#the best thing I’ve drawn in quite a long time
Text
Slade isn’t expecting visitors today, so he’s annoyed that the sound of footsteps interrupts his book. The curtains are drawn wide to let in the sunlight, and he doesn’t bother getting off the chair. As one of Talia’s best gladiators, he can get away with a lot more than anyone else. He’s earned enough to buy his freedom ten times over, and Talia knows that the only reason he’s here is because he wants to be here.
It’s in her best interests to keep him sweet. A lesson Ra’s never learned.
“Slade,” she calls out before she fully steps into view, wearing a low-cut dress typical of high class fashion and yet bristling with knives, “I’ve brought a gift.”
“I wasn’t aware I was expecting one,” Slade says, still in his seat. There are two guards with her in addition to her personal shadow, and they’re holding someone upright between them.
“This was one a long time in waiting,” Talia smiles, and beckons the guards forward. It takes a long time to recognize the stumbling figure between them—clad in the typical revealing silks of a bedslave, bandages wound around their torso and half across their face, ruffling dark hair. Their head is bowed, golden cuffs around their wrists, but it isn’t until Slade spots the blue brooch clipping the silks to the unassuming black collar that he realizes who this is.
Nightwing. Richard Grayson. Up until recently, one of the Arena’s favorite gladiators. And the man that killed Slade’s son.
He doesn’t realize he’s on his feet until Talia’s smile widens. He ignores her, and stares at Grayson. The man is gaunt where he was once gleaming, a golden young gladiator now gray and exhausted and faintly trembling. The outline of his collarbones is starkly visible, as are the dark shadows around his visible eye. Grayson lifts his head to meet Slade’s gaze, expression cool and blank, and there’s no fire in that startlingly blue eye.
He looks like someone walking to their executioner.
“And what’s the gift?” Slade asks sharply. He heard of Grayson’s loss weeks ago, a startling upset with one of Talia’s young gladiators, and the Arena had voted to spare him. He assumed that Talia would’ve used Grayson in one of the games she was always playing to catch Lord Wayne’s attention, not bring him here.
To the first person in the country who wanted to tear him apart.
Talia smiles, and gestures to Grayson. There’s a flicker of something in Grayson’s eye that fades to blankness. It isn’t quite resignation or quiet placidity. It’s a mask, and Slade’s itching to tear it off his face.
“He’s yours,” she says. For what? For a night, a day, a week, a fuck, a beating, a—“to do with whatever you wish. Keep him or kill him, I do not care. His fate is yours.”
Slade blinks. This time, the fracture across Grayson’s mask spreads wider before it’s suppressed. Before Slade can fully understand what’s going on, his cell door is opened and Grayson is none-too-gently shoved inside.
“Have fun,” Talia laughs, smirking at Grayson before she walks away, “Goodbye, Richard.”
Grayson doesn’t say a word. Soon, the guards and Talia are beyond hearing, and the heavy weight of the silence is the only thing there. Silence, and Slade staring at the single person he’s wanted to tear apart for years.
He takes a step forward. Grayson presses back against the bars, clearly trembling now, expression fighting to be blank but panic too hard to fully conceal. He’s trapped in a corner and there’s nowhere to go and Slade stalks forward with all the time in the world.
“Nothing to say?” Slade asks, because he’s been waiting for this moment for so long, stoking the fires of his vengeance year after year, waiting for Wayne to finally buckle and schedule a fight between them, and in his dreams, Nightwing turns to Icarus, the boy that flew too close to the sun. And Nightwing dies, red spilling across the sands.
Now it looks like the wax wings burned on the way off but didn’t manage to take him with it, and Grayson’s thinner than he usually is, lost muscle and new scars and no matter how fiercely he tries to manage his expression, there’s a brightness he can’t quite mimic.
“Is there anything to say?” Grayson asks, voice hoarse, “You’re going to kill me. I don’t have a speech for pretty last words.” Defiant but weary.
This is a pale imitation of the golden, gleaming young gladiator that raised bloody dual swords to the roar of an Arena, triumphant over his son’s corpse, and frustration abruptly washes over Slade.
“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?” Slade growls, and he’s close enough to wrap a hand around Grayson’s throat and yank him away from the bars. “Do you really think that I’ve been dreaming of killing you for years only to give you the mercy of a quick death?”
Grayson does attempt to defend himself, long-ingrained fighting instincts unable to let him truly surrender, no matter how much resignation he feigns, but Slade flings him at the floor to avoid the retaliatory swipe.
That Grayson falls is the first surprise. The man has preternatural grace. Slade quickly calculates that the bandages across his right eye are the culprit, as are whatever injuries he’s hiding, but the thought is pushed aside when Grayson hits the ground.
Because he screams, actually, open-mouthed, screams, voice cracking in a way that indicates precisely why it’s so hoarse, and immediately rolls over to curl up on his side, gasping and shaking and nearly clawing at the floor.
That isn’t a minor injury. That is—
Slade’s not an idiot, not a mindless brute tearing people apart because he knows nothing else, no matter how much the impression suits him. He used to be in the military, used to command, used to strategize, and he’s spent years watching lords and ladies play their games.
It’s a fact that Grayson displeased Talia in some way, she would’ve given him back to Wayne otherwise. Dropping him in Slade’s lap means Grayson’s only coming out of the cell as a bloody ruin. So Talia got her money’s worth, sold Grayson to everyone that’s wanted a piece of the charming young gladiator, until—until someone damaged him so badly that Talia wouldn’t even try putting him back together.
