward button up shirt (that he had, admittedly, stolen from yeonjun’s closet that morning). he didn’t expect you to savagely twist his words and throw them back in his face. though once you put it that way, he realized how naïve, how utterly idiotic, it all sounded. his ass was going to be fired and out your office door in t-minus three, two, one—

but then you beckoned him around the desk with a stiletto-shaped, red-painted fingernail, urged him down onto his knees, and spread your legs to reveal thin, lacy black panties beneath your tight, mouth-watering skirt. your expression still hadn’t changed, though your words caused his mouth to water.

“you have five minutes to prove your worth.”

several months have passed since then, and he’s officially demonstrated himself useful to you in ways other than what he was originally hired for. beomgyu finds this type of work far more gratifying than taking calls, cleaning out files, and organizing potential magazine spreads for you to review. he’s sure the his co-workers wonder why someone in such a lowly position spends a significant amount of time in your office with the door shut — but he couldn’t care less about their stares. maybe it’s the sick, perverted crush he’s formed on you that’s talking, but the thought of being used for his body isn’t appalling. rather, it actually really, really turns him on. whenever you call him into his office, he has to suppress a pathetic hard-on and ignore the twitching of his cock while he wonders if you need him for something practical or for…relief.

relief is what you require today, it seems. the slight furrow of your brow is enough to indicate that you’re stressed. being an editor-in-chief at your age is no joke. the job demands all of your time and energy, every waking hour of your day — and he’s grateful that you’ve given him the chance to be your reprieve from the pressure, even if it’s only for a small percentage of your time. sometimes, he wishes he could take up more of your day, bask in your attention for longer, sit beneath your desk for hours and allow you to use him like a stupid sex toy — but at the same time, he thinks this is enough for now.

his teeth dig into his bottom lip as your hands curl into the locks of hair at the crown of his head, pointed nails pressing into his scalp, nipping at the sensitive skin. the gel that slicks back his hair crunches beneath your unrelenting grip, his head stinging as you jerk it back. his eyes nearly roll back into his head at the sensation, a pitiful whine falling from his lips as he feels his trousers grow the slightest bit tighter. narrowed eyes meeting his, you press your mouth into a thin, straight line. the phone is no longer curled between your fingers, attention now fully on him. scrutinizing.

“twenty minutes,” is all you say, and he takes that as his cue to get to work. gently, he slips your skirt off of your legs and lays it out next to him, knowing how much you’d hate for it to wrinkle — it’s unfashionable, trashy. you scolded him the first time he attempted to bunch it up at your hips in haste. now, he knows better, has learned the vast majority of your quirks and preferences, as strict as they can be — he’s your good boy, even if you don’t give him the satisfaction of hearing it that often. he’ll do anything to hear that come from your painted lips.

thumbing your panties to the side reveals your glistening folds to his hungry eyes. he swipes his tongue over the seam of his lips before kissing up your right thigh, avoiding using his teeth because you don’t like marks. he hums as he tongues your folds, the muscle dipping down to your entrance and he nearly moans at the taste that hits his tongue. fuck, why do you always taste so good? it’s like an addiction at this point, the way he needs his tongue buried beneath your thighs every day to feel sated.

above him, you sigh out, stiff shoulders relaxing into your chair. he takes this as a positive sign. fingers curl into his hair as soon as his lips find your clit, enclosing around the tiny pearl, tongue laving across it with practiced motions. typically, you don’t moan, but today, you allow a soft, breathy curse to slip — oh, fuck, he’s done for. he’s on the verge of losing it and cumming in his pants right now. whining against your folds, his incoherent words vibrate against your clit. fingers curl into his hair and tug just hard enough to sting, but he doesn’t stop, insatiable as he drags his tongue from your clit back down to your entrance. his nose bumps against your clit now as he takes laps up the juices flowing from your hole, feeling your walls clench when he dares to dip the muscle into you. dizzy, dizzy is how he feels. dizzy with the warmth of your thighs muffling his ears, with the scent of your musky perfume that you seem to dab on your inner thighs, on your taste, on everything about you. you’re more reactive today, less mean, and he has a half a mind to wonder why.

“fuck, good boy,” you sigh, nails scratching at his sensitive scalp, making him moan. his trousers feel painfully tight, and he can’t help the hand that comes down to stroke over the hardness straining against the fabric. his eyes roll back into his head, eyelids fluttering shut as he switches his attention back to your clit, basking in the sensation of your legs tightening around his head, your hips grinding up into his lips. your breathy pants spur him on further, and when he finally looks back up at your face, he finds your lips bitten to hell, your eyes dark and hooded as you stare right back at him. the eye contact is enough for you to warn him of your impending high, your squirming growing worse until you freeze, legs quaking and hips jumping as he continues to ravage your folds, his hand squeezing himself harder. he could burst at any moment now, but he can’t do that. he has to hold it in, he has to prove that he can listen.

“get up, go handle your problem,” you’d usually say afterwards, leaving him to fend for himself in a bathroom stall, fist pumping his red, aching cock until he spills all over his fingers. today, however, it’s different. instead, he watches as you pick up your phone, dial some number, and say, “yes, tell everyone not to disturb me for another hour. if anyone does, they’ll be fired.”

oh. you’re not…making him leave. what’s going on? is this some sort of cruel way to fire him? he just did so well for you though, you can’t. no, no, no — you can’t get rid of him. he needs you. you need him. dewy tears line his eyes, the amber hue of his pupils shining beneath your warm office lights. as you set the phone back down and look back down at him, your brows pull down into a frown, though there’s little concern and more confusion.

“up,” you urge with another tug to his hair, and he swallows down the squeak that hitches in his throat, blinking back the tears. as he stands, head tucked into his chest, you question, “what is wrong with you?”

“i–i just,” he whimpers. “i—”

your eyes trail down to the tent in his pants, a nail coming up to trace along his covered erection. he visibly shivers. humming, you grope it softly, and he emits a tearful whine. “look at me.”

one, two seconds pass before he follows your command, red-rimmed eyes somehow making him prettier. while he’s a tall man, he’s shrunken into himself, hair mussed, lips still slick with your arousal — you think that he must be deep in some vulnerable headspace, so you decide to say, “you’re not in trouble. you did well.”

the words come out flat, monotone, but it’s enough to cause the panic swelling within his chest to recede. he nods, still unable to look you in the eye. he feels you stand in front of him, reaching for his chin so he has no choice but to face you. your expression remains neutral while you slide a finger back and forth against his jaw. soothing, in a way, lacking the typical sharp edge that your actions have. gently, you push him to the side, and he watches with bated breath as you sit atop your desk, legs dangling off the dark wood. with a single wave of your finger, you guide him between your legs, hands on his hips as you start to help him grind against your panty-covered core.

“do you want to be even better for me?” you ask, and he nods silently. “words, beomgyu.”

“y-yes, i do,” he whispers, watching as your tongue swipes over your lips. a ghost of a smile plays on your lips, barely there — but he notices. he notices everything about you, really, even in this hazy state of his.

“good,” you sigh, reaching down to stroke him once more. he sighs, eyes squeezing shut and vision blurring as they open again. he mouth falls open before he can stop it, a shuddering moan falling from his lips. tilting your head, a single quirk of your brow has his heart pounding harder.

“then go ahead and fuck me, baby.”

3k event masterlist | masterlist

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu hard hours #beomgyu hard thoughts #txt imagines #beomgyu imagines #txt scenarios #beomgyu drabbles #txt drabbles #3k milestone celebration #💌 — gyu #agust.nsfw

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gojosatoruwifey · 4 months

Text

ㅡ恭喜发财

✑ greeting everyone as lunar new year enters ♡(◕ᗜ◕✿)

✿ warning/s: fluff, jealousy, slight sexual insinuation, swearing, use of chinese terms, nothing much has changed it's just chung myung with a dragon tail, starts with pbss and ends with mhdd, let me know if i missed something!

✿ character/s: chung myung/cheong myeong, g/n! reader

✿ alt. title: telltale tail

📜🖋️🎀SUPPORT MY KO-FI🎀🖋️📜

straight and thumping on the ground impatiently. fast rhythm beat with 0.95-second intervals.

—and with that crease between his eyebrows, pout so evident in his lips, eyes boring through the side of your head. there’s no need to turn front to see the literal dragon of mount hua is displeased at the slow pace of his order shīzitóu. it’s not like you can afford to flat-out be rude to the half-huili jing server eagerly asking for more affirmations about their restaurant’s food. goodness, you’re not chung myung…

“the sauce? is it sweet enough? or perhaps you like it sticky…” the half huili jing server’s voice lowered in a purr. “..daozhang?”

you’re about to correct the server when a sarcastic, gruff voice enters the conversation. “no, they don’t like sweets that much and they prefer thin consistency sauce to sticky.”

speaking of, your companion finally spoke up. the entire time chung myung is either grunting or clicking his tongue to respond as you put out the orders on the menu. you wanted to let out a heavy sigh but held it in. he spoke up but at what cost?

chung myung tapped his palm on the table a little bit too hard. “put the shīzitóu down. that’s what i ordered.”

faced with the natural hierarchy’s top one, how could a huili jing fight against a dragon? even more to a half huili jing? with a graceful movement, the half huili jing set out the tray full of appetizing meals rich in different flavours and seasonings.

the silence was too loud despite the busy chatter heard outside the private room and so, once the sulky half huili jing strolled away, you picked up the chopstick, ready to eat. that’s how you and chung myung spent the rest of the evening with occasional banters, two unfilled cups holding beads of alcohol, and an abandoned bottle of peach baijiu in the side.

moves languidly

the elders and the youths alike have watched a certain senior-junior pair dance around with each other. be it when they are younger than they are now—the plum blossoms in winter’s seasonal bloom and summer’s jovial heat sighing at the young man finding himself to get the point across and you dodging every little thing almost nil. the terrified junior brothers betting on who will try to make a move first.

so far the winning score is on those who placed bets on chung myung’s side…

a group of junior brothers set aside their lunch once they saw the two together with the taller one carrying a box with decorative materials for the spring festival and the other having a ladder.

you propped the ladder to the wall and started climbing on it while chung myung set the box down.

“will the elder make a move?”

“shush.”

“come on, shixiong. he is right. how about we bet if the elder makes a move on them this time?” junior brother lu nodded to the oblivious pair. he pushed his lunch forward, “i’ll bet my lunch set a, elder chung myung will make a move.”

junior brother ming, the shixiong, responded dryly. “i’ll bet mine he will not.”

“i’m with brother lu!”

“shixiong, you can’t possibly think elder will not when you also saw him–”

“watch.”

“huh?” instinctively, junior brother lu inclined his head just to see you playing with the ends of the red lantern for the spring festival, let it brush to your senior’s nose as chung myung sneezed. sending you a harmless glare as you laugh loudly. elder chung myung may be directing witty remarks to you but this little junior brother lu can see the tail of the elder languidly swishing behind him.

he sighs and thinks, elder chung myung is almost never too honest and yet his tail is saying otherwise.

wiggles in excitement

a new series of tomorrow awaits as the booming fireworks line up to the dark skies, below were the firecrackers noisy and frizzled. the sect adorned in red lanterns and spring couplets can be seen hanging on the doors. the disciples of mount hua gather all around in different places; some are in the dining hall, some are burning bamboo sticks and firecrackers, laughter fills up the festive mood, and some are watching the abundant glowing light flutters seen above to the lowered ground.

a single stick fell out from the fortune shaker.

you stare at it, losing interest in picking it up as each second passes by until the black-clad swordsman nudges you with his shoulder in a bump, snickering. “will you look at that.”

you can’t believe the gods had decided to be mean to you on the eve of the spring festival. the harmonious atmosphere feels like mocking you as the fortune stick reads ‘misfortune.’

then you shove the stick back into the cylinder, shake it violently, a stick falls out and you’re miniscule away throwing away the damn fortune shaker. tsk, should’ve known it’s a sham.

chung myung clutches his stomach from too much hysterical fits as he then grabs one of your hands that was choking the cylinder. surprised at his gentle touch, chung myung easily slides his fingers between the gaps of yours as his stare pins at you with a gaze swirling playful pink billows, night light kissed skin. suddenly, peering up into him through the shadows settled by the moon feels intimate as the two of you sit on the rooftop.

“there,” he whispered. “i’m sharing half of my great fortune with you.”

you swallowed thickly, wanting to squeeze your heart to shut up.

a comical exclaim escapes out of you, shiny eyes admiring him, “gege!”

chung myung reacts to your address with a sudden burst of triumph. his tail wags frantically, displaying his excitement. hearing you calling him 'gege' has clearly delighted him, and he seems eager to engage whatever his mind is scheming.

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beansricejc · 1 year

Text

JOHN WICK x READER - The Courier

part 4!

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

summary: John sneaks into your apartment to surprise you when you get home, and asks for you two to become official. Then y’all finally get steamy in the bedroom, where he talks you through it the whole time. Female reader, 3270 words.

author’s note: thx for following so far! if you’re new here, I’d recommend reading the previous parts but it is not necessary! feel free to lmk what you think! I love reading what u have to say! thx 💕

warnings: cursing, p in v, relationship talk, breaking & entering, alcohol, implied organized crime, significant age gap. 🔞

Your condo was surprisingly easy to break into. Well, for John that is, and John’s the best there is. It’s no surprise that getting into your place without a key is a walk in the park to him.

It’s been about a month and a half since the pair of you began to see each other. People John’s age would call it casual dating. People your age would call it a situationship.

One of the biggest challenges was John trying to keep up with your lingo, and then whenever he’d try to use it in a sentence, he’d fail drastically.

Enough of that.

John’s lurking around in your living room. He’s been here a few times before. Dinner, drinks, movies, and gaming nights, you name it. John’s Casanova identity was slowly being torn apart by you. He had developed feelings for you that he was convinced would never appear again after the death of his wife.

The last place he thought those feelings would come from was a young crime boss. The sheer idea of it almost made him laugh, even if it was true.

Tonight, he’s going to ask you to make it official. A public romantic relationship, between a budding crime lord, and an infamous hitman.

It sounded ridiculous, yet it was all John wanted.

Meanwhile, you’re driving back home from a very frustrating work meeting.

The title of work meeting was a very loose term. It mostly consisted of you berating some of your workers for fucking up a decent sized delivery. Two of your employees had totaled their motorcycles, and were suffering from road rash, and the other one forgot to fill up on gas before the job.

Fucking idiots.

That didn’t matter now, you were blaring some A$AP Ferg just to let out some frustration, your Audi R8 was a fantastic car to speed down the highway in. You, of course, specialized in riding a motorcycle but fall was on its way, evident by the chill in the air.

The plan for you tonight was to get home, drink half a bottle of Plum Sake, and pass out to some sort of Netflix Original playing on your tv.

You thought about shooting John a text since he had messaged you a few hours ago. You decided you would text him once you got home.

John was admiring your home aesthetic, he had complimented it a few times. You really had the 70s vibe down to a T. The nostalgia was almost overwhelming to him, you were a 2000s baby, and John was, well, not.

John was surprised that you hadn’t said anything to show that you hated the age gap you two had, except for the occasional old man diss.

John took a closer look at some pictures that were in frames on a shelf. He didn’t know exactly what they were. If he was a betting man, it would be a high school graduation photo with friends, vacation pictures, and then some competitive Motocross racing images.

“Damn, badass.” John chuckled, it was interesting getting an insider look at your life since you are a crime lord after all.

You parked your car in the garage and made your way to your condo, a few floors up and a few doors down. Your stupid key was so hard to find in your purse, and you almost gave up looking for it out of pure exhaustion. However, you managed, sighing as you opened your door and kicked your shoes off onto the rack.

You didn’t notice John at all. No one ever did. He was an expert, and experts act like ghosts when they need to.

You hung your purse up on a hook and immediately went for the kitchen and into the fridge, searching for sparkling water to chug. You didn’t know why but the burn of it going down your throat was really great feeling. To you at least.

As you grabbed a can, you could tell something was off. You weren’t that dumb. Any normal person would have gone about their business as usual, you picked up on a presence in less than two minutes. Impressive.

“Hey, cutie.” John’s voice suddenly appeared from your living room, his tall and menacing figure emerging from the shadows of your dark condo. You jump, grab your gun that’s in your back holster, and stop abruptly after you realized it was John. You went into panic mode from hearing his voice and gasped to settle yourself down.

“Shithead! Oh my god, you scared the fuck out of me!” You exclaim, there are actually a million other things you’d like to say right now.

“Asshole!”

“I’m gonna knock your teeth in.”

“Holy shit, you’re hot as fuck.”

Those were a few examples, of course, you didn’t say any of them. They were still going through your head though.

John was cackling from the living room while he stepped towards you, you put your firearm down on your kitchen counter, fuming at the fact that he somehow broke in, and almost gave you a heart attack. John absolutely loved teasing you, watching your face getting frustrated or flustered really did something to him that he couldn’t explain.

John joined you in the kitchen as you were calming yourself down, the danger you were in being a false alarm. He gave out a throaty deep chuckle, looking down at you with those menacing brown eyes.

They were never menacing towards you. John couldn’t even imagine the thought of doing something to hurt you or to even intentionally scare you. Over the past month, he’s grown to like you more and more, a thought that scared the shit out of him. He’s gonna do it. He’s going to ask you to be his girlfriend.

What a juvenile term, he felt much too old to even use that word but what else was there?