Slade grabs that ridiculous brooch and uses it to lift Grayson off the floor. Grayson’s struggles are weak, and they cut out with a choked sound when Slade drops him on the bed. Slade finds the nearest knife.
Grayson sees the light glinting off the blade, reflected in his too-wide blue eye, and squeezes that eye shut. Stops breathing too.
Slade carefully slides the knife under the bandages and slices them all free.
The outer layer comes unwrapped easily, the cloth wrapped around Grayson’s head to keep it in place. The second layer is more packed together, but comes undone with a few more cuts. It’s the third layer that’s plastered to Grayson’s skin, and Grayson starts making those quiet sounds again, as if he’s trying not to shout.
It comes off, tugging at every inch of Grayson’s skin, to reveal a brilliantly red slash extending from just below Grayson’s right cheekbone to disappear into his hairline. In its path lies an empty eye socket.
One visible blue eye stares at him, glimmering and wide.
When Slade places the knife right under it, he gets the first true glimpse of terror.
~#~
Grayson is sitting on the edge of the bed by the time Slade steps through the curtain, a book in one hand but clearly alert. Aware of how long gladiatorial training takes, aware that Slade is back too soon, wary and—
His entire face brightens when their visitor steps past Slade. Any thought Slade had of keeping himself between the two is thrown out the window when Grayson pushes himself upright and nearly throws himself at Hood with a cry of “Jaybird!”
Hood catches him and clutches him close, spilling a long string of half-choked apologies, and now Slade’s curiosity is burning. Hood is murmuring “sorry,” over and over and over again, and Grayson is shushing him, and there’s a familiarity there that Slade hadn’t expected. Sure, he knows that Hood was trained alongside Grayson, before he went out to a match he wasn’t prepared for and became Talia’s, but Hood’s bitterness for his former master and all Wayne’s gladiators is fairly well known.
Until now.
“It’s okay,” Grayson finally says loudly, squeezing Hood tightly in a hug, “It’s okay, Jay, it’s not your fault, and I’m fine, I’m okay.”
Well, that was a lie. Hood clearly knows it as well because he disentangles enough to look Grayson in the face—and blanches. “What happened?” he says quietly, cupping the side of Grayson’s face that’s still bandaged, “Your face—your eye—” Quick as a flash, Hood turns on Slade with a snarl, “What did you do to him, you bastard—”
“Jason, stop!” Grayson gets between them, his back to Slade, holding Hood’s shoulders, “Slade didn’t do anything to me, calm down.”
The light in Hood’s eyes is a little less manic when his gaze drops to Grayson. “If it wasn’t him, then who?” Hood snaps. Grayson doesn’t immediately answer. “Dick.”
Slade crosses his arms and waits. Grayson didn’t tell him the full story, but it’s easy—“Sionis,” Grayson exhales.
Enough to guess.
Hood’s face runs a full gamut of emotions in half a minute. “Talia’s blacklisted Roman,” Hood says slowly, “That because of you?”
Grayson makes a weak smile and shrugs, “Difficult to do business with a man that insists on destroying your things.”
“Fucking hell, Dick,” Hood curses roundly, “Why the fuck—you can’t—stop trying to save me!”
The last one comes out as a shout, and far too loud. Grayson’s pressed his lips in a thin line, Hood’s eyes are flickering, and the silence is heavy and tense.
Both of them flick a glance towards Slade. “Don’t stop on my account,” he says mildly, “This is the most entertainment I’ve gotten all month.”
“Can we get a moment?” Hood asks, on the verge of rudeness.
“You paid for a visit,” Slade points out, “Not privacy.”
Grayson steps smoothly in front before Hood can retort, and asks quietly, “Can we purchase privacy then?”
Slade flicks a glance at Hood, who’s nearly vibrating in place, and Grayson, tense and desperate, and the way their hands are locked together, firm and tight. He pushes off the wall and heads for the curtain, “Fine.”
“How much?” Hood calls out.
Slade smirks before he lets the curtain close behind him, “You get to find out.”
He ends up waiting outside the cell, absently sharpening a knife, hearing a low murmur too quiet to make out distinct words. At one point, Hood’s voice rises into a tirade about Grayson’s intelligence and common sense, but it’s quickly hushed. It’s close to the half hour when Hood comes stomping out.
“Well?” Hood crosses his arms, “What’s the price?”
Slade arches an eyebrow, “You’re not the one who has to pay.”
For a moment, he thinks Hood’s going to punch him. The younger gladiator squeezes his hands into fists and his glare is vicious enough to set something on fire. “If you hurt him—”
“What, Hood?” Slade cuts him off, “What will you do? You can’t stop me, and Talia won’t stop me, so explain to me how exactly you propose to protect him?” Hood is vibrating in place, a murderous statue. “If you threaten me again, I won’t be so obliging to the next deal you want to make.”
The paleness is from fury and fear both, and Hood keeps his mouth shut as he roughly stomps past Slade. Slade watches him go until his footsteps stop sounding, and then heads back inside.
Grayson is waiting for him, again sitting on the bed, hands crossed in his lap, gaze fixed on Slade. “What is the price?” he asks quietly. Evenly, for all that he’s tense and clearly scared.
“Answer some questions,” Slade says, taking the chair, “Honestly.”
Grayson looks suspicious. “What questions?”
“What did Hood mean when he told you to stop trying to save him?”
Grayson purses his lips but deflates, leaning back, clearly resigned. “It’s not really a secret,” he sighs, “I threw the match.”
It takes a second for Slade to comprehend. “You threw it,” he repeats, “You threw the match.”
Grayson shoots him a half-irritated look, “I wasn’t going to kill Jay.” Something crosses over his face, a flicker of the death that still hangs between them, the dead boy that Slade wants to avenge. “And I—I knew they wouldn’t vote for my death,” Grayson says quietly, “Jay—I couldn’t take that risk.”
On the surface of it, it makes sense—Grayson’s made a name for himself, been pretty and charming at every sponsor that flits his way, there’s no way they’d let him die without extracting their pound of flesh.
“And Sionis?” Slade asks.
At this, Grayson’s face twists. His gaze drops, and Slade doesn’t know if he’s doing it consciously, but his hair drifts over the bandages, as if to conceal it. “Sionis—has his preferences.”
“And Talia whores out the gladiators that aren’t doing well.”
Grayson’s expression twists further. “Unless she had reason to doubt his self-restraint,” he says quietly, and Slade can see it. Can see Grayson provoking Sionis until the man lashed out with a wound too egregious to ignore. Lashings, brutality, blood and pain? Fine, when it could all be concealed under shifting silks, and everyone wanted scars on a gladiator.
But a missing eye on one of the Arena’s prettiest warriors? No, even Talia al Ghul, with all her animosity, couldn’t ignore that that was a step too far.
“Regardless of whether or not it worked, you had to know she would kill you for it,” Slade says.
Grayson doesn’t look him in the eye when he responds, “Talia was clear on my eventual fate from the very first day.”
Slade blinks. With that interesting piece of information, Grayson shifts up the bed, until he can lean against the wall, and cracks open his book. He doesn’t say anything else.
36 notes
·
View notes
Text
Thinking about tattoo artist Ghost who notices you in the studio quite often. Who recognizes the signs of using tattoos as a thinly veiled coping mechanism and can’t help but think that there’s a… better… way for you to cope. Ways that he can help you with. Things he can teach you that don’t involve needles but would still leave his mark on your skin.
You need him.
You’ve just finished up your session with Soap, finalizing the payment with him at the front desk, when you feel a looming presence at your back.
Ghost.
“Um… hi?” He’s the only one of them you haven’t sat for. Over the last few months you’d worked your way through nearly the entire staff at the studio, amassing a collection of new pieces like a kid collecting happy meal toys in the summer–often and to the detriment of your bank account.
“You're with me next week.” His tone brooks no argument. “Soap, what do I have open next Saturday?”
“I can’t, I–”
“Ye’re open from two to close.”
“Book her. The full day.”
“What?!”
“Got somethin’ special drawn up that I’ve been holdin’ onto. We can make adjustments when you come in. See ya next weekend.“ He saunters back to his station without another word.
Well.
Despite the odd nature of the encounter, you go. ‘Just to see what he’s drawn up,’ you tell yourself. In actuality, you’d had a hell of a week and were itching, chomping at the bit, for the bite of a needle by the time the appointment came around. And damn him it’s good. Really fucking good. Fits your aesthetic perfectly and his suggested placement isn’t far off from where you would have chosen yourself.
Fuck it.
You let him do it. Follow him down the hall to the private room, nod when he tells you to get comfortable and that he just needs to grab one more thing from his station and he’ll be right back.
You’re stripped down to your panties and the oversized hoodie you brought in, big enough to drape and maneuver out of his way while maintaining a bit of modesty, when he comes back.
“You bring water? Somethin’ to eat during breaks?” he asks as he sets a water bottle of his own on the counter. You nod and his head tilts ever so slightly. “Need words, sweetheart.”
“Yes. I did.”
Not the first time an artist has asked the question, but his insistence on a verbal answer is a curious deviation from your typical experience here. Soap certainly didn’t wait for your answer before he had his arm slung over your ass to ‘steady himself’ while needling a trail of stars down your spine a few weeks ago.
“Alright, let’s get you settled then. Down.’ He presses on your shoulder, pushing you down onto the reclined chair. “We doin it on the left or right?” His hands linger on either side of you, bent at the waist to hover over your frame.
“Uh, you said right would look best… with the other pieces? So um… yeah. The right.”
There’s a flicker behind the richness of his eyes. Something dark and smoky the seeps into the irises.
“Lookit you. Listen real well, don’t ya?”
What?
He leaves you with mere milliseconds to process. “On your side. Let’s get you stenciled.” His hand trails along your ribs, glides over the bulky fabric of the hoodie and tugs. Pulls at the pocket on the front to get you moving. “Good girl,” he purrs when you comply, shifting onto your left side and folding your arms close to your chest. “Up.” He helps you lift your head and slides a pillow under you. Does the same with your knees, pillow pressed between them to stabilize your hips.
“Thanks…” It comes out in a dazed mumble and he simply hums, as if all of this is… normal.
It isn’t. You know that. Nothing about him says normal.
The mask. His insistence—no, his demand—that you book a session with him. The way his tone brooks no argument or excuse. How some baser instinct tells you to heed his demands. Traitorous fluttering of nerves in your stomach and the heat pooling between your legs.
The black nitrile gloves clinging to his hands like a second skin are cold against your leg. Makes you twitch when long fingers push the hem of your hoodie over your hip and hook underneath the narrow waistband of your thong. “Just moving this up a bit,” he says and pulls it up to your waist, elastic pulling taught against the crease of your thigh and digging into the skin. Pressing against your pulsing core.
The cleanser is even colder and comes with no warning, but the warmth of him has begun to bleed through his gloves. Melts into your skin as he cleans his canvas and runs a hand over your hip in appraisal.