John hadn’t exactly figured out how he was going to ask, one thing was for sure, it would happen tonight.

He didn’t know why but tonight just felt like a really good choice.

John’s long dark hair is slightly draped over his chiseled face, his eyes peering through the strands directly at you.

“Sorry, angel. You’re just so cute when you get scared.” John tells you. You’re currently putting on the biggest pouty face you can manage right now, just to show your disdain for his prank.

You can hardly be mad at the man. He’s just so damn attractive. He’s even wearing a tee shirt, you have never seen him wear one before. John’s toned biceps are peeking out of his short sleeves. Your eyes can’t help but drink in the sight of his bare arms. Multiple scars and bruises are sprinkled throughout his skin, ones you have yet to hear stories of, or even see.

You snap out of your fan service moment when John takes his large hand to ruffle your hair. He loved the feeling of your thick and soft hair against his skin, and the smell? He had no idea what type of shampoo you used, the smell of it was embedded into his memory and only associated with you now.

Raspberries, and coconut? That was probably the closest he’d get to guessing the scent.

“I should upgrade your security here, it took me like 20 seconds to get in. I expected better from a criminal mastermind.” John tsked at you, playfully disappointed.

He takes the chance to lean against your kitchen’s island, crossing his legs but his gaze has yet to leave you.

You’re such a beautiful creature.

The sight of John’s casual lean stirs something inside of your chest.

Christ, can this guy get any sexier? You think to yourself.

“Sorry, guess I haven’t looked into that yet.” you stammer. John waves you over, and you take a few steps towards him, laying against his body and setting your head on his chest. You press your ear to him, listening to the soft thuds of his heartbeat, the organ doing its job to keep pumping blood through this lethal man.

“Hey, uh, let’s talk for a sec.” John says suddenly after about a minute of mutual silence. You scrunch your eyebrows and peer up at him, curious. Why did he sound so serious all of a sudden? He looked nervous almost.

“Yeah, sure, what’s up?” you ask.

John is quiet for a few seconds, it looked like he was trying to find the right words to say. You’re really enjoying laying against him since his body is so warm, and definitely not because of the muscles you can feel against your own.

“So.” He starts. “What do you say we make our little situation exclusive?”

Your eyes widen. No way. Absolutely no way. Was John fucking Wick asking you to be, oh Jesus Christ. The deadly playboy was being serious, and you can tell based on how his brown eyes are soft but with anticipation growing inside of them.

Oh my god.

You were clearly interested, even if both of your schedules clashed with each other. You two were well-known workaholics in the criminal underworld, the few times you got to see him a week were very romantic, however, short-lived.

With this in mind, your time spent together was amazing but as far as the physical aspects, you two were taking it slow. You of course were doing it unintentionally, work tired you out, you haven’t really done anything sexual of the sort in years because of your painstakingly busy work life, and so on and so forth.

John, on the other hand, was becoming a bit sexually frustrated. He really loved your wholesome time spent together, he did! Just, sometimes the way your pants fit around those hips and ass of yours, his mind tended to, wander, to say the least.

“Are you asking if you can be my boyfriend, Johnathan?” you inquire, walking your pointer and middle finger up his chest to fidget with the hem of his black tee shirt. You were attempting to calm yourself down but were failing miserably, just the sight of John looking down at you in that idyllic gaze of his was driving you absolutely nuts. A soft but low hum escaped his lips.

“Or maybe, I’m asking you to be my girlfriend,” he whispered down at you.

You don’t really know why but you laugh.

“Same question, different fonts.” you giggle. John huffs in amusement at your statement. He still doesn’t know where you come up with these things, or really how internet culture works.

“God, you guys, and your memes.” he sighed. “You can’t leave a man hangin’ like this, angel. What’s it gonna be?”

You haven’t had a real relationship in years, and it seems like John is in the same boat as you. He’s mentioned his late wife only once to you, obviously, it was a sore subject. He was serious about starting anew with you it seemed.

“I wouldn’t want to be anybody else’s.” you murmur to him.

John’s immediately filled with glee, and he squeezes you in a death lock of a hug. You eyes bulge as you attempt to hug him back but your arms, or anything really, are unable to move.

Well, it’s official. The two of you shared an excited kiss before he goes to your living room, revealing the very nice bottle of wine he brought to celebrate the occasion.

It seemed like he was betting on you saying yes.

You’re quite flattered by his confidence, and grab two wine glasses from your liquor cabinet before you two sit on your orange couch and share the bottle with each other.

Fun conversation ensues. You two are a fantastic couple, you guys found that out a few hang-outs in. John thought you were hilarious, and he definitely had his moments. The man was a total flirt, even after you two had been dating for the past month.

Conversation turns into joking, joking turned into play fighting, and next thing you knew he was laying you down on your couch, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed his hard on in between your thighs.

“We have too many clothes on, can we change that?” John asked as he stripped his shirt right off of his torso.

What a sight to behold.

Despite John being in his mid-forties, he has stayed in shape for the sake of his career, and it shows. Toned muscles have been revealed above you, and you’re honestly shocked. It’s the shape he’s in and the scars that got you, John noticed as your eyes dart to the different marks on his body.

“Do I rock the bad boy look?” he slyly asks, his hands wiggling under you and lifting your body up and over his shoulder as he brought you to your bedroom, despite your gasp of surprise and hysterical laughter.

You’re finally at an angle where you can see his tattoos, you didn’t know he had any. His back is covered, you can make out a Latin phrase and, a wolf. Was that a wolf? Guess he was Team Jacob all along.

You squeal as he plops you onto your queen-sized mattress, and your lips crash into each other, desperately craving the other’s touch. John’s hands assist you in peeling off your shirt and jeans, tossing the clothing to the wooden floor. His breathing seems to heighten at the image of you in only a seamless bra and a thong, your soft skin, curves, everything is better than he had ever imagined.

He’s going to absolutely ruin you.

Minutes pass, and the sting of John’s beard dragging along your inner thighs is a sensation that is completely unfamiliar to you. Your hands are grappling at your duvet from underneath your now nude body, as John’s tongue is sloppily circling your swollen clit, and some inhuman noises are erupting from your throat.

“H-holy, fuck!” you shriek. You were no virgin but you haven’t been intimate with anyone for a few years.

John couldn’t say the same thing.

You knew what good was even if it has been a long while, and this was fucking immaculate. John dips two long fingers into your core, his eyes boring into yours while he was devouring your cunt.

“You’re such a good fucking girl,” John mumbled into your pussy as he continued to lap you up with his mouth, the vibration of his words almost sending you over the edge. John’s using that signature come here motion with his fingers inside of you, and your hips buck, legs wrapping around his neck and squeezing to force him to stay in his current position.

He had honestly forgotten how strong you are.

He’s fucking obsessed.

His other hand is stroking his completely erect cock, making sure he’s good and ready to claim you as his.

You’re strong but John’s stronger. He’s able to easily push past your thigh’s grasp, you’re almost seeing double from the pure ecstasy he’s been so gracious to gift you. His mouth and chin are slick with your juices, his tongue dragging over his lips while he smiled down at you to savor your taste.

You can barely think. Holy fuck, was this actually happening right now? Did John Wick make a deal with the Devil to have the ultimate skill of giving head?

You blink a few times and catch a glimpse of John’s erection. Jesus Christ, it’s way bigger than you had ever pictured it.

“J-John, that’s not going to fit!” you cry out at him, as much as you want him, that thing is fucking huge. John tilted his head of sweaty, messy, long hair, raising his eyebrows and giving you a chuckle. “Seriously? Baby girl, how long has it been for you?” John questions, spitting into his palm and giving himself a few more tugs to hold himself over. Somehow, your face becomes redder than it was already.

“Uh, a few years,” you admit, embarrassed to even say it out loud. “Just, don’t really have the time.”

That admission throws John completely off. It doesn’t stop him from rubbing his bare tip against your slick and swollen entrance. “Don’t worry, angel, I’ll change that.” he smirked down at you, his eyes are all over your nude body below him on the bed. You only reply with a small squeak in response to the sensation of his tip on you. “Just, trust me, princess. Can you do that, trust me?” John asks, leaning completely over you so he’s just a few inches above your sweaty face. You nod while he pushes into you, and there’s a lot of resistance to him, despite the several minutes of foreplay he had provided you. You grit your teeth and grip his back.

“Hey, hey, you’re tense.” John murmurs, grazing your cheek with the back of his hand. You two maintain eye contact as he’s gently entering you. “Can you take a deep breath?”

You listen to him, taking a deep breath, and even you can tell the difference in feeling down in your core. “See, look at that, you just need to relax for me, baby girl. Take another one for me.” John orders you sweetly.

You oblige.

John lets out a deep breath, your tight cunt is almost overwhelming to him. After your deep breaths, your pussy is letting up and welcoming him now.

“See, you feel that? You’re taking me in all by yourself now, good girl.” John praises while you respond with unintelligible whimpers, his lips peppering kisses onto your sweaty forehead.

You can feel his entire length inside of you at this point, he’s so deep, you swear you can feel him in your cervix. You gasp before he continues, sliding in and out of you at a gentle and steady pace, nipping and sucking onto your neck and collarbone. This is sure to leave marks later but he could care less. People should know who you belong to.

“You like that, baby?” he asks as he thrusts at a faster and deeper rate, you moan affirmatively, you can’t seem to respond in English at the moment, only squeals and whimpers that he can’t help but be attracted to. One of John’s hands travel to your cunny, skillfully rubbing his thumb over your tortured clit. You let out a small scream, your nails digging into his muscular back, he’s doing the same to your hip, so the feeling was mutual.

John can feel your cunt tighten around his fast moving cock, he wasn’t going to last much longer like this, especially with no condom on.

You were in the same boat though.

“J-john, fuck! I wanna cum so bad!” you mewl out, John throws a dark chuckle your way. The timing was spot on.

“You want me on your stomach, face?” He asked.

“Just, just, do it, I don’t care!” You gasp, approaching your climax while he continued to rub your clit as he pounded into your tight little cunny.

“Don’t care, huh? Interesting.” He grunts. “I’ll make you my little Twinkie then, alright?”

You’re quite literally in the middle of a tear jerking orgasm while he says this, so you really don’t have time to react to the absolutely ridiculous phrase. Your trembling legs and shaky grasp on his body is what sends John over, he cursed and grunted, releasing all the way into your cunt. Ropes of cum shoot into you, and you twitch at the sensation.

You’re both trying your best to catch your breath as he pressed his forehead to yours and chuckled.

“Did you just call me a fucking Hostess snack?” you huff out, and he can’t help but burst out laughing.

“Yeah, I think I did.”

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick imagine #keanu reeves #jw4 #john wick x y/n

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leaves-lilies-and-esther · 10 months

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Why being against trans rights as a feminist is bull

Generally I fall pretty neatly into line with the radfem line of thinking about things (anti surrogacy, anti sex industry, pro choice, anti beauty industry etc). And I don't think that radical feminists who disagree with me on this are evil or anything, but I do believe that it shouldn't be a priority and that this whole effort will be remembered badly.

"But the bathrooms-"

Letting trans women into female bathrooms does not increase sexual assault. According to Media Matters, "...the fear is baseless- completely unsupported by years of evidence from states that already have non-discrimination laws on the books." To give examples:

Rhode Island reported "no increase in sex crimes due to 2001 law"

Karen Richards of the Vermont Human Rights commission said she is "not aware" of any problems from a 2001 law

Jim O'Neill said he was "unaware of any sexual assault as the result of the CT gender identity or expression law" in Connecticut

If you search "Debunking the Big Myth about Transgender Inclusive Bathrooms" from Media Matters you can see the other twelve state level examples

There's also a very well written article from Time called "Transgender Bathroom: Advocates Say 'Predator' is a Myth" . They detail several locations like New York City and California which protect trans rights without seeing a spike in sexual assaults, the fact that school officials and police departments have not seen a spike either, and that several organizations dedicated to stopping violence against women all agree that bathroom rights aren't a threat.

Moreover, according to Vox's article "Anti-transgender bathroom hysteria, explained"- all of the incidences commonly cited of men dressing up as women or posing as a woman in order to commit sexual assault happened before a non-discrimination bathroom law was passed. Meaning that these laws don't cause sh*t.

But to add onto another point, there's a very good reason why we cannot simply say that women's bathrooms must be defined by sex alone. Which is that we end up exposing transgender or nonbinary youth to extremely avoidable violence instead.

According to an article from Harvard entitled "transgender teens with restricted bathroom access at higher risk of sexual assault", quote, "Transgender and non-binary teens face greater sexual assault in schools that prevent them from using bathrooms or locker rooms consistent with their gender identity." 36% of trans or nonbinary youth with restricted access had been sexually assaulted in the past year. In no world is that an acceptable number. Not only does restricting bathroom access not solve anything for cis women, it actively inflicts male violence on transgender women.

And even in the outlandish world where this wasn't enough of a reason, it also leads to cis women being policed on their appearance and how feminine they present in order to avoid looking trans. In Las Vegas a woman named Jay was kicked out because they mistook her for trans according to Advocate article 'cis woman mistaken as transgender records being berated in bathroom'. Aimee Toms in Danbury was similarly harassed, as was Jessica Rush in Dallas. There's several videos in the Vox article "Women are getting harassed in bathrooms because of anti-transgender hysteria". And guess what? This sort of policing what a cis woman can look like is only going to get worse as people continue to advocate against trans women in bathrooms.

And women's sports-

Any physical advantage that transgender people have in sports goes away several years after medical transition. According to the NBC article "trans women retain athletic edge after a year of hormone therapy"

(1) "For the Olympic, the elite level, I'd say probably two years is more realistic than one year" - namely, trans people have standard hormone levels if they wait two years after medical transition. "After two years, Roberts told NBC News, 'they were fairly equivalent to cisgender women'".

There were some limitations to the Roberts study, but there's also a 2015 Harper study backing this up.

(3) Joanna Harper, a medical physicist in Portland, already ran a study on this. "...found that trans women ran at least 10 percent slower after beginning hormones. And, relatively speaking, they did no better against cisgender female runners than they previously done against cisgender men".

Namely, as long as there's been a medical transition for several years, it's still a totally fair competition.

But laws which ban transgender women from sports have had the incidental effect of allowing for state-sanctioned genital inspections on minors. This sounds fake, right? But in Ohio Republicans have passed a bill which "...has a verification requirement, if someone is 'accused' or 'suspected' of being trans... she must go through evaluations of her external and internal genitalia, testosterone levels and genetic makeup." And believe it or not, they only had one transgender girl who was an athlete in high school. One! This is according to the Ohio Capital Journal's article "GOP passes bill aiming to root out 'suspected' transgender female athletes with genital inspection."

Similarly, Florida has just passed a ban on transgender students in sports in April 2021, with provisions similar to the Ohio law. "A dispute regarding a student's sex shall be resolved by the student's school or institution by requesting that the student provide a health examination... provides for 'routine sports physical examination' of students' reproductive organs, genetic makeup, or testosterone levels." This is according to Changing America, titled "Florida's new ban on transgender students in sports would allow schools to subject minors to genital inspections."

I don't know about you, but as someone who has enjoyed track, swim team, and basketball all through educational institutions- I don't want the government in my pants.

Beyond the creepy implications of the state demanding invasive inspections on literal children, this also goes back to the point I made on bathrooms above- that when we take spaces away trans people, we take spaces away from any woman or girl who society deems as presenting too 'masculine'.

As feminists we can absolutely support trans rights without compromising our integrity. And not only can we, we should.

Edited August 24, 2023: I wanted to add a section about the provisions of these bills for literal genital inspections. I regret that it wasn't in the original, but I remembered these articles earlier and thought that it was important to add here.

The other thing I did later the same day was take out the part referencing women like Caster Semenya competing in the Olympics and being removed because of high testosterone levels. Someone has kindly pointed out that these are intersex women, which the original article I had read referred to as cis. I feel that intersex women in athletics deserve their own discussion, and I haven't (a) read enough on the issue or (b) learned enough about the intersex community as a whole to take part.

#radical feminism #gender critical #feminism #liberal feminism #transgender #trans rights #women's rights #long post #loooong post #radblr

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chaoticbardlady99 · 6 months

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Lethal Woman- Chapter 6 (GN! AFAB! Reader x Astarion) 18+ MDNI

Author note- work has kicked my ass left right and center. I also deleted my draft of this chapter like three separate times until I finally wrote something I loved.

CW- mentions of still birth, mentions of miscarriage, smut, fluff (I think? Any emotional intimacy is fluff to me 💀), mentions of torture, mentions of rape/sexual assault, mentions of physical and emotional abuse, violence. (I think that may be all? Also this all looks not awesome, but I promise it’s a lot more awesome than you think and not Uber grotesque.)

It’s been mostly edited and I definitely have chapter 7 basically done so I’m anticipating being happy with my draft by Sunday. Happy reading! Thank you for everyone who likes my little self indulgent angst fic!!!!

Also- please remember I take creative liberties. A good chunk of the Nightmasks are dead canonically (RIP my guys) but for the purpose of this story, they are alive. Oh and the names are hard so forgive me for the lack of consistent spelling lmao

Chapter 7

“Ugly, wretched little thing.”

Dahlia’s term of endearment sticks to your brain like- well- an illithid parasite. You are sitting with Karlach and Shadowheart, each of you on your fourth glass of whatever alcohol you could find as the Tieflings jovially celebrate around you. You want to feel the same warmth and happiness everyone else does, but you are too busy trying to ignore the fact that Alfira and Astarion have been talking since the beginning of the party- Alfira immediately walking up to him with her stupid, beautiful face. And her stupid kind heart and pretty voice.

You liked her enough to be her friend, but now? You are struggling not to haul her off by her horns and kick her into the river in the stinking Owlbear den.

Get yourself together Rowan, it was never going to happen anyway.

“Soldier, you might want to stop burning a hole through the Bard with your eyes- Astarion can’t tolerate fire remember?,” Karlach jests and you give her a sour look.

You hadn’t really talked to Astarion since earlier in the day when he had come to your aid when Priestess Gut had a firm grip on your mind, then he fought by your side while you freed Halsin. You had split up after that, him going to help Shadowheart and Karlach and you off to support Wyll and Gale’s group. The fight against Dror Ragozlin and his crew of misfits was easy and Lae’zel evidently enjoyed getting to fight next to you for once. You wanted to enjoy the moment with your companions, your victory just in your grasp, but you had been somewhat distracted during the battle because Minthara’s thoughts had been so Gods damn loud.

You appeared to be the only one experiencing this problem- you assumed that she is specifically targeting you for a reason, but you couldn’t figure out why until she showed you a different image than the fight in front of her.

It was you, standing over a drow female in Menzoberranzan. The alley way is dark with her blood dripping into the cobblestone. You could feel Minthara’s rage- you had killed her lover.

You remember that contract now- It was one of the few you had received where it was required that the target be mutilated and you hated every second of it. Minthara was one of the few people who had ever managed to almost catch you, but you had evaded her successfully. The picture changed, she showed you a flash from Shadowheart’s perspective- it’s you and Astarion, talking in hushed voices and close to each other by the fire. The scene is far more intimate than you realized and certainly incriminating. Her voice boomed in your head.

You killed my lover. Now I’m going to kill yours.

A scream pierced the air as Karlach cried out for Shadowheart. You watched in horror as Shadowheart hit the stone wall hard and dropped flat on her face- unmoving. Karlach was at her side within seconds, trying to get her to wake up. Then Karlach pitched forward after a spell hit her. Karlach was screaming in terror at the top of her lungs and rolling around in pain. You stared at the scene for what felt like hours- rigid and mortified- until Minthara caught your attention again.

Minthara showed Astarion- fighting for his life against her as her blade nicked him and cut him superficially. Thankfully he is a lot faster than her, but your feet were moving before your brain had time to process your actions. Your rage is all consuming- every part of your body feels like it’s on fire.

Between the use of Ghost Step and Spider Crawl, you made quick work of sneaking into the battlefield. You waited for an opening- Minthara and Astarion were neck and neck, blow for blow before Minthara managed to break one of his daggers and slam the hilt of her longsword atop of his head.

Astarion stumbled backwards and fell over on his side. You tried to suppress your own nausea as you watched him struggle to get up as Minthara began menacingly moving towards him. The bloodlust in her thoughts- you could taste it on your tongue. Vengeance is in her reach, but you are not the same you when Tessa died. You will be damned if this bitch of a woman was going to torture two of your closest friends and kill the one person who has made your barely beating, locked away heart a little less heavy to carry.

You cast Evard’s Black Tentacles and manipulated them so that one vine grabbed Minthara’s right hand and ripped it away from the left- her long sword fell to the ground. You picked it up as she screamed profanities at you.

You manipulated another to wrap around her throat and it pulled her down on her knees- she faced the bridge with horror on her face as you stalked towards her with your vampiric stare. You watched as she confronted her own mortality with angry tears- her tadpole hurled profanities at you in Elvish, Drow elvish, and Common. You just smiled at her, sweetly, slowly, like you had perfected for years now.

Minthara’s tears were running down her face and she fought against the tentacles as they squeezed tighter around her throat and wrists.

The next words you had spoken in Elvish- “Say hi to your lover for me”- before you cut her head clean off her shoulders with her own weapon.

You hadn’t looked at Astarion after you had killed Minthara- you were actually too afraid to see the way he may look at you. Would he be repulsed by you? Afraid? You didn’t want to know.

So now, instead, you are stuck watching him flirt with the feminine, beautiful tiefling that you want to go and feed to the resurrected harpies (they aren’t resurrected- yet). You know it isn’t her fault- you just never stood a chance.

“Roo, really, he is barely focusing on her,” Shadowheart says with a roll of her eyes, “he keeps looking over here at you anyway.”

“Oh I’m sure he is after I brutally murdered someone in front of him,” you cross your arms, your tone laced in venom, “yeah that’s a real attractive quality to have- I am capable of brutal MURDER.”

Shadowheart goes to protest, but Karlach beats her to it.

“I don’t know Soldier, he looked pretty dazzled to me.”

You bust up laughing, choking on some of your wine.

“Dazzled, you say?”

“Razzle DAZZLED!” Karlach offers big explosive hands with her statement, “and I mean- he’s into blood so it’s not like you beheading something is all that damning. Maybe he’s really into it.”.

You choke on your wine again, this time it comes out of your nose. You are both dying laughing now, evidently the alcohol had gotten to your heads. It wasn’t because you were making fun of him- it was just the whole idea itself was so ridiculous and the fact that you can nonchalantly talk about beheading a person as an endearing prospect with these two individuals is so bizarre. Shadowheart was laughing despite herself.

Eventually the three of you make your way to the firepit and join Halsin and Gale while they smoke something out of Halsin’s pipe. You ask to try it and it burns your throat as you cough harshly. Halsin laughs hardily and says you’ve passed initiation. Shit, you don’t even remember walking over to the campfire anymore.

Another hour or so passes, Astarion is out of sight and the high has worn off. You feel pleased to see Alfira standing and talking to her friend dejectedly. Maybe he rejected her? You might be a terrible person, but you feel like you already knew that.

You feel overwhelmed all of a sudden by the proximity and warmth of everyone around the fire. You wait for the right moment to remove yourself from the situation- desperately needing a moment of peace and quiet.

If anyone notices you get up, they don’t say anything. You quickly steal another bottle of wine from beside Gale and Halsin and sneak off into the woods.

You crack open the bottle and slowly sip on it as you meander through the woods, finding the secret path to the beach that you have come to adore so much. You had been eyeballing one specific cliff edge ever since you and Astarion had found this place. It wasn’t a massive cliff, but the pool at the bottom of it is deep enough for you to jump into the water without injury. It was something your father used to do with you when you were a child. There was a river that ran outside of your little town and as you moved further into the woods, you could find a waterfall with a deep pool at the bottom. He would teach you flips and different jumps. He had deemed you the world’s finest diver right before he died- cheering you on from the ground below.

You feel warm and melancholy from the memory. Gods you miss your parents.

You drop the bottle of wine and strip down to your underwear and make your way towards the top of the waterfall.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion had finally managed to get Alfira to leave him alone. She is an adorable little creature, but she is not the one on his radar right now. Adorable does not compare to the vision you are- nor the protection you provide.

Astarion had spent the last painstaking hour and a half watching you laugh with quite literally every person in camp who has a crush on you- Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Gale, and even Halsin is fucking smitten now. Gods could you just stop being yourself for five minutes? Astarion needs (and silently wants) your attention to only be on him. It is absolutely crucial to his survival. Speaking of which, where the hells were you?

You were no longer by the fire where he had last seen you before he snuck into Gale’s tent to steal one of the nicer bottles of wine he hoards away from everyone. Astarion had planned on using your shared connection to ask you to meet him at your spot, but now you are nowhere to be found.

Astarion fights the urge to scream out of frustration as he treks through the woods towards the spot on the beach hoping by some miracle that you may already be there.

Astarion stops as your scent hits his nose. He walks around the corner of the rock that you both use as a landmark and freezes when he notices your clothes are sprawled across the ground and a bottle of wine is a third of the way empty. He tries to ignore the ache that is starting to consume his chest. Did you bring someone else here? Shadowheart maybe? You were sitting rather close to her earlier…

Did his three days of stubbornness really just allow you to fall into someone else’s arms?

Astarion’s sinking feeling gets worse when something flashes out of the corner of his eye.

He sneaks around the corner- reminding himself that he is merely just making sure Shadowheart isn’t being… Shadowheart?

Imagine his shock when Astarion doesn’t see Shadowheart at all. Instead, he witnesses you complete a perfect aerial twist before graciously diving into the waves below. He feels completely frozen until you break the water and laugh wildly. Astarion thinks his own heart might start beating from his chest being filled with the sound.

You jump out of the water and race back up to the top of the rock using Spider Crawl- something you had promised to teach him when you found out Cazador had never actually made him privy to the entirety of his capabilities as a spawn.

Astarion grins as he watches you once again go flying into the air, doing a backflip before straightening out, disappearing once again into the water below.

You break the surface and get back onto the shore. You pretend to bow and wave saying “thank you” and “I’ll be here all week.” It’s silly and he’s enjoying every minute of watching you just be yourself.

Astarion knows you aren’t a serious person, not really, but you pretending to bow for an imaginary crowd of adoring fans in a (not) private moment? It feels authentic to your silliness- not just when you and Karlach are joking together.

You are funny, kind, and entirely too cunning- despite what he said three days ago. Your prowess in combat is second to none and you speak a couple different languages- infernal being one of them when he noticed you and Karlach speaking it back and forth like it was also your native tongue.

Elvish is the other one and he only knew that from overhearing what you said to Minthara while he was too busy experiencing shell shock from how quickly you had gotten over to him. Oh and the hit to the head didn’t help either.

Astarion’s thoughts are interrupted when you make eye contact with him and freeze.

You look down at your semi-exposed figure and then up at him.

Astarion flashes you a flirtatious grin and sweeps his eyes up and down your body as you look at him. You are a work of art and the blush that creeps up your neck is an added bonus.

The scars on your body are numerous and varying in degrees of severity. It doesn’t make you any less attractive to him or revolts him by any means; It makes you more real if anything.

“Well hello there, beautiful,” Astarion says melodically as you walk over, “I was hoping I might run into you here.”

“Oh is that so?” you say and put your hands on your hips, teasing him “and to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Astarion smiles widely at you. He holds up the bottle of wine.

“I was hoping I may be able to drink with my most favorite companion at camp,” he looks at you with a sly grin, “but I didn’t think I’d be getting a show. You are delightfully talented in multiple faucets, Darling.”

You smile shyly at him while adorably scrunching your nose.

As you bend down to grab your shirt, you look at your bottle and scratch the back of your head awkwardly.

“I might need to apologize considering I already started without you.”

Not telling me to piss off so that’s an optimistic start.

“Hm,” Astarion hums, cracking open his bottle and taking a drink, “I’ll allow it this once. I suppose I do owe you for my… words the other day.”

“I’ll forgive you,” you say with a mischievous grin, “but for a price.”

“Oh?” Astarion purrs, “and what is your price, my dear.”

“I demand at least half of your spoils in loot.” you say with flourish and over exaggeration- you aren’t even remotely serious.

“No, no, no, “he emphasizes, his finger waving around in the air, “Never. Going. To. Happen.”

“Ugh fine, I guess I’ll just have to accept that you saved my life earlier.”

“I still think you are ahead on that front, but who’s counting really?”

“Definitely not me,” you say and cough a number under your breath.

Astarion playfully glares at you and you giggle in response.

You close the gap between the two of you and gently grab his hand, pulling him to sit down next to you at the edge of the water. Astarion pushes down the giddy feeling that arises- hoping you didn’t notice he flinched when you first went to grab his hand.

You look at Astarion and then your clasped hands- you definitely noticed.

You begin to pull away and he feels his body protest, grabbing your hand back and interlocking them again. Astarion drinks out of his wine, refusing to look at you- this is entirely too intimate. Entirely too much like the lovers he used to hate and envy in Baldur’s Gate, but he can’t bring himself to let go or stop the slight smile that creeps on his lips.

You drink out of your bottle of wine and put your feet in the water. Astarion glances at you and notes the growing grin. He feels a twinge of guilt when he thinks about his plan and how fragile your heart probably is. Astarion pushes it away. Astarion needs his plan to work and so far, it’s working.

The space between the two of you is silent- nothing but the ocean waves roaring in his ears. It’s not uncomfortable, but Astarion doesn’t necessarily know where to start. He wants to begin the process of seducing you, but he’s also unsure of how well that would play out- considering what he’s seen thus far in your memories.

“My dad taught me how to cliff dive,” you say in a melancholic voice, interrupting his thoughts “we would go all the time over the Summer when we lived outside of Daggerford.”

“I was wondering how you had managed to pull off such an impressive feat.”

You guffaw at him and then pout with a glint of humor in your eye. He rolls his eyes at you.

“Fine Darling,” he muses, “I suppose you are rather impressive in all facets.”

Your face is practically burning with his compliment. Astarion has decided he will leave out the bait and let you take it. If you give him any signal or specifically say “I want to have sex” then Astarion will pleasure you and you will see how useful he can be in return for all of your gifts- your blood, your protection.

Your company.

Whatever feelings Astarion felt over the last three days- he never wants to feel again. You have been the one and only person to be kind to him, protect him in 200 years. You treat him with respect and like a friend- not the monster he absolutely is and that you should hate him for being. It had been a very lonely three days without your company-besides, no one else is nearly as fun to converse with. Astarion hears the whisper of a previous conversation in the back of his mind.

“So what does boar taste like?”

“I don’t really have much of a reference, but better than rats and flies,” he scowled.

“Gods, how filthy was that palace?” you murmured under your breath.

Your comment had caught him off guard and he couldn’t help but bark out laughing. You had felt horrible for it- you thought he wouldn’t be able to hear you. In your defense, you had spoken very quietly. Astarion assured you that he found your observation quite peculiar and hilarious.

Astarion likes that you point out the small things and allow him to decide how much of the larger things he wants to tell you. You never push him and Astarion isn’t used to it, but he knows he never wants it to go away- to be treated any other way ever again.

“What else did your father teach you?” Astarion asks softly.

You smile, “My father followed Ilmater. He was a ranger. He dedicated his life to helping others.”

A daughter of Ilmater worshippers turned into a half-dead creature who is forced to kill by an evil vampire, Astarion thinks, I guess even the Gods have a sense of humor.

“What happened to him?”

The pause is pregnant and loud. Astarion notices the single tear that manages to escape your eyes. You clear your throat.

“He’s dead,” you whisper, “a group of Ravagers destroyed our village. They didn’t like that it was a mix of humans and Drows escaping from Lolth- and they especially hated us ‘filthy half breeds’. Made the women and the children watch as they beheaded their fathers and husbands.”

Astarion doesn’t know what to say to something that horrific. He just merely looks at you- waiting for you to continue speaking.

“He just kept telling my mom and I how much he loved us. How he’d always be protecting us,” you manage to choke out, “I can’t even tell you how many times I have prayed to Ilmater for help- only to be reminded how alone I am and that, despite being the God of Compassion, Ilmater doesn’t care.”

Astarion knows that feeling all too intimately, but he wants to hear more.

“How old were you? What happened to you and your mother?”

You are looking at him wearily now, so he gives your hand a squeeze.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to Darling.”

“I want to, I’ve just never talked about it before.”

“Well then,” he states in a flattered tone, “I’m honored to potentially be the first and only keeper of your deep, dark secrets.”

You laugh breathily while you roll your eyes at him. The smile on your face is replaced by an unreadable expression. You take a deep breath before you turn your gaze back to the ocean.

“I was 5. They sold us to a mine outside of Westgate. It was run by a group of fanatics that I can’t even remember the name of anymore,” you shake your head in disgust, “all I knew was that they were terrible people. They threatened us children to get our mothers to do anything they wanted. One of them raped my mother and ‘blessed’ her with a child.”

Astarion squeezes your hand as he feels you tense. You look at him with your teary, angry eyes and the intensity of your emotions- your grief- are written into every crack and crevice of your face. Astarion notes that you look uncomfortable, but he gives you a soft smile, encouraging you to continue. You take a big swig of your wine- he shortly follows.

“I don’t know what happened, but the baby… didn’t make it and mom developed a blood illness. It was the week before she had planned on breaking us out. I didn’t know she was dying- she told me she was going to be okay. I should have known- She gave me everything for the escape and had explained the plan to me so many times in that week she was dying that I can still recite it to this day.”

You chuckle to yourself before pulling your knees up to your chest.

“I asked them if I could have a funeral for her. They took me outside and made me watch while the pigs ate her. They told me that’s the only funeral a Drow deserves.”

“What a bunch of racist assholes,” he states.

“Oh, they were only the biggest.”

“You escaped a prison by yourself then or?”

“I did. I was 9 years old and probably one of the only people who has ever escaped that mine. I haven’t seen anyone from my village since. I went back to Daggerford one time and it was still decimated- no one ever came back to rebuild it.”

You both sit in the heavy silence. Your thumb begins to absentmindedly rub circles along his thumb- the gesture is simple, but it’s probably the softest touch he’s felt in the last 200 years that was not filled with the anticipation of sex.

“I’ve only ever had one failed escape,” you sigh harshly, “I was going to run away with Tessa because I didn’t want to go through the ceremony to be a Deathbringer, but Dahlia didn’t care what I wanted. She was too busy trying to win Obarhk’s favor.”

“How did you end up with Dahlia then? If you didn’t want to be a Deathbringer?”

You scoff and he sees the resentment behind your eyes.