“Got a little fuzz,” he says more to himself than you, thumb swiping over the fine dusting of hair. The muscles in your back tense in an effort to fight against the shudder threatening to snake down your spine, skin burning beneath the massive hand that lingers on your thigh.
He’s precise about it, removing the hair with slow and even passes of the razor and going back over the area with disinfectant. “Doin’ so good for me, layin’ nice an’ still while I shave ya. Bet ya sit like a champ.”
Your eyes go wide, lips falling open in a silent gasp, and you’re thankful he’s currently bent over your hip and can’t see the shock written plain as day on your face. You blink. Force your brows to lower and snap your mouth shut before you say something stupid like ‘thank you.’
The stencil goes on in silence but you can feel his eyes on you. More precisely, on your face. Curious and observant. You’re so focused on not looking at him that you don’t hear him rise from his stool. Don’t register that he’s moved until he’s leaning over you and curling a finger under your chin to turn your face up towards the ceiling. Towards him.
“There she is. Let’s have a look, yeah?”
Why does he want to look at—?
The stencil. He means the stencil. He wants you to look at the stencil.
“Okay…”
He drops your chin but makes no move to pull away from you as you sit up on your elbows, twisting to get a look at the purple carbon adorning your hip and thigh. You straighten out your leg, move it this way and that, looking for any odd stretching or scrunching.
“It looks good. I like it there. It um… You were right. About it being a good fit.” When you look up at him he’s already staring down at you, eyes trained on your face rather than the stencil with a dark, inky quality to them. Pupils expanding and swallowing up the light in the room.
“Course. Knew I’d be right about ya.”
You blink and it’s gone. No more wisps of smoke swirling in amber coals. The heat in them abated by whatever he sees in you.
You have no idea what he sees in you.
He does, however, give you a reprieve when he straightens and moves to the counter to begin mixing ink while the stencil dries.
The air around you feels colder when you settle back on your side, sapped of your warmth by small touches and lingering glances. Like he’s purposely stoked a fire in you just to take from and warm himself with.
“Seen you ‘round here a lot. Got quite the collection.”
It doesn’t sound like a question, and you’re not sure if he’s expecting an answer, but you give him one anyway. Feels… wrong, not to.
“I like the work you guys do.” You’ve sat for all of them. John. Gaz. Soap. And now Ghost. Have their marks inked all over your body.
“That the only thing you like?” The broad expanse of his back is the only thing you can see, but you have a feeling that if you could see the sliver of his face visible behind the mask he’d have that same even stare he always has on the studio floor.
“Gaz is nice to look at,” you offer, and hear him huff behind you.
“That so?”
“Soap has steady hands. They wander a bit, but his lines are the best I’ve seen. Tit for tat I suppose.”
“And Cap?”
“Who? Oh, you mean John?”
“The old man ‘imself.” He turns then, arranging the ink on the rolling tray between the two of you, and you catch the dart of his eyes in your direction before they shift back to his station. “He doesn’t normally do the kinda work pretty things like you come looking for.”
“I- um…” He keeps tripping you up. Making you stumble over the words in your head with compliments and praise and firm hands and–
“You like the pain.” Your gaze jerks towards him, tracks his movements as he lowers himself down onto the stool. “Cap’s got a heavy hand,” he clarifies, but it’s too late for excuses. Your reaction only confirms what he already knows.
“That– I don’t… I don’t like it. It just…” His eyes are locked on you, simmering with something in the molten depths of them that reels you in against your will. Compels you to spill secret truths to a stranger. “It makes everything else quiet, for a little while…” You sink your teeth into your lower lip with the admission, eyes slipping away from the intensity burning in his to settle on a fleck in the wood grain of the cabinet.
Silence stretches long and thick between the two of you, the only sound in the room coming from the speakers spilling music out of the ceiling and the little clicks and taps of him preparing the various tips and needles for his machine. The wheels on his chair whine as they roll forward, forcing him into your field of vision once more.
Warmth floods your cheeks, rushes up your neck to your ears in a simmering wave of vulnerability, and you can't look away when he leans down to peer into your face. “There's other ways to make it quiet, ya know.”
You toy with the drawstring of your hood, debating how pathetic you’d look if you pulled it over your face and hid from his probing gaze the rest of this session.
“Stop.” Your fingers freeze. The sternness of his tone has your eyes flicking cautiously back to his, apology ready on your tongue, expecting further reprimand. “You’re thinkin’ too much.”
Yes.
“That what you need, hm? Someone to make that pretty head take a break for a little while?”
Yes please. You offer him a timid nod.
“What’d I say about that?” he chides, folding his arms over his knees.
Your mouth feels dry, stuffed with cotton, and tongue heavy on its floor. “Sorry.” It comes out scratchy and an octave too high. Too needy.
“‘S okay, sweetheart. You’re still learning the rules, but we’ll get ya there,” he croons, hand coming up to chuck you under your chin.
“Rules?”
“Yes sweetheart, rules. You only have two for today. When I ask you a question, I need a verbal answer. Can you do that for me?” His voice carries with authority and his eyes remain fixed on yours, awaiting your acknowledgement.
“Yes.” A touch smoother this time, despite the tightness lingering in your throat.
“Good girl,” he purrs, petting a hand over your hair as he straightens and shifts further down towards your hip, pulling his tray along with him. You hear the buzzing of the machine when he begins fine tuning, testing the speed and picking up ink.
“Your second rule,” he says as he leans forward, big, gloved hand coming to rest on your waist and the other hovering over the stencil, needle poised just above your skin. “If ya need a break, tell me. And–” He gives your waist a firm squeeze. “—squeeze this arm if ya need more. Got it?”
It takes a moment for the full weight of what he’s offering to sink in, for neurons and synapses to catch up with the realization of it.
“Got it.” You watch the mask pull taught over his mouth. He’s smiling.
“So good for me already,” he murmurs, grip tightening on your waist a fraction. “Let’s get started on your ink then, yeah?”
The first pass of the needle traces a line on the outside of your thigh, a long, curved section, and already you can feel the quiet creeping in amid the bite of broken skin and the buzz of his warm hands pressed against you.
Next>>>
©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.
#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost simon riley#simon ‘ghost’ riley#simon “ghost” riley#simon riley fanfic#simon ghost riley x f!reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x female reader#simon riley x female reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x f!reader#simon riley x you#ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost x female reader#ghost x f!reader#cod fanfic#call of duty#cod#cod mw2#cod mwii#cod mw#cod x reader#cod x you#dub con#cw self harm
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Steve was flipping through a magazine on Eddie’s bed when the thought came to him.
He looked over at Eddie where he was sitting cross-legged on the floor playing around on his guitar. He’d been working out some part of a song while Steve half-listened. He said Steve “helped him think,” whatever that meant.
Steve had realized he didn’t know Eddie’s name. Or at least, what it was short for. He’d become quite close with the older boy since the spring, since he carried his lifeless body out of the upside down, since El closed the gate and burned Vecna and the entire second world to the ground.
Steve didn’t quite understand how he felt about Eddie yet. He knew he really liked him, felt drawn to him, enjoyed his presence, his personality, his appearance.
Okay so maybe Steve knew more than he was willing to admit to himself.
Eddie’s guitar made an unsatisfactory noise and Eddie shook his head, rubbed his forehead in frustration, and looked up at Steve. He smirked when he saw Steve already looking back, and raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”
Steve rolled his eyes, letting the snark roll off his back. “Yeah, actually. I’ve been wondering something.”
Eddie raised both eyebrows this time. “Oh? I never pegged you as the curious type.”
“Alright, keep the sass to yourself, Munson.”
Eddie threw his head back and laughed, his curls falling behind his shoulders to expose his long neck.
Focus, Steve.
“What’s Eddie short for?”
Eddie’s light smile turned into a wolfish grin. “Trying to fill out the marriage license?”
Steve groaned and threw the magazine at Eddie, hitting him on the knee.
“Whoa whoa Steve, watch the baby.”
“See you’re clearly already married to that stupid guitar.”
Eddie gasped theatrically, folding himself around the guitar as if to protect it from harm. “He doesn’t mean that dear, you’re a very smart guitar.”
“Booooooo”
Eddie almost fell backwards with laughter. Steve couldn’t help but giggle a bit himself, charmed by Eddie being so proud of his own joke.
“Eddie.”
“Steve.”
“You avoided the question.”
Eddie chuckled, resting his forearms on the guitar. “Clever boy.”
Steve would be lying if he said his breath didn’t catch, if his heartbeat didn’t quicken, his entire body didn’t feel a bit warmer.
Yes, Steve would continue lying for today.
He shook his head. “Eddie. Just tell me. Is it embarrassing?”
Eddie smiled up at Steve, revealing nothing. “Absolutely not.”
“Then why won’t you tell me?”
“Now where is the mystery in that?”
Steve groaned again and fell back on the bed. “You’re so difficult. You know that?”
Eddie threw the magazine back at Steve. “I’ve been told a few times.”
—
Movie night at Steve’s, waiting for Robin to return with her popcorn:
“Edward?”
Eddie let out a sharp laugh. “No.”
—
Family Video, rewinding tapes while Eddie sewed a W.A.S.P. patch onto his new, non-blood-stained battle vest:
“Edison?”
Eddie recoiled. “What? Oh. No.”
—
Picking up the rugrats from Hellfire, leaning on Eddie’s van:
“Edmund?”
“Steve. Gross. No.”
—
Laying on the hood of Steve’s car at Lover’s Lake, stoned and looking up at the stars:
“Edwise?”
“What?”
“Edwise? Edwise Gamgee?”
Eddie cackled out into the night sky, echoes of his joy calling back at them from the trees. “Okay, who gave you access to Lord of the Rings?”
Steve shrugged. “I had to call in backup.”
Eddie rolled onto his side to face Steve, propping up his head on his hand. “You asked the kids what my name was?”
“Yeah.”
“And the best thing those little geniuses could come up with was goddamn Edwise Gamgee???”
Steve giggled. “They’re such nerds.”
“Absolute fucking losers, Harrington.”
They both laughed until they were out of breath, panting out steam in the fall Indiana night.
“No but seriously, Eddie? What is it?”
Eddie sighed, straining a smile as he stared up at the night sky. “It’s pretty fucking lame.”
“Lamer than Edwise Gamgee??”
That made Eddie giggle again. “No, I guess not.”
They sat in silence a moment, Steve patiently waiting, and Eddie gathering courage.
“It’s just Eddie.”
Steve turned to look at Eddie’s profile. He was beautiful in the cool near-darkness, the moon hitting his face at just the right angle to sharpen his features.
“Just Eddie?”
Eddie nodded. “Just Eddie. Nothing special or interesting or exciting. It’s just plain, boring old Eddie.”
Steve blinked.
Steve blinked again.