“I was 13 and had been living on the streets for a while by then. I had my little tent and I had managed to convince one of the local inns to let me clean the rooms,” you scrunched up your nose, “it was gross, but decent work and they fed me once a day; let me use the baths. Sometimes they even gave me extra food and if it was cold out, they’d let me stay in a room if there was one available. I didn’t have to steal food anymore which was nice. I was actually very happy. I was saving my money so I could travel to the Underdark and hire a sword to go with me- to my grandparents- like my mom had told me to do.

“Then one day, a few of the other local boys, also urchins, had watched as I was given a decent amount of gold and a burlap sack of food. They followed me to my tent. I had offered to share and to give them some gold to help, but they didn’t want just some of it- they wanted all of it and all of me too. I thought I was going to die- the fight was brutal and they were so much bigger than I was, but I wasn’t as easy to take down as they had thought.

“Right as they had slammed my head into the pavement, right when I thought it was over- an Ilmater Priestess had appeared out of no where. She had killed them all. She came up to me, was kind to me, promised she would protect me, give me a home, teach me how to be stronger than anything else in the dark while she helps me travel to the Underdark. I was thrilled. I thought Ilmater had finally heard all my prayers. Then she took me outside of the city- I thought we were maybe going to a temple. I was so naive and stupid.”

Your voice breaks and you struggle to compose yourself- taking a shaking breath.

“She changed- the kind Ilmater priestess I had just been following to safety ended up being the Queen of Venom and a Sharran priestess nonetheless,” you spit out with disgust, “Dahlia stripped me of my clothes- she beat me, cut into my skin, threw me around. Dahlia kept telling me how ugly, wretched, small, and weak I was for hours- how she would be the only person to ever love me from now on. Then she chained me down to the floor, unmoving for I don’t even know how long in the dark. I just know when she finally came back, I was on the brink of death. She starved me and refused to give me water until I stopped asking her to leave. I stopped, but then I learnt how much worse it could be. I also began to accept that I would probably never be free again.”

“Are you free now?”

“Barely. A bit over a year ago I was assigned to the Faceless himself.”

“What changed?”

“I won the Deathbringer Tournament and Lady Thistle Thalaver, the fucking consort of all people, said that she wanted me to be assigned as her personal Deathbringer. Thistle made the point that we are close in age and it would make her happy to have someone she can talk to and protect her. News flash- I was more horrified by that than Dahlia. How the fuck does someone who is a literal husk of a person become the prize comfort pet of the Consort that is the reason you were even kidnapped to begin with,” you say, throwing your hands up in frustration, “Dahlia hated her. She was envious of her already and boy, when Thistle asked for me? I thought Dahlia might kill me and Thistle right there if Obarhk hadn’t stepped in.”

“She sounds like a sore loser.”

“ Oh she is, this grudge has lasted a little over a century or three supposedly. I can’t ever seem to get the exact date right, but Dahlia had allowed Obarhk to change her and became one of his Nightmasters because she had hoped to be his Queen and consort,” you shake your head, “it was childish- supposedly. Obarhk was going to go through with it initially, but then Thistle’s father had extensive debts to the guild and offered his only daughter as payment.”

“What a shitty father.”

“Oh the shittiest,” you agree pointedly.

“If she wanted you to help her gain his favor, why did she hide you away?”

“There are rules within the Guild for how recruits are to be treated. Obarhk plays with his cards very close to his chest and he has an absurd amount of political pull. He doesn’t want word getting out that the Nightmasks beat their assassin’s and thieves, but not their Deathbringers- it’s bad for recruitment. Guess they used to do that and damn near went extinct, not everyone is into becoming half-vampire” you shrug, “Dahlia had ‘presented’ me to gain Obarhk’s favor- not his consort’s. She lied and said I sought her out days ago, begging to get a chance to become a Deathbringer. When I was asked if it was true, I said yes, the alternative was whatever hell awaited me later. At least if I didn’t survive the ceremony, I would be laid to rest.

“Except Thistle won. Obarhk may not be particularly loving towards Thistle, but he won’t deny her what she wants if it’s reasonable. I was still under Dahlia, but now if I disappeared for days on end or came back beaten, it was noticed. A year ago, Lucia and Ghost found me bleeding out in a street with Dahlia over me- it was the first time she had done serious harm to me since the ceremony and the first time she was caught,” he watches you smile despite yourself, “Thistle wanted her to be tortured for what she had done- for creating the infamous ‘Hollow Deathbringer’ as I was called when I first started, but Obarhk doesn’t interfere with religious affairs and Dahlia claimed it was for her Sharran worship. So the solution was that I would report directly to him, Phultan, Lucia, and Lady Thalaver only. If Dahlia attempts to hurt me again, I am allowed to end her life and if I attempt to attack Dahlia, she is allowed to end my life. She isn’t allowed to send her assassin’s after me either or there will be consequences. That’s the same day I found out Dahlia had been lying to me- she is Obarhk’s spawn, not a Master Vampire. She never would have been able to get away with half of her threats if I had known, but I’m sure that’s partly why she isolated me from the Guild until I was old enough and skilled enough to compete.

“We’ve been in a very strange stalemate over the last year. Unable to find each other, but I don’t even know if I could kill her anyway. At least, not by myself.”

It was a lot to take in at one time. Your entire world is so heavily influenced by vampiric beings- no wonder you were so nonchalant about him being a spawn and him feeding from you.

Astarion will admit though, he isn’t necessarily thrilled to find out another sociopathic vampire might be hunting them- specifically you.

“Darling, if Dahlia ever darkens your door step ever again,” he leans toward you and speaks his next words with conviction, “I’ll rip her throat out myself.”

You smile at him and squeeze his hand.

“ Thank you Star, but you don’t need to do that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t listen to hypocrites- Miss ‘I’m going to put Cazador’s head on a pike and we can parade it around the city’”

You gasp, “how dare you! I felt like that would be a fun leisure activity.”

“Oh believe me, it will be very fun,” he says with a malicious grin,” but someone needs to keep you humble, my dear.”

“Oh okay,” you roll your eyes, “because I’m the one who needs humbling here. Thank you for your service kind sir, I will never be able to repay you.”

He can tell that you are done with the previous conversation- he’ll have to thank you for sharing later and ask follow up questions. Astarion has a plan to execute.

“Well of course,” he lifts your clasped hands and kisses the back of yours, “ I live to be a hero for the common folk.”

“You’re lucky you’re a beautiful bastard.”

“Why thank you, my Dear. I am rather beautiful, aren’t I?”

You turn, facing him now and you move closer- giving him a light shove. One of your eyebrows is lifted in amusement- a lopsided grin on your face. This is most definitely the moment he has been waiting for.

He leans in, your faces near inches apart and he savors how your heart begins to race.

“I must admit, I was lying to you before,” he muses, “I maybe would like to do a little more than just drink wine with you tonight.”

“Y-you do?”

Astarion smiles at the way your breath hitches.

“Well of course, I believe you may be one of the most bewitching individuals I have ever had the pleasure of meeting,” he says while gently brushing your hair behind your ears, “but only if that would be okay with you.”

You look at him- there is lust in your eyes and you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. One of your canines graze your lip and a bit of your blood begins to paint your lips- Astarion fights the urge to smash his lips to yours. You search his face for deception.

“I want to. Very badly,” you pause, “but I need to be open with you. I’ve only ever been with one man before and it wasn’t my choice. That was over 10 years ago. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to go completely through with it or give you some wildly fun time… it would probably be vanilla at best even if I can get through it…”

You trail off and look at the ground, gently pushing his hand away from your face. Astarion frowns.

“If you want someone who you can actually have fun with, it might be better to go find Alfira again,” you whisper woefully, “I would absolutely understand. No harm, no foul.”

Astarion’s heart breaks for you. He gently guides your eyes back to his. You look sad and dejected -like you are ready for him to get up and walk away. You are expecting him to confirm what Dahlia has always told you- that you are an ugly, wretched, little thing. Unloveable at best and absolutely unforgivably intolerable at your worst. Astarion has slept with plenty of virgins before- he knows how to say all the right honeyed words to get them to bed, but this is entirely different. This is you and your first, consensual time with a man if you choose. If you don’t, then he won’t press the matter, but leave his door wide open. Astarion is not Cazador or Dahlia- he is not going to force you.

“I don’t care about any of that Darling,” Astarion assures you quietly, “I want you, not Alfira. We only have to go as far as you are comfortable with- if you want to.”

Your eyes are wide and searching for any hint of insincerity.

“We could even try multiple times if needed,” he says jokingly, but he knows that you can tell he’s serious.

You beam at him and your posture straightens up- a new found confidence in your eyes.

“Okay,” you finally say, “I trust you. I want to try.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You would be lying if you weren’t feeling slightly anxious. The last person you had been with was Tessa and she’d been in the ground a little over 8 years now. The two of you had made a lot of groundwork in your last year together before she died. You had attempted to be with others before, but it never felt right so you could never go through with it.

This feels right. You just aren’t sure what your reaction will be, but you want him and Astarion wants you. You trust that he won’t hurt you.

Astarion pulls you up off of the sandy floor and gives you a smile, “I promise you, you do not want to try this in sand. I happen to know a very nice spot, but we are going to have to make a brief stop first.”

You smile enthusiastically and allow him to take your hand in his as he leads you back to camp.

The walk is a blur, you barely notice that Astarion had grabbed a blanket, taken you quite far from camp, and without warning, Astarion pulls you in for a breathtaking kiss.

You have to fight the urge to collapse completely into him, your arms snaking around his neck as you kiss him back. The kiss is slow, melodic and soft. Astarion’s strong arms hold you close to his chest as he picks you up before laying you down on the blanket.

You help him discard your clothes and your wet under garments. Astarion quickly discards his shirt and pants before he returns to kissing you sweetly, softly. You let your hands glide up his torso to his shoulders and let your hands fan out as you try to memorize every inch of his body. He groans with approval at the touch and when you go to touch his back- you find if you go a little too far over where there is raised skin, he tenses up.

You stop and look up at him- he doesn’t seem like he is all there.

“Star, are you okay? Are you sure you want this?”

Whatever trance he is in, he seems to snap out of and he kisses you sweetly before placing his forehead against yours.

“I assure you that I want this, that area is just… it has some sensitive spots.”

“Okay,” you whisper, “I’ll be mindful of that and try to avoid them. Is it mostly in the middle of your back?”

Astarion stares down at you and for a moment, you think he might start crying. Astarion’s face looks so raw and appreciative in that moment- as if you are the first and only person to ever take the time to listen. Maybe you are. Maybe this is just as much of a fear of his as it is for you.

“It is,” he says huskily,” I- thank you.”

You beam up at him and gently cup the left side of his face with your hand. He leans into the touch and you stroke his cheek bone with his thumb.

“Of course Astarion, I want you to feel safe too.”

Astarion kisses you with a neediness that wasn’t there before. The kisses are still soft and innocent, but a bit more urgent as his hands begin to slowly roam your body. Everywhere he touches leaves you feeling like you are on fire and you find that you never want it to stop. You are intoxicated and so wrapped up in his cologne, his lips- everything. Him.

Astarion’s lips leave yours and you breathlessly look at him. He smiles down at you and slowly moves his hands up to your breasts.

“May I?”

You shyly nod in approval. Astarion slowly begins to pinch and tease your sensitive buds with his fingers- you arch your back and cover your mouth as you whimper needily at the touch. It’s embarrassing how touch starved you are. Astarion pulls your hand away from your mouth and he stares at you through hooded eyes.

“None of that, my Dear,” he commands, “I want to hear every little sound you make.”

You blush and then are quickly squirming underneath him again as he gently takes one of your nipples between his mouth, sucking, licking, and teasing it while he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger.

You are a complete mosning mess underneath him by the time Astarion’s fingers move from your breast to your throbbing clit- earning a loud, despairing whimper from you. You need so much more- you can feel your own slick coating the inside of your thighs, weeping in anticipation.

“My, you are a very needy lover,” he chastises you as he slides a finger in,” Gods you are so wet for me already. If I had known you wanted me this badly, I would have said something a long time ago.”

“Astarion-“ you gasp as he enters another digit inside you, causing you to arch your back keening as he teases your G-spot. His other finger continues to play with your now very swollen clit and with every moan you make, he praises you. The praise alone is enough to send you over the edge.

“You are being such a good girl for me,” as he enters another finger inside.

His mouth hovers over your clit, “I’m absolutely certain the Gods sent you to ruin me.”

“You taste like the heavens,” after his tongue has been flicking inside of you in tandem with his fingers.

You come undone underneath him- your hands have made purchase in his hair, and struggle to be as gentle as possible. He groans as you gently tug him up to your mouth, kissing him, tasting yourself on his swollen lips.

“Do you want to continue Darling?” Astarion whispers as he kisses up your neck, along your jaw, and slowly nips at your earlobe.

You need him inside you and you want him to be as close to you as possible. It’s like a Dam had broken open inside you and you never want it to stop flooding.

“Fuck- Astarion,” you pant, “please continue.”

Astarion kicks of his undergarments and dips his fingers between your folds and coats his cock with your orgasm. You are speechless as you watch him slowly stroke himself, looking at you.

Astarion puts himself in between your legs and you feel him tease your entrance.

“Before I start,” he says, “you need to tell me if it’s too much and if we need to stop. You will not offend me nor hurt my feelings. We can try again another time if you want.”

“The same goes to you.”

There was that look again. Astarion grabs your bottom lip between his teeth, the neediness has certainly grown since the last statement.

You feel him begin to guide himself inside you, slowly moving until he’s bottoming out- curse words and your name leaving his lips like a prayer. You feel the tears prick your eyes at the pinching and pressure as you adjust to his size. He slowly rocks himself in and out, barely making any movement, but enough to stimulate you more.

“Are you okay?” He says with alarm, wiping your tears.

“Yes- I promise,” you say between panting whimpers, you press your ankles into his lower back to keep him there. It’s beginning to feel better and you open up through the tadpole to show him you mean it. The thoughts were probably far hornier than you meant to show him and he smirks at you.

“Cheeky pup.”

Astarion begins to make his thrusts longer as your moans became louder and more euphoric sounding. You kiss him with fervor as he pumps in and out of you, keeping a slow pace.

“You can speed up now,” you whisper between kisses, “you feel really fucking good inside of me Star.”

Astarion moans against your mouth, the kiss becoming sloppy as he teases your bottom lip between his, pulling slightly. You feel his hips begin to snap slightly harder against yours and you cry out as he begins to hit that perfect spot faster and slightly harder.

“You are so beautiful,” he says while grazing the sensitive skin on your neck, “and you feel so fucking good around my cock.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand any of our other companions looking at you sideways ever again.”

“Then give them a reason not to.”

That seemed to be enough for Astarion as he immediately goes to work leaving hickeys along your neck, your shoulders. You will have to ask him how he’s able to do it so gently.

Astarion’s thrusts inside you are getting sloppier and you have your hands dug in the earth as he slightly lifts you off the ground to get more leverage. You moan his name in between curse words and whimpers as another powerful orgasm rips through your body. You feel him stutter as you tighten around him and finish inside of you. Astarion’s pace moves to a slow rhythm before coming to a halt.

Vampire and half-vampire perks- the whole kid thing? Basically not even remotely possible.

Astarion lays gently on top of you, kissing your neck lazily.

“How was that, Darling?” Astarion asks as he looks into your eyes with concern and worry.

You gently grab his face with your hands and leave a chaste kiss on his lips.

“It was absolutely perfect,” you say, your brain foggy and swimming in the throes of bliss and your deep fondness of the man above you, “you are absolutely perfect.”

************************************

You had fallen asleep quite some time ago in Astarion’s arms. The concept of what happens after sex (normally) was quite foreign to him. Usually he was dragging people to their death after sex, but now he gets to sit and enjoy you- have you all to himself. After it had all been said and done, you had curled into one another, practically nose to nose and just talked. You caught up with each other about what the other missed over the last three days, picked the next ideal type of book to read, and how disasterous the Crèche is likely going to be considering Shadowheart is insisting on going. Lae’zel is positively miffed about it. You laugh and he asks about Minthara. You tell him about the vision she showed you, but he could tell you were holding something back. You don’t push him- he won’t push you.

You tell him about your mother- a former Lolth sorceress who didn’t align with the Spider Queen’s ideals. She was shunned by her parents when she denounced Lolth and she moved to the surface- meeting your dad. Your mother was practical and pragmatic- calculating and protective. Your father, on the other hand, was like a warm breeze on a perfect sunny day.

Astarion tells you about what little he remembers of his life as a Magistrate and his parents. You both ponder what they could possibly be doing in the world right then- pretending there is a possibility that you could find them together when this was all over- even just so he can know.

Astarion’s head is swimming with confusion. It was all very different than when Astarion had gone out hunting for Cazador.

You and him had spent at least a two and a half weeks getting to know each other extensively, spent quality time together over mutual hobbies, and you’ve even seemed to meld together as a fighting duo. You are friends- Astarion expected it to be maybe slightly different, more enjoyable than usual.

Astarion was quickly proven wrong.

This was eons different. Despite the feelings of it being tainted to some degree due to his past, it had been jaw dropping, sweet, simple, and, dare he even say it, intimate. Astarion finds that he actually craves more of you this way, but he also still wants you the way you had each other before. The shame and self-loathing are choking him. There is no way you’ll see him as something other than sex now.

Right?