And before Steve knew it, he was taking Eddie’s hand in his own.
Eddie’s breath caught and he continued to look up at the sky, too afraid to meet Steve’s eyes.
“Eddie. I hate to break this to you, but I am pretty sure you are physically incapable of being boring.”
Eddie snickered and stopped himself.
“I mean it. You might be the craziest person I’ve ever met. You refuse to fit in to a box you’ve outgrown. You’re too goddamn stubborn to do what people expect of you. You stand up for yourself and people who need you. You’re kind and gentle with the people you love.”
Steve took Eddie’s cheek with the hand not holding his and turned Eddie to face him. “You are the most exciting, interesting, and special person I’ve ever met.”
And with that, Eddie had heard enough.
Eddie kissed Steve.
And Eddie did not stop kissing Steve until he was bent over him, knees straddling his waist and hands in his hair.
Steve gripped Eddie’s hips and pushed him back, pausing to catch his breath. Eddie panted above him and laughed down at him, his lips reddened and his eyes blown wide. He looked absolutely insane. Absolutely gorgeous.
“Hey Eds?”
“Yeah, Steve?”
“You never asked me what Steve was short for.”
Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “What is Steve short for?”
Steve panted a light laugh. “It’s just Steve.”
Eddie paused.
And Eddie laughed.
And Eddie couldn’t stop laughing for a very long time.
—
The next year, Eddie signed a Valentine card “To: Just Steve.” and “Love: Just Eddie.”
—
That winter, Steve arranged restaurant reservations under the name of “Just Eddie”
—
The following summer, Eddie got down on one knee and asked “Just Steve” to marry him, and when Steve asked “What about the law?” Eddie said “it’s Just the law.”
—
The spring after, Steve read his vows in front of his entire chosen family. His voice faltered as he said “You’re Just Eddie the way the sun is Just a star. The way the moon is Just a rock. The way the earth is Just a planet. You are my home. You are where I belong.”
Three years after Steve carried Eddie out of the Upside Down, Eddie carried Steve across the threshold of their tiny apartment in Indianapolis.
#and they were HAPPY GODDAMMIT#steddie#steddie fic#steddie fix it fic#steve harrington#steve x eddie#eddie munson#steve eddie#eddie x steve#stranger things
6K notes
·
View notes
Note
Sorry if this is spoiler-ish!! ;-; But can I request a scenario where the reader, who’s married to Alastor, is having a nightmare where she loses Alastor? This can be after the battle where she almost witnessed Alastor get killed and it haunts her still. Of course with some comfort from the Radio Demon himself at the end :’3
Not spoilerish! I’ve watched the Adam V Alastor fight in full detail and I ABSOLUTELY LOVVEEE this idea! You’re a legit genius, my dear! Thank you so much! Have a wonderful day! First we had big bro Al, then Dad Al, then BF Al, then best friend Al and now, we have best one: husband Al!
Alastor- Staying Here
It’s been happening nonstop for days… days. Weeks. You can’t sleep like this. Every night, the same nightmare but formatted differently like being tortured over and over again but with a different method. It’s almost like that awful angel has re-manifested and is getting back revenge on Alastor by submitting you to night terrors that have been destroying your sleep schedule
Waking up with a nasty shrill of fear and a cold layer of sweat, your body flung upwards with your eyes shooting open after such a terrible dream, tears welling up in them… your beloved husband, Alastor, slept right next to you with his tall deer-like ears twitching. Knowing that he’s still here and not erased by the head exterminator, Adam is such a relief. Especially since that same Angel, Adam himself, is the reason you’ve been having daily nightmares about a violent and gorey erasure scenario of Alastor with Adam. Adam laughing manically, killing off your husband in the most bloody and ruthless way, wounds all over his body, the radio effects dying out…
It’s awful. You can barely sleep and it’s making you deprived of just a single good night
Sobbing under your breath, right next to your seven year husband. Alastor’s ears twitch once more but this time, as a sign to wake up as well for his peacefully unconscious brain. Yawning and stretching out with a long drawn-out radio glitch in literally no time, his broad body sitting up with you leant over and sobbing into your hands. His crimson eyes looked over to you after a bit longer of waking himself up and just like that, he went from wondering what happened to immediately concerned
“Darling… what’s wrong?”