Astarion honestly isn’t sure and that terrifies him. You were so kind to him tonight while you were in his arms. You respected his boundaries; you avoided that part of his body even though he didn’t tell you not to; you wanted him to feel safe with you too. You took the time to talk to him and play with his hair while he spoke about his parents, becoming a bit emotional.

Vanilla is hardly the word to describe what just happened between the two of you- it was wonderful and frightening. Astarion questions if it’s selfish to want more, to abandon his plan all together.

Astarion stares down at your sleeping face as your limbs are tangled with his. He wants to stay, but he wants to run away from you too. Except Astarion needs your protection- that’s what this was all for, wasn’t it?

That’s what compels him to leave soft kisses on your forehead and to hold you a little tighter- it’s why tears fall from Astarion’s cheeks onto the blanket beneath you when he thinks about the day you’ll end up letting him go.

#astarion acunin #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x you #bg3 spoilers #astarion romance #astarion x tav #bg3 #karlach #astarion x gender neutral reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion x gn! reader

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harlowsbby · 2 years

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imagine jack and reader sitting courtside and the basketball players giving reader all the attention and jack getting fed up😭🤍

Enough is enough

“What’s wrong Jack? Are you not having any fun.” You teased as the grouch next to you groaned and huffed watching all the basketball players come up to you and flirt.

“No I’m not having any fun actually and I’d rather go back home.” He crossed his arms over his chest and pouted like a five year old child.

Tonight Jack wanted to take you on a little date night which consisted of the two of you sitting courtside side at the Golden State Warriors game but the minute the two of you arrived Jack instantly regretted it.

Your outfit was pretty simple nothing too over the top, Jack thought it would be cute if the two of you matched tonight, he wore a Golden State Jersey with his black cargos while you wore a very short short skirt in Jack’s eyes with a crop Golden State t-shirt.

“Jack you don’t see me getting upset when thousands of girls are thirsting over you and throwing themselves at you everyday, besides now you know how it feels.” You mumbled the last part but he heard you loud and clear.

“That’s different though baby, I don’t pay attention to any of them I only pay attention to you and half the time all they want is pictures, but these basketball players they want more then just pictures.”

“Yeah they wanna get between them thighs.” Urban joked from behind the two of you, Sunni chuckled but immediately stop when Jack flared at the two.

“Watch, I bet you one of them comes up to you and tries asking you out as if they don’t know you’re with me.” Jack soon regretted those words because just like magic one of the players known as Jordan Poole came strolling over to where you were all seated.

“Uh oh.” Sunni laughed and watched how Jack’s jaw clenched and unclenched, eyeing Jordan up and down.

“You know this whole time I’ve been trying to focus on the game but your beauty has honestly been distracting me so much.” Jordan grinned and sure you should’ve told him that Jack was your man but where was the fun in that.

“Why thank you Jordan you know I’ve honestly been only watching you all night.” Jack’s head whipped to the side, you stiffed a laugh at how his mouth flung open the shock and hurt evident on his face.

“Is that so pretty lady? Well if you don’t mind would you like to go out or something after the game?” You we’re going to continue teasing Jack and entertaining Jordan but based on the sour look placed on Jack’s face it was best you didn’t.

“I’m sorry Jordan but I do have a boyfriend, he’s right next to me actually.” His smile fell while Jack rolled his eyes, Urban and Sunni laughing like hyenas behind you.

“Oh shit my bad Jack I didn’t even know you had a girl.” Scratching the back of his head awkwardly, Jack shrugged his shoulders and turned to the side.

“I’m sorry.” You mouthed to Jordan as he walked off.

“Damn Y/N just out here pulling all the men tonight.” Sunni laughed but Jack sat there with a irritated expression his face.

“What’s wrong Jack? You know I was only playing with you.”

“Go date your little basketball player I’m sure he’ll show you all around the city.” He huffed and you frowned, when Jack got jealous he tended to take it too far and get in these mood swings.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen who’s ready for the kiss cam?” One of the announcers in the stadium announced over the loud speaker. Everyone laughed and aww’d at all the couples that made it on the kiss cam.

Before you knew it you were looking at your face and as well as Jack’s on the big screen.

“Uh oh is there trouble of paradise or is Jack Harlow always this grumpy?” The announcer asked making everyone in the room laugh.

“Come here Jack.” Grabbing Jack by his chin you smashed your lips onto his, him being petty didn’t kiss back at first but eventually he did and grabbed the side of your face deepening the kiss before pulling away.

“Well damn I thought a porno or something was for-sure going to happen.”

“Shut up Urban!” Jack and You said together.

“I’m sorry Jack, I shouldn’t have flirted with Jordan, can you forgive me?”

“I forgive you baby girl besides I know many ways you can make it up to me tonight.” He grinned and sure enough that night you made sure to make it up to him in many ways with many rounds.

#jack harlow #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow x you

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frostandflamesfanfic · 2 years

Text

You're Not - (Steve Harrington x Reader)

You're Not (Rated T)

Request?: No

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k (Hell yeah, we back, baby!)

Warnings: Slight language, Jason Carver being a bit of an ass, Steve being hard on himself, Reader could be implied Hopper if you squint but up to you!

Summary: Inspired by an episode of Love Daily on Netflix (episode: Hit); The year is 1985, you're on a school field trip to cheer on Hawkins High at the championship game before spring break. When the game doesn't pan out as expected, you're even more surprised to discover the one and only Steve Harrington in only his underwear at your hotel room after being locked out by his teammates. What happens when the two of you have a little heart to heart? (reposting because Tumblr ate it)

You hummed to yourself as you walked through the halls of the hotel. Your Walkman was secured at your hip and the well-worn pads were adjusted against your ears. The soft tones of Cyndi Lauper filled your senses, a ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. Chicago was always a bustling city, people pushing past each other in the streets, cars honking aggressively at the chaotic levels of traffic. It was quite the adjustment from your home in small-town Hawkins. All the hustle and bustle made you glad you were only in the city for one more night.

Yet as you looked through the window of the eighth floor, it just seemed…different. Magical, even. From here, the pedestrians and automobiles were tiny, merely blinking lights and waves of brightly coloured clothing. Their presence seemed almost meaningless as you watched them navigate through the streets and sidewalks with a rhythmic pace.

Why your school had decided to turn the basketball team’s championship journey into a field trip, you had no idea. Something about school spirit, supporting physical education, rah rah sis boom bah. The game itself had really been a bit of a let down, but that wasn’t saying much since you spent most of it reading. The cheers and groans from the crowd were enough of an indication for you of the team’s current status. You had only looked up from your fantasy world one time- the minute Steve “the Hair” Harrington had attempted to make one final shot for the team…

…and missed.

It had been a quiet rest of the day after that. There were no parties, no celebrations which would consist of unsupervised teenagers getting stupid drunk regardless of the chaperones on the trip. Everyone had been so sure that 1985 was going to be the year, the time small-town Hawkins would be put on the map for something positive. But it didn’t happen. After the last two years, nothing seemed to go right for your hometown. A kid disappearing, dying, then coming back to life….one of your best friends mysteriously dying from a gas leak… now the town had lost its one shot of making a positive headline.

A sigh escaped your lips as you fumbled with the room key in your front pocket. You knew you had jammed it into your pants earlier, but it now seemed to have disappeared. There was a thud to your side as another room door slammed. You turned to look and see King Steve himself talking with a few of his teammates. The music coming from your Walkman made it difficult to make out what they were saying, but judging from Steve’s lack of pajamas and frantic hands, it wasn’t the greatest conversation.

Your fingers came into contact with cold metal in your pocket and you grinned as your room key was secure in your palm. You unlocked the door without hesitation and immediately began your nightly routine. As you were preparing to change, you realized you had forgotten to place the room service tray you had requested that morning back outside to be picked up. When you opened the door to set it aside, you were surprised to come face to hand with Steve Harrington.

The boy before you held a sheepish grin on his face, the surprise evident in his eyes. “Oh, uh,” he said, hand awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. “My uh, my teammates thought it would be a great idea to lock me out. Would I be able to borrow a towel or something?”

It took a few minutes to realize Steve was actually talking to you. “Sorry, what?”

Steve sighed, a few stray pieces of hair falling into his eyes. “My teammates locked me out of our room,” he explained again. “Do you have a towel I can borrow so I don’t break any laws here?”

You glanced behind you into your room. Your roommate had yet to come back in for the night; they had mentioned trying a new fake id at the bar down the street. Whether or not they’d be successful was yet to be seen, but as long as you weren’t on the hook for it, it wasn’t your problem to worry about. They had invited you to tag along, but you had declined in favor of taking in the city sights from your room. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a large t-shirt stuck out of their duffle bag – presumably their boyfriend, who was also on the team.

“How about I do you one better?” you asked as you swiped the fabric and held it out to him.

There was a fleeting appearance of relief etched across Steve’s features as he grasped the shirt from your hands. In the process, you also managed to pick up one of your old zip-up hoodies for him as well. Your fingers touched for a moment in the process and you tried to ignore the slight tingle as it wormed its way under your nails. The two of you had hardly spoken over the last four years – why you would even want to try and start a conversation didn’t make much sense to you either. Yet here you were, standing in your hotel room with Steve Harrington tugging on an old band t-shirt of your roommate’s.

“So, uh,” he said as he looked around your room. “You usually have your own room on these types of field trips?”

You scoffed. “Oh yeah. I always make sure to reserve my room in advance. Drives the chaperones insane,” you said with a shake of your head. “No, I, uh, I always seem to end up with roommates that think it’s cooler to go get drunk than stay in and read.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow, obviously amused. You could practically feel the flush as it crept its way up your neck onto your cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” You tried to hide your embarrassment by flopping on your bed and grabbing a pillow. “I hear it now, Snoresville.”

“No, no. I think it’s…cute.”

“Uh, thanks?” Cute. Did Steve Harrington– King Steve– just call you cute? You had to be hearing things at this point. In an attempt to cause a distraction, you stood up and adjusted the dial on the small television positioned in the hotel room. Your hand nervously reached to the back of your neck to scratch away the awkward sensation prickling through you. “Make yourself comfortable, seeing as your roommates probably aren’t going to let you back in.”

“What about your roommate?” Steve gently perched on the edge of the other bed. He seemed nervous, something you’ve never seen him be throughout your time in high school. In fact, everything about this version of Steve seemed different compared to the King Steve everyone used to worship. The roles were reversed now. Instead of being cocky and confident as all hell, this Steve was…almost shy and didn’t know how to approach you.

“They probably won’t be coming back tonight,” you said with a wave of your hand, pulling the blankets on your mattress around your form. “They don’t really care what I do anyway.”

“We could give ‘em something to talk about. Ya know, like, putting something on the doorknob…” Steve’s toothy grin sent butterflies shooting around your stomach.

You shook your head. “As tempting as that offer is, they’ll probably be way too invested in what’s-his-face…uh, Walter? Yeah, I think his name was Walter-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Walter Conners?” Steve actually let out a sound of disgust when you nodded. “God, that jackass? Jesus, people’s standards have really gone down.”

“What can we say, Harrington?” you teased. “The rest of the world didn’t know what to do with you off the market with that Wheeler chick last semester.”

The look on Steve’s face made you want to retract your comment immediately. It was almost as if grey storm clouds hung over his head. He shifted in his spot on the mattress and his mouth twitched into a deep seated frown. His shoulders slumped, causing his entire body to sag forward. “Yeah, well everyone seems to be singing a different tune nowadays after I got my ass dumped.”

You’re not sure what compelled you to do so, but you squirmed out of your makeshift blanket burrito to reach over and pat his leg gently. “Hey, Steve,” you tried. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Nobody deserves to be dumped. Unless you’re a self absorbed asshole, which honestly I kind of thought you were for a bit with all of the girls you dated early in high school…I’m really not helping, am I?”

“It’s fine,” Steve’s eyes locked onto your hand, which was still positioned on his leg. Your thumb was absentmindedly rubbing circles into his skin. What you didn’t know was how the two of you were both attempting to hide your nerves from the unexpected contact. “I’m used to it by now, everyone thinkin’ that I’m an asshole.”

You shook your head. “No, no, Steve, that’s not what I meant.” Your grip on his leg tightened gently. “It’s just– god, it’s kind of sad when you think about it– but now you kinda understand what it’s like to be invisible; to not have anyone see you or want to be around you.”

“Is that how you felt?” Steve’s chocolate brown eyes locked on yours. He looked as though he was searching for something in your gaze. His eyes were almost pleading, begging for your defenses to come down ever so slightly. “Did no one really ever see you?”

“...Maybe.” You tried your best to avoid his gaze, but Steve was relentless. He reached over and tilted your chin up with two of his fingers, forcing you to stare back at him.

“Hey,” he said softly, holding out his other hand. “My name’s Steve Harrington. I’m an idiot senior who doesn’t have the best observational skills and makes the absolute worst decisions about women. Who are you?”

You didn’t grasp his hand at first, but when you did, you couldn’t look at him directly as you spoke your name. “Everything else, though. That…that’s a little complicated, I guess.” A period of awkward silence hung in the air between you for a few moments. It wasn’t a stifling silence. In fact, it was almost comfortable sitting across from Steve in the hotel room. You didn’t feel the urge to hide behind something like you usually did when you saw him in the halls. It was…nice.

“Do you want to go get a milkshake?” you asked out of nowhere. “I saw a diner a couple streets over. Might give us a taste of home?”

“Uh,” Steve looked down pointedly at his attire. “I mean, I would. But I’m kind of in my underwear here.”

A smirk wormed its way against your lips. “I might have an idea.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As your hand reached up to the wooden exterior of the hotel room door, Steve reached over to gently grip your wrist. A sigh escaped him and he shook his head. “This is a bad idea,” he muttered. “It’s not going to work.”

You rolled your eyes before using your other hand to loosen his grip. “Relax, Harrington,” you replied. “Everything is going to be fine.” Without another word, you shoved him out of sight and knocked on the door.

Jason Carver, Hawkins High’s junior star player, answered the door. He was dressed in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants, the barely-there outline of abs visible. A suave grin practically split his face in two as he leaned forward. “Well, well, well,” he drawled out, eyes glancing up and down your form. “Look who we have here. Come to console us on our loss, sweetheart?”

As you pushed down the gag that threatened an encore of the night’s crappy Chinese takeout, you forced yourself to bat your eyelashes. “You’ll get ‘em next time, Tigers,” you attempted to alter your voice into a purr. Steve tried to muffle his choked laughter, but you heard him. Feeling a little daring, you raised your right arm and walked your fingers along Jason’s bare chest. “Do it for us little guys, yeah?”

“For you, sweetheart,” Jason said with a wink and a shiver, “anything.” He adjusted himself against the door. “How about I take you down the street to that pizza place? Grab a late night slice on me? It’s the least I can do for my, I mean our, biggest fan.”

“Oh, you see, I would, but I kind of already have plans.”

That seemed to ruffle the younger boy’s feathers. A frown tugged at his lips and he glanced at you in shock. “Oh really?” he asked. “With who?”

“Me, asshole.” Steve moved faster than you thought possible. He quickly shoved Jason out of the door frame before he raced toward his luggage in the back of the room, the young player on his tail. It was the last you saw of him for a few moments as the door slammed shut. You tapped your foot anxiously as you waited, hoping Steve hadn’t been right and he wouldn’t be murdered the second he stepped inside. The next time you saw him, he had grabbed your wrist and the two of you bolted down the hallway to the elevator. You didn’t stop to catch your breath until long after the elevator doors had shut and you were on your way to the lobby.

“It’ll take ‘em a while to catch us,” Steve remarked, still panting from the run. “That is, if they even actually care.”

It was around this time you were able to take in Steve’s new attire. He was wearing a red sweater paired with a pair of Levi’s and some beat up converse. It was simple and far from the preppy school boy you had known since the start of senior year. Yet it just seemed so Steve. A smile flickered across your features, disappearing quickly as soon as you realized what you were doing. Unfortunately, it wasn’t fast enough to escape Steve’s surprisingly observant gaze.

“What made you so happy?” he teased as you made your way out of the elevator and through the lobby. “Did seeing Jason Carver shirtless really get you hot and bothered?”

“What? No! Ew, god no,” you exclaimed far too quickly. “I just…can’t believe that actually worked.”

Steve smiled at you. It was all teeth, bright and shiny. The way his attention was solely on you sent a shiver down your spine. Sure, you’d been on dates with people before, but even those didn’t feel as intimate as walking through the streets of Chicago with Steve. It just felt normal, like this was just a typical instance to happen between the two of you. You had to admit it was nice. The thought of someone wanting to spend time with you was surprising, but not unwelcome.

You had gotten so lost in thought, you didn’t see a car running a red light as the two of you crossed the street. In an instant, Steve had wrapped his arms around your waist and spun you so he was shielding you from any impact. The car swerved around him, shouting something out the window, but all you could focus on was the heavy thumping of Steve’s heart against your back.

“You okay?” he breathed into your ear, tone a little shaky from the previous shock. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?!”

“Steve,” you managed to choke out as you turned in his tight embrace to face him. “I’m okay. I promise.” You pressed a cold hand against his warm cheek to comfort him. “Thanks for the save there.”

That seemed to calm him down. The boy before you nodded and hesitated as he let you go, running his fingers through his hair as you finished crossing the street to the diner. “Jesus, I guess people don’t understand the importance of road signs here,” he remarked with a shake of his head.

“Like you have any regard for those back in Hawkins.” You lifted an eyebrow in challenge. “I have it on good authority that you have accrued at least three speeding tickets in the last year.”

Steve stopped in his tracks. “And how do you know that?”

“My dad’s a cop at Hawkins PD.”

“Huh.” The boy reached over you to pull open the door to the diner. You both couldn’t help the smiles that plastered on your faces as you heard the bell signal your arrivals. It sounded like home. “Guess we’ll add that to the list of things I didn’t know about you.”

When you finally sat down and placed your order, Steve propped his elbows up onto the table, chin resting in his hands. His gaze was locked onto yours yet again, searching for something you couldn’t quite grasp. “So what’s your story?” his voice sounded muffled by his head position.

“What’s yours?” You countered quickly, praying that he’d get too swept up in his own story and barely leave time for you to get into your own.

The former highschool heartthrob shrugged nonchalantly. “No parents, big house,” he said. “Just a loser kid who thought he could take on the world but ended up screwing his chances at having a shot at doing some good out of Hawkins because he didn’t realize there’s more to life than parties and popularity.”

You winced. “You’re not a loser, Steve.”

“Oh, really?” Steve stiffened at your words. “If I’m not a loser, then what do you call costing the team a championship game? Or completely missing out on hanging out with a really cool person during high school because I was too damn hung up on popularity contests and being accepted by assholes like Tommy and Carol?”

“So what if you missed the shot, Steve? It’s just a basketball game-”

“Yeah, my last one at Hawkins.” He ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I didn’t get accepted into college, not even tech. This was my last chance to really make something of myself before we moved onto real life with jobs and stuff.”

You chuckled. “Jobs and stuff…”

The two of you halted your conversation as the waitress delivered your milkshakes: chocolate for you, strawberry for Steve. As you began to slurp down the icy sweet treat, Steve lifted his index finger toward you. “You still never answered my question,” he said. “What’s your story?”

After taking a long sip of your shake, you pause to collect your thoughts. “Well, my dad and I moved to Hawkins a few years ago. He grew up here, actually. Was a Hawkins High grad back in the day.” You lifted your milkshake in the air as though in mock toast. “We lived in New York before that,” you explained. “It was nice. Just the four of us-”

“Four?” Steve interrupted, letting his curiosity get the better of him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You nodded with another sip of your milkshake. “It’s fine,” you replied with a shrug. “Yeah, four. My mom, my dad, my sister, and, well, me.”

“How come your mom and sister didn’t come to Hawkins?”

The straw in your milkshake began to hit the bottom of the glass in a familiar pattern as you stabbed it up and down. This was always the hard part. You never told anyone about it and the fact that you were telling Steve of all people was even more mind boggling. “After my sister died, my uh, my parents decided to split up,” you continued, a lump in your throat. “My mom offered to let me stay with her in New York, but…”

“But you came here,” Steve finished for you. His eyes softened as he took in your awkward adjustments in the seat. Without thinking, he placed his directly on yours. You glanced up at him in slight surprise. “Why?”

“Uh, honestly?” You shook your head. “I really don’t know. I think it was just the memories, you know? The thought of staying in that house after everything that happened, seeing my sister’s room so empty… I think I just needed to get away from it all, clear my head.”

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

You know Steve’s question was meant to be innocent enough, but you couldn’t help but tense at it. The truth was, you had considered going back to New York to continue your studies. You had even gone as far as to talk to your dad about the whole thing. When college applications rolled around, though, you found yourself staring blankly at the questions on the page. It was an endless cycle that lasted long after the application deadlines.

“It, uh,” you stammered. “It was the plan. But, uh, life has a funny way of screwing with you, as I’m sure you know by now.”

“Oh.”

You nodded in agreement. “Guess we’re both stuck in the small town world for a bit longer, huh?”

Steve chuckled into his glass. “That might not be such a bad thing,” he murmured. “Especially now that we both have some pretty decent company.”

The two of you continued to make small talk for the rest of the evening. It was during this time you learned that you two had quite a few things in common. Steve’s always wanted to visit the beaches of California and you’ve wanted to travel via the cable cars in San Francisco. You both wanted to have a dog at some point when you moved out on your own, with another one later on down the road (“they’d get lonely!” Steve had argued). You had ordered refills of your shakes and a plate of fries to share to keep your energy up. Needless to say, Steve was rather appalled by your ingenious idea to replace ketchup for a much sweeter alternative.

“How dare you commit such a sin to fried potatoes?” he exclaimed, hand clutched to his chest in mock betrayal.

“Hey!!” You waved a chocolate ice cream coated fry in his direction. “I happen to know that this is a well respected delicacy in the streets of New York. So sorry your small town palate isn’t as refined. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Harrington.”

Steve rolled his eyes and begrudgingly lifted one of his own fries up to your glass. “Well, if you insist I must partake in this blasphemy,” he replied as he gathered some of the shake on the potato, “then how can I refuse?”

You grinned as you watched his expression morph after taking a bite. A small smile threatened to spill out onto his lips, but you could tell he was fighting it. “See? Not that bad, is it, Hawkins?”

Steve sighed and tilted his head side to side. “Okay fine,” he relented. “Not too bad, New York.”

Just as you were about to respond, your eyes locked onto the clock on the wall. 8:45. Fifteen minutes until curfew. “Shit,” you swore under your breath, slamming down the money to cover the bill. “We gotta go.”

Steve followed your glance to the time and his eyes widened. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll race you back. Last one there has to pay for milkshakes back at Hawkins.”

The two of you practically skidded to a halt in the hotel lobby at precisely 8:56. As Steve guided you into the elevator, you were once again very much aware of both of your heavy breathing in the small enclosed space. Steve leaned against the wall, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he tried to catch his breath. “You know, for what it’s worth,” he said, “I’m almost glad we lost that game. I had a really great time with you tonight.”

You smiled at him with a nod. “So did I. You’re not so bad, Harrington.”

The elevator chimed before Steve could respond, causing him to take your hand and lead you to your hotel room door like a proper gentleman. The comfortable, yet awkward, silence made its final return for the evening as the two of you locked eyes at the door frame. Steve opened his mouth to say something, but you were both startled by a raised voice echoing through the halls.

“HARRINGTON!” Coach Davis, who was also one of the chaperones, exclaimed as he neared the two of you in the hall. “Get back to your room immediately. Do you not know it’s past curfew?”

“Very well aware of it, Coach,” he responded coolly. “I’ll be right there.”

As the Coach waited impatiently, Steve turned his attention back to you. He leaned closer to your ear before he whispered, “for the record, you were never fully invisible to me.” Without another word, he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek and made his way back to his room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next morning, as you opened the door to your hotel room, you noticed a familiar yellow material hanging from the handle. It was the hoodie you had lended Steve the night before. A smile on your face, you slipped the garment over your shoulders and shoved your Walkman into one of the pockets before you began your trek through the hallway. You passed by Steve’s shared room with Jason, half-expecting to see him step out with his suitcase in tow. Yet, the room was empty, save for the strewn about bedsheets and pillows on the floor.

A twinge of sadness tugged at your heart, but you did your best to pay it no mind as you made your way to the hotel lobby for breakfast. You couldn’t see Steve anywhere in the hotel that morning. He must have left with the rest of the team before the breakfast service. While you picked at your half-stale blueberry muffin, your mind wandered back to the boy you adventured with the previous evening. You could still feel the warm tingling sensation his surprisingly soft lips left against your cheek, even though it happened nearly twelve hours ago. Hawkins was a small town and there were still a few weeks left in the semester before graduation, so you knew there was a likely chance you’d bump into each other again. You were just surprised to find yourself hoping that things wouldn’t revert back to the way they were.

After boarding the bus, you decided to reach into your pocket for your Walkman. As you pulled out the heavy device with its headphones, your fingers brushed up against something unfamiliar. It was soft, but it wasn’t the material of the pocket. Brow knit in confusion, you placed the Walkman to the side and reached back into the pocket to pull out a wadded up napkin. You carefully smoothed the paper out on your leg and were greeted by the logo of the diner from last night. There was a smudge of dark ink on one side, which, when you flipped it over, revealed the messy scrawling of a phone number alongside a message:

If you ever want to stop feeling invisible, just give me a call. 555 7535

Milkshakes are on me this time.

-Steve

====================

Author's Note: Hello! Hello, hi, hey! I'm finally (mainly) back on Tumblr! This fic has taken me about a week to sit down and actually finish. It was a bit of a self indulgent task, but I enjoyed writing it so much once I finally got into the groove of things. Massive kudos to @bakerstreethound for cheering me on into the late hours of the morning today so I could finally have something new to post on my blog.

So how are we feeling about Steve Harrington making an appearance on the blog now? I promise I'll try my best to get back to my other fics, but this is apparently what my brain cell wanted to produce for you all to read. If you liked this fic, please make sure to leave a comment and reblog. Likes are amazing and warm my heart, but I really want to make sure Tumblr doesn't eat my posts after being away for so long. Anything I can get to keep this page afloat is much appreciated <3

Until next time, my lovely little sparks!

#steve harrington x reader #frostandflamesfanfic #steve harrington drabble #stranger things #steve harrington #joe keery #stranger things headers #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #Steve harrington x you

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obaex · 1 year

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the one that chases you (five) - rafe cameron

summary: when jj sees you again, he isn't able to let you go without saying something, and rafe is here to tell him he doesn't have any other choice.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: canon-level violence

series masterlist

You and Rafe had been laying low, going to a few parties here and there but preferring to spend most of your time together, soaking in the summer days lying in the warm sand at the beach or swimming in his pool together, your legs and arms wrapped tightly around him. You couldn't get enough of each other. But when he asked you about a party at the boneyard after your morning run, you thought it sounded like fun.

You took the time to do your hair and makeup and put on a cute dress that you had just bought at the Kildare surf shop. It was short with thin straps and an exposed back, highlighting your deeply tanned skin. You could hear the sound of Rafe's truck kicking up the gravel in your driveway as you took one last look in the mirror, taking a moment to appreciate the love you had shown yourself, your heart, your mind and your body over the last few months, the results of which were truly stunning; Sarah was right, you were glowing.

Rafe was leaning against his truck, hands in his pockets as he waited for you. When he saw you slip through the front door, he stood up straight, eyes wide, as he literally put a hand over his mouth drinking you in. He thought you were just as beautiful when you were drenched in sweat from your runs as you were flaunting your assets in a bikini, but seeing you fully done up in the glow of the golden hour was almost too much for him to handle. You were a stunner, and he couldn't believe you were his, after all this time.

"Geezus, gorgeous" was all he could manage to say as you approached him, smiling wide. He met you halfway, taking your face in his hands and capturing your smile with his lips, kissing you with the passion of a man headed off to war. You looped your arms around his shoulders, sinking into his arms as he began to leave a trail of kisses on your cheek and down your neck, settling on your sweet spot and working it with his lips.

"Rafe" you said breathlessly, nudging him gently, "You're going to leave mark!" He pulled back reluctantly and sure enough there was a small bruise forming at the base of your neck.

"I'm sorry, gorgeous, you look so so beautiful. I just can't believe I get to call you mine" he said, brushing your nose gently with his before taking your hand and leading you to his truck, opening the door for you before settling into the driver's seat.

By the time you made it to the beach, the sun was setting and there was already a substantial crowd there. Rafe led you by the hand over to your friends where you settled in, soaking in the joy of a sweet summer night surrounded by friends, with Rafe's arm draped around your shoulder.

You laughed deeply at a joke that Kelce was making at Topper's expense. Your laugh carrying to the other side of the party, nearly lost in the cacophony of the music and loud voices but for the one person that was desperate to hear it, JJ. His heart began racing as he turned his head every which way, trying to find you. The pogues collectively saw the change in his demeanor and that's when the crowd parted enough for them to see you.

"Ok, is it just me, or did Y/N have a massive glow up?" Kie said, the shock evident in her voice.

She wasn't wrong. The girl they knew lived on a permanent high of weed and Bud Light, content with washing her hair maybe once a week with a wardrobe consisting of JJ's oversized t-shirts and the same two pairs of denim shorts.

You didn't even look related, let alone the same person. Your hair was thick, shiny and clean. You were wearing makeup albeit simple and tasteful, a brush of mascara and bronzer. You had on a dress that advertised your sparkling tan and toned arms and legs. But beyond anything else you had a thousand-watt smile, joy radiating off of you in a way they had never seen when you were with JJ as you gazed up at Rafe, hanging on his every word. And it was the way you were looking at him that had JJ up and on his feet before any of the pogues could grab him.

He beelined for you, shoving people out of the way, on a war path. The sound of people's annoyed shouts catching your attention. Before you realized what was happening you felt Rafe's arm slide off of your shoulders to set down his beer, kissing you on the temple before turning to Topper and saying "Get her out of here."

"Come on, Y/N" Topper said, putting his arm around you as he tried to guide you away, gentle but firm.

"Wait, what's going on? Rafe, what are you doing?" you asked, panic rising in your voice as you tried to wiggle out of Topper's grasp.

Rafe knew this day would come. It was inevitable. He knew what it felt like to be the center of your attention, to have your eyes sparkle and nose crinkle when he made you laugh. He knew what it felt like to have your warm lips pressed to his, to drink in the smell of you, vanilla and coconut. He knew how his fingers came alive when they touched your smooth skin. And now that he had you, he knew if he ever lost you, he would look exactly like Maybank did right now. JJ wasn't able to let you go, and Rafe was here to tell him he didn't have any other choice.

Topper continued to pull you away from the gathering crowd but you fought back, "If this is about me, I have a right to be here!" you demanded.

"He just doesn't want you to get hurt" Topper sighed. "Just stay next to me." You obliged and he wrapped his arm protectively around your shoulder.

JJ's eyes had been locked on you and he laughed at the sight. "Didn't take long for you to fall right back into it, did it sweetheart?" he shouted mockingly in your direction.

"Hey! You don't speak to her" Rafe cautioned, approaching him with an arm outstretched.

JJ ignored him, "Queeeeeeen Koooook" he called out to you. "You had us all fooled with the way you shit talked your friends. Do they know what you said, sweetheart? Should I tell them?"

"Last warning, Maybank" Rafe growled, taking another step towards him. Holding himself back if only for your sake. "I mean it, don't you say another word to her."

JJ continued brashly, eyes never leaving you, "Or should I tell your boyfriend here what I had you moaning the last time you rode my-"

Rafe's fist collided so hard with JJ's face that you could hear the crunch from where you were standing and the crowd led out a collective gasp. And then, Rafe was on top of him, wailing on him, howling with each punch, "Stay" punch "the FUCK" punch "away" punch "from my girl" punch punch punch. JJ didn't have a chance. kooks and pogues alike descended on them, trying to break up the fight, but Rafe was a man possessed. It took four guys to pull him off of JJ, still screaming as they carried him away, "I fucking mean it Maybank! You keep our names out of your mouth!"

You were shaking as Topper hugged you closer into his side and tears streamed down your face. You had never seen Rafe so angry in your life, and you realized you were the cause of all of this. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" you muttered.

"Hey, hey it's okay" Topper said, comforting you as one of your girlfriends rubbed your back. "We don't give a shit what that pogue said or what you might have said, we're just glad to have you back on the right side of the island where you belong."

"I've got to go talk to him" you said, trying to break away. You could still hear Rafe yelling in the distance, clearly agitated.

"Maybe you should give him a minute?" Topper suggested cautiously.

"What have I done, Top?" you sniffled, "I don't want to be screwing up Rafe's life."

"Screwing up his life? Are you kidding me? I have never seen him so damn happy - current circumstances aside. He's been pining after you forever. And the way he looks at you - I know we give him so much shit for it, but if we're honest? It's because we're jealous. What y'all have is real. He would do anything for you, and I know you feel the same way too."

"Thanks, Top" you said, hugging him. "I'm gonna go check on him, I'll see you later."

You walked in Rafe's direction, finding him leaning against his truck, hands on his knees, head down, breathing heavily, surrounded by the four friends that had pulled him out of the fight. When they saw you, they took it as their cue to leave, hugging you or patting you on the back as they walked by.

As you approached him, you could see the blood dripping from his knuckles, and could see his whole body shaking. He was hyperventilating.

"Rafe" you said quietly. His head snapped up at you and you could see blood spattered on his face and the collar of his shirt. You approached him carefully, moving to wipe the blood off of him as you took his face in your hands. "I'm so sorry he said those things-" you started.

"What did I say?" he replied. "No more apologies. You don't need to apologize for his actions."

"Come here" you said, stepping closer, pulling him into you as you looped your arms around his neck. You could feel his heart hammering in his chest and his limbs shaking as he brought his arms around you, leaving his hands outstretched, not wanting to touch your dress with his hands for fear of getting you dirty.

"I didn't want you to see me like that" he said, after a moment, almost a whisper. "I have this anger and fear inside of me. F-fear of losing you. Again. But I need you to know I would never hurt you."

Your heart squeezed at that. "I know" you said, not missing a beat. And you did, without question.

"Running helps" he admitted, pulling back to look at you. "I think that's why I kept doing it when you were gone, besides the fact that I was hoping you would come back. If I didn't have a way to deal with this rage inside of me, I would have burned a path all the way across the island to you."

You touched your forehead to his, laughing quietly, "After what I saw tonight, I have no doubt. Let's get you home, Rocky."

taglist: @louie-bug, @wh0reforbucknasty, @magnificantmermaid, @houseoftwistedspirits, @one-sweet-gubler, @fangirl-madz, @ietss, @diary-of-jj

part six

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#rafe cameron #obx rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #obx fanfiction #obx fic #obx imagine #outer banks

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ride-thedragon · 9 months

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NETTLES AND THE IDEA OF INNOCENCE

Innocence, especially for women in asoiaf has a particular place in their perception.