Alastor asks soft and sweet, his radio voice overtone has completely disappeared so his own organic voice is the only thing remaining. He didn’t even get a chance to speak again since you immediately clung onto him and buried your face into his chest, sobbing and crying for him to never leave you. Alastor doesn’t know what’s wrong but he won’t just let his beloved wife suffer
You legit have to sob and hiccup through your words, telling him about every detail of your repetitive nightmares and Alastor’s body tenses up in pure disgust and malice, mainly towards the idea of being erased by Adam, the now long dead head exterminator. He wouldn’t let him put his hands on himself or you, he loves you way too much. Alastor rubs his hands through your hair, letting you cry into his chest until you finally get over it
You need to cry out your fear and feelings until you can be rational and logical to think. Get the emotions out first
Alastor silently waits for you to come back to him, gently pressing your body together with his, one hand on your back to trace through soft shapes and the other stroking gentle brushes through your hair until you can finally just melt in his embrace, calm down and feel safer with your still very alive husband. Yeah, he was quite close to being erased but he escaped and he has recovered from his injury
“My dear, my love. How long has this been going on?” The guilt to lying and not telling Alastor sooner is already eating your heart apart. You just felt too shy to even drop him a hint about your midnight distress since you always assumed he is already too busy with the Hazbin Hotel to be able to prioritise your minor problems. Your nightmare issue isn’t actually a minor problem at all, that’s what you think but Alastor can see, clear as crystal, that this constant nightmare over him thing is breaking your psyche
“S-since it happened…” Alastor’s eyes widen in shock. You’ve been dealing with nightmares on the daily for two weeks?! How did he not even notice?! God, he is so pissed off at himself and just keeps rocking you, gently laying you down and cuddling you, continuing to massaging rubs of your big menacing hands. The wedding band over his left ring finger rubs on the silky thin fabric of your pyjamas and he can feel the wedding band on your own left ring finger clinging onto him like your hands clinging on his waist
Alastor continues to speak, not remaining silent since it may end up making you believe you’re mad at him for staying silent. He isn’t as mad as his body may seem, he is just worried sick for your health and your mental health over these constant nightmares that are driving a wedge inbetween your sleep schedule. His lips drop down and kisses your forehead, keeping up the sweet, caring and loving tone
His husband tone
“Darling, dearest. I am not mad at you, just embrace me and recover. I’ll make those night terrors go away” Alastor continues to comfort you, soft, quiet and sweet. His soft peppery kisses all over your silky-skinned face, your rosy cheeks. Anything to make those streaming tears halt and your now red puffy demonic eyes. He loves you and he has been neglecting this very serious issue. It’s now his job, as your loyal longtime husband, to take care of you
How grateful you are that Alastor is always right next to you and the nightmares you deal with will never be reality. He’s safe, you’re safe and he is going to be holding your hand through your recovery process
“Would you like to go out and get some fresh air with me?”
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel imagines#hazbin hotel love#hazbin hotel headcanons#hazbin hotel characters#vivziepop hazbin hotel#vivziepop#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#romantic alastor#romantic alastor x reader#alastor headcanons#alastor x reader#alastor#radio demon x reader#hazbin radio demon#the radio demon#radio demon#romantic headcanons#romantic#hazbin hotel radio demon#married au#good husband#Alastor is good husband#I love Alastor as a hubby
590 notes
·
View notes
Note
I don't quite understand if the requests are open, but I can't get it out of my head. Can you write something about Gale Cleven/reader ovulating? (with smut please 🙏🏻🙏🏻)
I really love your writing!!!😭💗
hello, babes! 😊 I tried to write the first request of the Reader ovulating and them trying for a baby with Buck being some sort of a soft!dom and I hope he's soft!dom enough in this fic haha I always imagine him super sweet and vanilla personally tbh 🙈
I had to currently close the requests because I got so many so I'm working on them atm 🙏🏻
🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞
You had a busy day running errands all around town since early morning so you sighed with relief when the evening finally came and you could take a long, relaxing bath before putting on a nightgown and go to bed to read a magazine. Your husband was in his study room downstairs where he was working on some papers for his work but he would usually join you in bed an hour before midnight to read a book as well. You enjoyed those quiet evenings the most out of the whole day.
You sat comfortably with your back resting on the pillow and opened the magazine to look for interesting articles. On one of the pages you spotted a nice advert of a new cosmetic brand. You tilted your head and bit on your lower lip, deciding you would like to try it. So, you opened the drawer of your bedside table and took out your small calendar to write down the brand’s name.
It opened on today’s date and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of a little heart that you had drawn there some time ago. That little heart could mean only one thing – you were ovulating. And because of all your errands on that day, you had completely forgotten about it.
You were actively trying for a baby with Buck. You had wanted a baby before his departure to Europe, actually – you had wanted to have his child in case he wouldn't come back. You hadn’t succeeded back then but in the end it had been for the best. If you had gotten pregnant then, Buck would have missed all of your pregnancy and the first year of your child’s life. But now he was back and the war was over. It was the best time to have a baby and you were determined; tracking your cycle, marking the fertile days in your calendar and following your doctor’s advice about the diet to increase your chances.
You put the calendar and magazine down before jumping out of the bed and fixing your hair quickly in the mirror; taking the rollers out as fast as possible and brushing the waves. Then you put some perfume on and caressed the slight creases on the nightgown’s fabric as you put on a gentle smile and walked out of the bedroom.
You went downstairs and knocked slightly upon the door leading to your husband’s study room. However, you didn’t wait for his reply because you only knocked to announce your arrival so he wouldn’t be startled – you didn’t do that to actually wait for his permission to enter. You pushed the door open and saw Buck sitting by the desk as he sighed at some paperwork in front of him.
“Baby,” you called for him softly and he raised his tired eyes at you.
“What is it, love?” He asked, gently.
“How busy are you?” You stood behind him and put your hands upon his tense shoulders to give them a quick massage. He hummed to himself at the feeling of your soft fingers squeezing all the muscle knots.
“Pretty busy,” he answered and you pouted. “What is it, sugar?”
“I’ve just realised that today’s the best day to make a baby this month,” you whispered, a little shyly. Buck looked up at you with a soft smile and you felt your cheeks heating up.
“Really?” He asked and you nodded. “Oh, well, then that is more important. Come here,” he invited you to sit on his lap as he moved away from the desk to make some space.
You sat across his thighs and threw your arms around his neck to clasp your hands behind his head. Buck pulled you closer by your hips and leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon your lips. When you broke the kiss, you pressed your forehead to his and rubbed your noses together. You moved your hands to his cheeks as your fingertips caressed the thin scars scattered on his face.
“I want to have your baby,” you breathed out. “Please, I want to make you a daddy,” you pleaded.