Innocence in our world holds a very similar place.

When a character is innocent, you want better for them because any turmoil they go through is undeserved, and by the rules of both societies, it should allow them to be exalted from hardships.

So when it comes to such a small character like Nettles the idea of her innocence is perpetuated past the character we have because she is exalted from the concequence of what she is accused of in the narrative and is redeemed from all the hardship she faces towards the beginning when she claims a dragon.

But I don't think that's fair or correct so I want to go over some things we know and hear about her that people use to defend this idea of innocence and come to the conclusion that even though she is innocent it's not in the way typically attributed to her.

1. Nettles and Sheep:

Her relationship to this animal is a fun metaphor to understand her. Nettles trades sheep to gain her dragon Sheepstealer. Nettles trades innocence for power.

"Lambs have always been sacrificial animals. From the Ancient Greeks and Romans to Christians and even later civilizations, lambs were used for sacrifice to a higher purpose. In most cases, it was the sacrifice to Gods.These are the qualities that make lambs so symbolic. "

"They are a sign of innocence, purity, vulnerability, and sacrifice. Many of these symbols overlap with the symbolism of youth."

The idea of innocence is something that her taming Sheepstealer inherently corrupts. She slaughters sheep every day to get close enough to establish a bond to him. It's a continued effort to trade innocence for power, and because dragons make Targaryens closer to gods than men, the idea is that she's offering a sacrifice to a 'god' to gain power.

I'll link my post about this parallel she has to sheep further.

Another thing is that she's young, and that plays a part in what she is absolved from in the narrative because of the nativity and ability to grow with the potential of youth.

2. Nettles and The Cost of Power:

The regression of this trade for power comes after Driftmark is sacked and burned. In the war effort that Nettles largely contributed to, she loses her friend and her home. We are told her reaction to the loss is crying through the soot on her face so hard it leaves streaks. As with what happens consistently in mythology, the protagonist reaps benefits and consequences in the quest for power. The cost of gaining that power was fighting in the war, something she knew would happen. The fact that it came at the cost of her closest known relationship at the time as well as the place she grew up and had to leave behind to join the war effort is conceivable but not predictable for anyone to know. Especially not a 16 year old girl.

3. Nettles and King's Landing:

A while back, I drew attention to the fact that in the book, we have no real evidence that Nettles had any of the promises made to the Dragon Claimers kept to her. No marriages, lands, or knighthood equivalents are given to her in the wake of the fight. A lot of people use this as a way to say she's innocent because she believes in a cause and is sticking by it. That doesn't seem accurate towards the situation. King's Landing is the capital at that moment for punishing treason. She's a young, grieving girl, experiencing the price of power in a place where her refusal to fight or her running away will be met with a death warrant. Nettles has a nose scar for stealing allegedly. She's one of the characters we know understands the cost of disobedience in this world. She is a cost they'd be willing to pay. Even with her dragon adding to her necessity during the war, they're executing Noble men at that time. Nettles' entire life in juxtaposition to their's is incredibly small. Whether or not she cared about gaining anything (I like to think they gave her money), it's very clear that it's a weary time with major consequences for defiance or treason.

4. Nettles and Daemon:

This is the one people use this idea of innocence the most frequently for. "Nettles was innocent of the accusation made against her (sleeping with Daemon, not witchcraft), and Rhaenyra was influenced and turned against her."

Nettles doesn't need to be innocent for what Rhaenyra did to be wrong. The men who defend Nettles against the decree say that Nettles is wrong but young and shouldn't be killed for that. They conceded that the idea of treason is fair, but the idea surrounding it with the spell implications is simply incorrect and will make Daemon kill them if executed. Daemon is the sole person who puts her in danger and saves her in this narrative for his own character arc. Nettles isn't innocent, but she is young. She has her life ahead of her and has done everything that is expected of her. She isn't punished for love by the narrative. It saves her life and allows her to escape the trapping of power altogether, something she never returns to traditionally.

She does return to it with the burned men, but entirely away from the system, she originally gained that power from.

5. Nettles and Treason:

She did commit treason. That's not an innocent thing. It quite literally required her sleeping with a married prince. Whether or not she's a virgin (we'll get to it) in this world, giving into sex outside of marriage or prostitution as a woman is framed as wrong because of the value of virtue for women. With someone like Nettles, she'd know it's a bad thing and still proceeds with it. While as prince consort and a man Daemon will never dare a lick of concequence for adultery, Nettles would, and treason isn't a far stretch for the crime. Even with the understanding that Daemon would protect her, that they seemingly have, it's not okay. (It is to me. She's completely innocent.)

6. Nettles and Virginity:

Virtue is a currency in this world. Sleeping with a girl and deflowering is seen as a commodity and milestone. Virtue for women is posed as an added value. Without it, as we see in the books, women without maidenheads are seen as a lesser offer often beneath the standard of noble men.

Nettles is not ever positioned as a virgin. In this world, it's a logical conclusion to draw that she is not and would've traded sex for food or money. I'm not saying that happened, but if it did, there seems to be a stigma that it makes her lesser character in the story and / or denies her own autonomy by demeaning her. With the way it is presented in the narrative, it's a fair conclusion to draw. It's said to deter the idea that Daemon would sleep with her because she isn't even worth it, and that's my issue with the she should be virtuous reading.

It falls into the temptation of a character doing what she must to survive being a way to demean her. Nettles was surviving every day before the sowing. Her having sex, prostitution or just because she could, should not shroud her character in any world. Nettles can exist as both a critical view of how Westeros treats girls like her and as an autonomous character who chooses whether or not to have sex given her situation without it being demeaning or derogatory towards her as a character.

7. Nettles and Sex Work:

To add on, sex work is often demonized in this world, and because of the poor class of women often in these positions who are quite young and have no real alternative. Nettles as a character would exist in contradiction to the narrative of not only sex workers who die or are brutalized in that life, think book Shae, Show Roz. She'd also be the one who is actively saved by the class of people who often perpetuate this system of abuse they exist in.

Nettles isn't in it anymore or has once been preyed on by the entrapping cycle that brothels perpetuate but escapes and makes her own way. She's foul-mouthed and marred because of it, but she also becomes a dragonrider, and then when she has sex it's because she wants to.

When the narrative tries to condemn her for it, she's saved by the person who puts her in that position, unlike the other girls, like Tysha, Nettles' value isn't placed on her past sexual partners, and she is like the other girls who fall victim to the predatory sex work establishments in ASOIAF, but she escapes and isn't punished in the narrative for sleeping with someone or trying to survive in the first place. Something we don't really see in this world.

Overall,

The overarching angle of innocence pushed on her character is extremely strange and does not benefit her as a character. Innocence in this world is based on patriarchal feudalism that commodifies women into property and places value on them like stock that depreciates with superficial nonsense.

Question this world.

Nettles isn't innocent and shouldn’t have to be to deserve the ending she gets. She can just escape because she learns and grows and is young enough to do it without major consequences for her.

Nettles is innocent however, in the narrative of a poor, homeless girl with nothing, accomplishing a tremendous feat and gaining power from it, being used in wars and fights that have nothing to do with her and having the threat of death looming if she doesn't comply.

In being used as a means to an end in a conflict between the two most powerful people in the realm and escaping without any permanent concequence to her. She's not guilty.

Let girls have fun and be complex characters in their narratives. Innocence isn't a necessity, but even if it was for you to like her, she is, in a sense, innocent.

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ghostchems · 8 months

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A silly one:

A Papa that has eaten all the leftover Halloween candy and is now unwell from it.

- A Nonny Mouse

You are left staring at the bowl of candy on Primo’s counter just next to an array of succulents. Eyes scan the small kitchen for any evidence of wrappers or candy. Maybe he threw them away? You wander around the kitchen for a moment, opening to the trash can to find no candy. And then you hear it… a soft groan coming from down the hall.

You move in the direction of the sound, the carpet feeling soft on your socks as you slowly move toward the door at the end of the hallway. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you reach the door and the groaning only grows louder. Your heart pounds in your ears before you push the door open, only to find Primo in bed with the covers drawn up underneath his nose.

“Amore mio.” He whines and tries to sit up in bed, wincing as he moves. “I have made a mistake.” You sigh deeply, looking over his figure with a soft smile. You’re relieved that it’s exactly what you thought it was and not something serious — despite his diet mainly consisting of food grown from his garden (vegetables, fruits, etc) but he is known to have a severe sweet tooth. You considered not leaving the bowl of candy out for the day because of this but you figured that Primo would be busy enough to stay out of his quarters.

You were wrong.

“You know you have a sensitive stomach, Primo.” You coo, spilling his secret to the four walls that surround the two of you. The ministry thinks that Primo became this gardening wizard because of his passion for plants but in all actuality, it was because of his constant stomach issues. The more natural foods helped him digest better, hence the intense interest in gardening.

But he always succumbs to the candy.

“Don’t tease.” Primo groans again and reaches out for you, his favorite piece of candy of all. You crawl onto the bed and lay next to him, settling on your side so you can slip your hand down the covers and up his t-shirt to stroke his upset tummy. He sighs happily and relaxes against you, his hands moving to hold your arms. “It was the nougat.”

You chuckle quietly against his ear before moving your lips to kiss at the wrinkles on the corner of his mouth and then up to brush over his laugh lines. Primo is all but purring, closing his eyes to bask in your love.

“A nap should fix you up, don’t you think? I’ll get you some ginger ale after if it’s still upset.” You hum as you smooth his hair from his face. Primo sighs in the affirmative, melting at your touch and relaxes even further against you. It’s impossible for you to be frustrated at him; he can’t help it when the forbidden goodness is staring him right in the face, wrapped in pretty colors.

You’re happy to take care of him, after all, he’s taken care of you quite a bit.

#papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #primo x reader #papa emeritus i #primo #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfics #primo request

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 11 months

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Disneyland: A Jeff Adventure

Summary: Jeff might be a part-time Avenger, but how will he react to the greatest mission of them all? Helping Spiderman at the Disneyland Avengers Campus.

Word Count: 5123 Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader Warnings: None A/N: This request was sent in over 11 months ago when I first opened my requests for Jeff ideas. It's been in progress the whole time since, but on this special day it will finally see the light. I hope you enjoy!! Comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated!

Part of The Jeff Fictional Universe (you don’t need to read the others to understand)

In the chaos of your day-to-day lives, moments of peace and serenity were hard to come by. Family car rides don’t guarantee it either, but after consistent early starts and days spent on the road, the monotony had finally worn both Jeff and Natasha into a lull of drowsiness.

Through the rearview mirror, you watched as Jeff yawned, the little land shark curling himself even tighter around the plush toy in his arms while his eyelids fluttered. He let out a small purr, then fell swiftly back into his slumber. To your side, Natasha was much the same; she had drawn her knees up to her chest and rested her feet on the chair. You checked the road ahead, glad for the never-ending straight emptiness, before allowing yourself a moment to watch your fiance; you admired the way the sunrise glow shone on her jaw, highlighting the face you fell in love with so many years ago. If only you weren’t driving, you’d photograph that sight to keep forever.

Your eyes flicked to the road, then back at her.

You would always admire how soft she could look in civilian attire, when her upbringing and job demanded only her harshest. Her loose white t-shirt contrasted the muscular arms it exposed, and her plaited hair evoked memories of smiling in bed, watching her braid and unbraid it with gentle, dexterous fingers every day and night; the same fingers that were trained to fire a bullet and throw a punch. Her hands still bore the mark of her profession, littered with scars and blisters, but she had forged a path beyond that. She had chosen to be gentle and made a life defined only by herself; one that you were lucky enough to be part of.

Gently, you lay a hand on Natasha’s arm, drawing her from her thoughts as her glassy gaze out the window switched to a focus on you. A small smile graced her face when she looked over at you, and she blinked the drowsiness away.

Once you had her attention, you pointed a finger behind you, causing her to switch her attention again. Natasha’s smile grew at the sight of your land shark now laying on his back, the miniature version of himself still clutched in his arms, while his back legs stuck up high into the air.

Your focus returned to the road, but soft rustling from the seat beside you exercised your ears for the first time in hours. A short succession of shutter clicks followed it, and you turned your head to the side again, only to see the lens pointed directly at you. The vintage camera clicks again, capturing your easy grin, which Natasha matched mischievously from behind the body. The camera had been a gift, from you to her, on your first anniversary together; a Nikon FM10 film camera. Practically worthless in this day and age, you’d worried for weeks before whether it was enough, or possibly too much for just one year… but when Natasha opened the gift and gasped, you knew you had chosen correctly.

She’d told you the story early on in your relationship – you’d already known her past – of how she’d spent her years in Ohio saving all the money she could get her hands on, just to scrape enough for a camera. She’d settled on the FM10, the new model of the time, but parted with it just weeks later when the ruse was up, and she and Yelena were robbed of their possessions and returned to the Red Room; she’d watched her father crush the objects in his palm, destroying any evidence it might possess, as well as her only proof of life.

You’d known what to buy her as soon as you’d heard, and it was a possession she’d brought with her on every trip since.

The shutter clicked a few more times, capturing scenes of Jeff’s cuteness and you at the wheel, before Natasha finally put the camera down and leaned back in her chair. From the corner of your eye, you saw her head still tilted towards you, watching your features just as you had done to her moments prior.

She knew you'd caught her the second a smile started to tug at your lips, but that didn't stop her. Even when you turned and asked smugly what she was looking at, she didn't stop. "Our shark," she lied.

"The best view for miles," you agreed.

"Well," she pointed, "hopefully that is a better view." You followed her guide to see the tips of a castle exposed among the geology of the land. You breathed a sigh of relief; all of that travelling and it would soon be over.

Jeff's nose began to twitch at that moment –a telltale sign that he was waking from his nap– accompanied by a vacuous yawn. "Mrrr," he sighed, then flipped himself back into sitting upright, even though the slouched, sleepy posture remained.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Natasha said with a small laugh. As if she hadn't woken only moments before. You scoffed at the statement, only to mimic her laugh when her stern gaze and poorly hidden smile turned in your direction.

Jeff purred again, drawing your attention as he brought a stubby arm up to his face and wiped the sleep from his eyes. Natasha's camera clicked again, just in time, and you couldn't blame her.

"That'll be a good one," you muttered to her. She smiled proudly, then nodded her agreement.

"Have you worked out where we're going yet?" Natasha asked Jeff a little while later. The castle and all the rides had vanished out of view again, but copious signs marked your destination even after Jeff had roused himself from sleep. Whether he noticed them or not was a different matter…

"Mrrrr." He shrugged.

"What did he say?"

"He doesn't know."

Natasha hummed. You glanced over and saw her chewing on her lower lip, furrowing her brows in the direction of the oblivious land shark. "I worry about his perception sometimes," she confessed, "it's like he doesn't even care where we're going."

You look in the mirror again, the little shark stared out of the window. His legs swung from his seat and he smiled as he watched the world go by.

"I don't think he does care."

"But we could be taking him anywhere, even back to MODOK's lab, and he wouldn't notice."

From the back, Jeff let out a low growl at the mention of his former captor. You and Natasha looked back and he smiled, before returning to his happy murmuring.

"He's aware of some things, at least,” you shrugged. “Mostly, I think he trusts us; he doesn’t have to care.”

You feel Natasha's eyes on you and take her hand in yours, "it's not the same as how you were raised; he knows we're not going to trick him and he knows we'll come find him if anyone does."

She squeezed your hand gently.

"He also can't read."

"What?!"

"He's only four, what do you expect of him?"

"I could read by that age."

"You were raised by the Red Room, love, that's not the same."

"Oh yeah? When did you start reading then?"

"Who remembers that? Oh, wait, Morgan! She's 4, right? Can she read?"

"She's 5,"

"What? I could have sworn she was just 4."

"She was babe, until her birthday party a few weeks ago. The one we went to together?"

"Oh, when Jeff almost stole the cake."

"That's it," she smiled, "she also read out her own cards then…"

You chewed your lip, looking for any excuse. Was Jeff really behind? "She's a Stark," you said at last, "they learn at an accelerated speed. It was a poor comparison actually."

Natasha scoffed and looked out of her window to hide the smile you brought to her face, but you knew it was there. For as much as she worried about the land shark, your words and the care you showed for him could remind her that Jeff would be okay. Whether he learnt to read or not, he had the two of you to support him, and that was all he needed.

Eventually, and all by himself, Jeff realised where you were headed, and let out an excited squeal to ensure you all knew too, as if you weren't the ones taking him to the destination.

It provided a laugh for you and Natasha and, when she turned in her seat and you checked the rearview mirror, neither of you could restrain a heartfelt smile at the view. Jeff's tail wagged furiously and he had propped his hands up on the base of the window, resting his head on them gently to gaze at the unmistakable turrets of Sleeping Beauty's castle.

"That's right Jeff," you confirmed, "we're going to Disneyland."

Entering the theme park, things soon strayed from the plan. Jeff was not a fan of queues, and turnstiles were too tall for him anyway, so the second you tried to enter one of those dreaded queues, Jeff was having none of it.

The land shark sprinted remarkably fast for such a short-legged creature. He bounded towards the entrance with an eager grin and a round, aerodynamic body… while you scowled and sprinted behind him. You dove towards the land shark and caught him just before he slipped through the turnstiles.

With one arm wrapped securely around Jeff, you fumbled to find and replace your cap, then smiled awkwardly at the employee working the gates. Jeff adjusted his fake moustache and glasses (that he'd insisted upon 'for the disguise'), then flopped over your shoulder, complaining that if he had to wait in the queue, you could at least carry him.

Natasha took him off your hands when you returned, doing her best not to laugh at your dishevelled state, while you got the tickets ready on your phone. Her free hand dusted off your clothes then took your hand in hers.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

"Emotionally or physically?"

"Both."

"Physically; I definitely scraped my elbow. Is it bleeding? I can't see, but do you know how hard that floor is? You would think that they'd design it for adults to chase their children around." You sighed. "Emotionally, I'm not sure I'm ready for the 'Avenger faceplants at Disneyland' articles."

"Then consider them gone," Natasha promised, confirming it with a kiss on your forehead.

"With so many people around?"

"You've known me for years, Y/N. I've been called the best agent anyone had ever seen in several organisations. And you don't think I can stop some photos from leaking? That's child's play, love."

She smirked through the speech. You loved when her cockiness came out; a fact she was well aware of and perfectly happy to exploit.

"And your elbow is bleeding, I have some band-aids, front pocket of my rucksack."

With unspoken understanding, Natasha turned to the side to give you access to her bag. Jeff took the opportunity to give you an apologetic lick, and you smiled at the gesture.

"It's alright, Jeff, you're forgiven," you said, with an accompanying pat to the land shark's head. He purred at the touch.

"Here, let me," Natasha said, taking the band-aid from you when she saw you struggling to apply it. She handed Jeff over, then knelt down to the level of your injured arm and smoothed the bandage over the wound, rubbing it gently. "Better?"

"Certainly easier."

By then, the queue had finally passed, so she took the shark off of your arm (still not trusting him to run free) and let you scan them through.

Finally, after a cross-country road trip and Jeff-induced hurdles, you had made it.

Thinking the difficulties were behind you, Natasha set Jeff back down onto the ground and threaded her fingers with yours, smiling that the mission-level planning of this Disneyland trip seemed to be paying off.

This, however, was a mistake.

Despite having no knowledge of the park's layout, nor of yours and Natasha's plans, Jeff confidently took the lead. He ambled ahead without even a brief glance back to check you were following.

Jeff's route was, of course, the exact opposite direction to the route you had planned ahead of time, but the land shark would not be dissuaded and, after a regretful look shared with your fiancée, the two of you took off after him.

He broke into a faster run the more excited he got, causing a slight issue given the whole park was designed to foster joy and exhilaration. Luckily for you, Jeff was also an easily distracted little creature – meaning his full-pace sprint stopped the second he caught sight of the mascot not too far from the entrance: his favourite character, Dug the dog.

Jeff turned slowly to look back at you and Natasha, as if checking this figure was real. Through panted breaths and clutching the stitch on your side, you gave him a thumbs up, setting him off like a shot again. Natasha was fairing only slightly better, breathing heavily beside you, but she still gave you a sympathetic pat on the back before managing to walk after the shark.

The mascot of Dug the dog, thankfully without a queue, soon saw the land shark storming towards him and knelt to the ground, avoiding a total knockout when Jeff leapt into his arms. Whoever was in the costume seemed to be just as big a fan of Jeff as Jeff was of them, rewarding him with plenty of hugs and scratches as he pranced around on their lap. His tail wagged so fast that you feared a tornado would form in his wake, but the mascot didn't mind – they just fell to the floor and spun with Jeff.

Natasha did eventually step in to calm the shark, and thank Dug, but it took another five minutes and several photos of Jeff with his hero before he could finally be convinced to part.

Even then, he had to be lifted back onto Natasha's shoulder, and slumped at the loss of his friend.

"Wait 'til he sees the actual plan," you whisper. Natasha laughed, then readjusted Jeff; he lay over it, already looking tired, but mustered just enough energy to wave at his new-found friend for as long as he was in sight.

You held the paper map up as you walked, Natasha and yourself talking through the different options to get you back towards your initial destination. The plan reformed on the fly, and soon enough, you were there; the bright blue lights and familiar logo rewarding your shortcuts and crowd dodging.

"Mrrr?" Jeff cooed, finally giving up on his search for Dug and turning himself on Nat's shoulder to face forwards. He squirmed and stretched his legs until the Widow put him on the ground, at which point he took a few careful steps forward, then looked back at you.

"Mrrrr." Jeff concluded after copious sniffing, then hurried to stop you and Natasha in your tracks. He ran in front of your legs and held two hands up in a 'stop' sign.

The land shark huffed indignantly when Natasha dared to laugh, before turning and launching into a rushed speech that you alone could understand.

"Jeff…Jeff slow down." You crouched down to be almost eye level with the shark, his nervous ramblings giving way to heavy breathing when you put a hand on where his shoulder would be, if he actually had them.

"It's not a trap, okay?" Natasha softened as she realised Jeff's worry. "We know it's not the real Avengers Campus, we're still on the other side of the country. This is just a theme park with lots of fun rides and characters, so everyone else gets the Avengers experience without having to live there like we do."

"Mrrrr?"

"Yeah, it helps the public feel a bit more involved, then they like us more!"

"Mrrrr!?"

"I'm not sure there's a Jeff ride just yet, buddy, but maybe someday."

"Mrrrr."

"You're right, you're right. It would."

"What's he saying?" Natasha asked when you stood up, Jeff finally deciding to walk, not run, between you and Natasha while he addressed the environment.

"He thinks there should be a Jeff ride here because then everyone would love the Avengers."

"He's not wrong."

"Your dad wasn't a fan."

"He's come around. I think seeing Jeff in the suit is all it took."

"I told you he needed to make a good first impression!" you laughed, leaning down to get a high five from Jeff.

"Well when you packed a Jeff sized suit, I didn't know you were planning to propose."

"Greatest spy in the world, huh?" you smirk, "and she didn't even know I was going to propose. We fooled her, Jeff!"

Jeff wagged his tail and ran in a circle around you – something you had picked up to mean excitement – before settling in front of you and staring up with large watery eyes.

"Mrrr?"

"No, there's still no Jeff ride. It takes a bit longer than 30 seconds for them to build one."

Jeff whined again, huffing and stamping his foot this time.

"We'll talk to Disney, right Nat? Then we can come here again once a Jeff ride is built. You can even help with the planning, Jeff, would you like that?"

"Mrrrrr"

"Good boy." Natasha met your eyes with the hint of a smile, silently communicating how amusing she found your conversations with Jeff. Thanks to you replying in a way that revealed what Jeff had said, but paraphrased, the Black Widow got to watch your interactions like a show, while you were left to deal with Jeff's tantrums.

"Why don't we go on a ride," Natasha said suddenly, "I heard there's a Spider-Man adventure, how about we help your old friend out, hm Jeff?"

The land shark perked up in an instant, Natasha's words carrying his complaints away like the wind. The 'Jeff ride extravaganza' (a work in progress title, according to the shark) was all but forgotten as Jeff hurried around the campus in search of his friend and favourite hero, Spiderman. You'd never dared ask Jeff where you and Natasha ranked on that list.

"MRRRRR!!"

Jeff tugged at the edge of your shoe – presumably he'd been aiming for your trouser leg, but his gaze was so transfixed on the sight before him that he didn't notice. You looked down anyway, tapping Natasha's shoulder so that she'd follow your line of sight and see the land shark's tight grip on your shoe too. Her camera emerged again to snap a picture before the both of you followed Jeff's gaze.

Once you saw the red and blue figure atop the fake Compound, you understood why Jeff had been possessed by the spirit of a squirrel-stalking dog.

"Hey Sharon. Let's do an altitude test for the new improvements," you heard the mascot say. 'Sharon?' Natasha mouthed; you shrugged. Jeff still watched with rapt attention, ignoring yours and Natasha's silent conversation behind him about who authorised this.

'Fury?' you signed, 'did Tony and Peter show him this?'

Natasha shook her head. 'Probably just Hill.'

"Mrrrr," Jeff interrupted sadly, then stretched his front legs until he was laying down and resting his head on his hands.

"What's wrong, Jeff?"

He sighed again, and weakly tipped his head up to the roof of the complex. At some point in your conversation with Natasha, Spiderman had disappeared, and only Jeff had been watching to see where.

But then the music swelled – you just wanted to know who composed a whole theme song for Peter – and Spiderman's voice blasted from the speakers again.

"Clear the runway, Spiderman is clear for takeoff!"

Jeff screamed, causing the eyes of half the audience to miss the Spiderman animatronic's big stunt because they turned to face your family instead.

"Is that Jeff?" someone whispered.

Jeff composed himself for the group, and readjusted his disguise glasses.

"No, Jeff doesn't wear glasses."

"Maybe it's a new look."

Jeff cowered, his tiny form bundling itself between your legs. He hadn't expected the attention, or prepared himself for it, but he trusted you, and looked up with pleading eyes in a beg for help.

You froze on the spot. Through the Avengers, you'd been subjected to constant public attention and media scrutiny, and been enrolled in almost monthly classes for dealing with it. You thought you had it all handled, but when the questioning eyes were on your Jeff, suddenly you lost all functionality.

Natasha noticed straightaway and, unlike you, stepped into action. She scooped Jeff out from your legs into her arms with a "let's go, son," and even placed her coveted disguise cap on his dorsal fin for him to take comfort in the anonymity.

You hurried behind her and put your own cap on her head. She smiled, and the two of you hurried into the closest building, skipping the queues due to the pre-planned fast-pass tickets you'd bought just for this ride. Mission planning was always your speciality, and this was no different; forward thinking made for an easier trip.

The attendant let you through without a hassle, and guided the three of you into your own section of the pod. Natasha went in first, set Jeff down on the bench beside her, then you followed.

While you waited for everyone to load onto the ride, a small nudge to your arms had both you and Natasha looking at the land shark between you. He hung his head, not looking at either of you after the nudge, then clenched his hand into a fist and moved it in a clockwise circle over his chest – the sign for 'sorry'.

"You don't have to apologise, Jeff-"

"-I should be saying sorry more."

Natasha flicked you sharply on your shoulder, then played it off as wrapping an arm around Jeff. "Neither of you should be apologising," she said firmly.

"You should be apologising for just now," you muttered, "that hurt."

"Alright, sorry love."

"Apology accepted."

"The point is," Natasha continued, now that you were done with interruptions, "neither of you did anything wrong. Jeff, you were just scared for Peter, it was a high jump-"

"Mrrrr. Mrrrr." Jeff interrupted this time and Natasha looked up at you for a translation.

"Not Peter. Spiderman."

"Jeff, they're-"

Thankfully, the land shark still had his head bowed, so he didn't see you urgently signing for Natasha to cut herself off and mouthing that you'd talk about it later. For Jeff, his friends Peter Parker and Spiderman were two different people, and no amount of explanation from you had ever managed to convince him otherwise, even when you'd had Peter put the mask on right in front of Jeff, his lack of object permanence prevented him from connecting the dots.

Maybe Jeff really was behind his peers…

Regardless, Natasha dropped the topic and corrected herself. "Scared for Spiderman then – he's your friend, of course you'd be worried about his stunts, and your reaction was natural. You remember when I came home with my arm all wrapped up?"

Jeff nodded. Natasha's eyes met yours when she continued her speech, conveying all the worry and fear she'd felt to you while keeping an even voice for Jeff. "I was worried about Y/N because they were doing some dangerous things too, like Spiderman, and I reacted without thinking-"

"Aaarms up, ladies and gentlemen…and… shark?" the attendant interrupted. Jeff stretched his arms as high up as they could go while the bar was lowered onto your laps. Then you were left alone again.

"I did get hurt but it was for the best because Y/N didn't," Natasha finished. She lay her hand in the centre of the bar and you took it, squeezing it in an attempt to comfort her. Jeff did a better job though, resting his head down to lay on your interlocked hands.

"Oh, and Y/N?" The tone of her voice changed in an instant, and you knew what was coming. "I'm gonna destroy you in this game, so you better not freeze."

"Jeff gets a whole motivational speech and I get that, how nice of you my love," you said with a playful roll of your eyes. She grinned at you, knowing this was what you needed more than the speech she gave Jeff. Then the two of you stuck your arms out in the classic Spiderman pose, Jeff following your leads, and your Webslingers ride began.

The pod shuttled you from room to room, each filled to the brim with tiny arachnid robots, threatening to overwhelm the room's Spiderman projection.

Jeff has the time of his life; it was the superhero experience he always wanted to have, helping to protect his favourite hero. You wondered if this would boost you and Natasha higher up his list; he might still complain that you won't let him accompany you on real missions, but you let him do this, so that should count for something, right?

With the way he cuddled into your side at the end, you hoped so. Or it could have just been boastful, since he'd beaten you by just a few points, his energetic wrist flicks giving him the edge to beat you.

Natasha beat you both, and she wasn't humble about it, nor was she afraid to rub it in the face of her 4 year old, land shark son.

"It's not fair," you complained to Jeff, "she has wrist weapons on missions too, her whole job is practice for this."

Jeff mrrr'd his agreement.

"Don't be a sore loser; this was all skill," Natasha boasted, pulling Jeff to sit on her shoulders. He giggled when you stuck a tongue out at your fiancée. She blew a kiss back, never wiping the smirk from her face.

You pulled the map out of your pocket the instant your group stepped back into the light. Something on there would let you get your own back on Natasha – you were sure of it – but, as it turned out, you needed to look no further than the area you were already in.

“Um, miss… are you the Black Widow?” a small voice asked.

Natasha beamed, “well, yes, I-” Her smile dropped when she turned to see the young girl who had been talking, with red hair braided just like Natasha’s. More specifically, she trailed off when she saw the child was still metres away with her back turned…because she wasn’t talking to Natasha.

“Oh honey, I sure am! Would you like a picture?” The mascot replied in an exaggerated American lilt, excitement bleeding from every syllable. She showed the young girl how to pose, and together they crouched to the ground with one leg bent and the other straight, then held out an arm to imitate shooting her Widow’s bites.

The scarlet that coloured the (real) Black Widow’s face could be compared only to the hue of Wanda’s powers. If you hadn’t applied her sunscreen yourself that morning, you’d have pulled her out of the sun and told her to put more on. Then again, you couldn’t risk it with a redhead… you’d apply more later, but there was one more pressing job that you needed to do first.

You pressed it slowly, as if that might mute the sound completely, and yet…

*click*

Your fiancée's gaze shot to you. "Don't you dare."

"Too late."

Natasha snatched the phone from your hands and left your arms hanging in the space between you and her. Jeff shuffled closer before you could chase after her, and began to hop underneath them. You quickly conceded, picking him up and cradling him in place of the phone… and then chasing Natasha.

She hadn’t run far and, while Jeff purred happily, she groaned in irritation.

“Anyone in the world-” Natasha pushed the phone into your chest. Jeff grabbed it eagerly, allowing a glimpse of the open messages. “Anyone in the world and you had to send it to her? She’s going to have that over me for years.”

You peered over Jeff’s shoulder to read the messages more clearly. "I KNEW IT." was Yelena’s reply. "I TOLD HER SO. IT IS HER POSE AND EVERYONE KNOWS IT!!!" Given the sibling rivalry between the two, this was quite a significant score against your fiancée, but there was nothing she did better than revenge. When the next match came in this never-ending war, you would be supporting Natasha in a ploy against your future sister-in-law. You can never lose if you fight both sides.

Regardless of your precarious position, you’d learnt long ago that Natasha doesn’t take after her arachnid counterpart in the way she treats her partners…most of the time… so you felt brave enough to push her one step further.

“You know, the whole team would probably want to see this,” you teased, “go over and pose with her! We’ll take a photo, maybe even get it framed. Tony would put it front and centre in the common room, trust me on that.”

Jeff cooed and nodded along with your words. He still had your phone, and unfortunately, you and Natasha were too preoccupied pulling faces at each other to watch how he used it.

“Mrrrr.” Jeff laughed again. The phone was constantly buzzing in his hands, so much so that you could feel the vibrations through his body.

“Jeff,” Natasha said slowly, each syllable perfectly enunciated in a false display of serenity, “can I please see that phone for a second?”

Ever the teacher’s pet, he nodded once again and handed the phone over. Natasha’s jaw clenched as she inhaled deeply, trying to keep her cool, before turning the phone around to show it to you.

Jeff had recorded both of you mocking each other with all the grace and maturity of 5-year-olds on the playing field, the false Widow still posing in the background. Then, taking your inadvertent advice, he’d sent it to the Avengers group chat, where the team wasted no time in making memes and mockery of the pair of you.

“Alright,” Natasha said at last, eerily calm, “Y/N, time to get the map out. Whatever the biggest, scariest ride is… we’re putting Jeff on it.”

Her facade broke instantly as she rushed forward and scooped Jeff from your arms. He squealed with joy as she threw him up into the air, then giggled in Natasha’s arms when she caught him. “Come on you rascal, time to show you what these rides are really about.”

She ran off, Jeff clinging to her neck, and for what felt like the hundredth time that day, you found yourself chasing after your shark. You wouldn’t change a thing.

Jeff taglist: @unexpected-character @wolferine (if anyone else wants to be added to this list, just give me a message)

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff imagine #jeff the land shark #jeff the landshark #marvel #fanfiction #the JFU #ikan writes

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