“Don’t you worry, baby,” Buck kissed your lips again, “I’ll give my wife anything she wants,” he promised with a playful smile. “Come, sweetheart, let me put a baby in you,” he lifted you up as you squealed with a giggle.
Buck moved all the papers to the side in one swift move of his hand before placing you gently on the top of his desk.
“You want to make our baby here?” Your eyes widened at him and he froze with his hands on his belt as he raised an eyebrow at you.
“What do you mean?”
“Take me upstairs, baby,” you whined and put your foot on his chest playfully as he grabbed you by your ankle.
“You’re being a brat, Mrs. Cleven,” he warned and you chuckled. “You’re lucky that I’m so in love with you, you know that?”
“Sure, I do, Major,” you saluted and he rolled his eyes before lifting you up bridal style. You threw your arms around him and hid your face in the crook of his neck.
Buck opened the door of his study room with his shoe before taking you upstairs, taking each step very carefully because he didn’t want to drop you or fall down with you on top of him. You took that time to suck on the soft flesh below his ear.
When you finally reached the bedroom, Buck laid you down on the bed gently and admired you for a while.
“You’re glowing, baby,” he admitted.
“Yes, I am,” you nodded, “because it’s time for you to put a baby in me,” you reminded him. “So, what are you waiting for?” You panted and reached out for him as he shook his head and chuckled softly.
“I should teach you some patience,” he took his shirt off and put it neatly on the chair by the vanity table. A Major indeed – he would never just throw it on the floor.
“Perhaps. But we know you won’t because you love to spoil me,” you giggled as Buck took his belt off and put it on top of his shirt. “God, you’re taking so long,” you whined. The idea of him putting a baby in you was exciting enough but seeing him undress was making it worse.
“Alright, come here, little mama,” he finally joined you in bed as he positioned himself above you, wearing nothing but his underwear. “So impatient for your husband to take care of you?” He teased and caressed your face to get your hair out of the way.
“Just want my man to put a baby in me,” you crossed your legs behind his back as your nightgown pulled up and revealed your panties.
“Oh, I’m gonna. I’m gonna make love to you all night long,” he promised and put his big, warm hand on your womb. It made you giggle as you already imagined yourself swollen with his baby. He’d be the best father in the world just like he was the best husband and you wanted nothing more than to give him a child. It would make your family complete.
Buck joined your lips together in a sweet and gentle yet passionate kiss as he allowed his fingertips to run freely all around your body, making you shiver as goosebumps appeared on your skin. You pressed your hands to his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat under your palms. You loved him so much that it was making you dizzy to have him so close and all yours – after all those long months of him being so far away from you… you had been starting to forget that your husband was a real person made out of flesh and with a heart pumping his blood, with beautiful blue eyes and golden hair, those pretty long eyelashes and an adorable smile that reminded you of a little boy. You hoped your child would have the same.
But now he was back, he was here. You hadn’t made him up, he wasn’t a make-believe lover. He was real and he was yours and yours only.
You arched your back to give him better access to your breasts as he sucked on them gently and hummed to himself as he was holding you by your ribs.
“They’re gonna swell soon, little mama,” he murmured while he kissed you all around one of your nipples and then he moved to another. “Gonna be full of sweet milk for my baby.”
“Y-yes, daddy,” you tangled one of your hands in his golden hair to pull on it gently and caress it.
Buck looked up at you with his beautiful eyes as one golden hair strand fell down on his forehead and you gasped at how pretty he looked. It made him blush a little but also smirk. His hands moved down and slid your panties off of you easily. He tossed them aside on the bed and opened your legs further as you revealed to him your glistening womanhood. You would always get so much wetter than usual during your fertile days. And so much more needy for your husband.
You reached your hands out to the outline of his hard cock, desperately wanting him inside of you already. You pulled his underwear down clumsily before he shushed you softly and pushed your hands away. He took it off on his own as it joined your panties on the side of the bed.
Gently, he grabbed you by your thighs and moved you closer to him as easily as if you were light as a feather. He was strong and you loved it – especially the way he was able to make you feel so small and vulnerable under him. Your nightgown pushed nearly all the way up while you were being pulled down to line your entrance up with his cock, revealing your abdomen to him. You moved the sheer fabric of the nightgown out of your face and watched him carefully pressing the tip of his cock to your swollen and wet clit.
A shiver went down your body at the feeling as you moaned. Your fingernails digged into his bicep as the other hand tugged on the sheets.
Buck would always take his time with preparing you for his fat cock. He never wanted to cause you any pain or discomfort. He would rub circles on your clit with his tip as your muscles relaxed and only then he would slowly start to push the length inside, inch by inch, watching carefully your every facial expression and every sigh, every moan, every eye-roll. He savoured them but he also stopped all his movement whenever he’d notice you were in any amount of pain.
Breathing heavily, he lowered himself down as he finally pushed all of his length inside and gave you a while to adjust to his size. Your thighs were surrounding his waist, pulling him even closer as if it was possible. His face loomed over yours and he put his hands on both sides of your head.
“Open your eyes, baby, keep looking at me when I make you a mama,” he whispered and you followed as your eyelids fluttered open. You gasped at the sight of his face so close, his beautiful eyes looking deep into yours as he began to thrust his hips, rutting as deep into you as he could, determined to put a baby inside of you.
You moaned and moved your hands to his muscular shoulders, digging your nails deep into his flesh at the overwhelming sensation of his fat cock stretching you out and making you feel full. You looked down for a brief moment and got dizzy at the sight of your belly bulge and his cock’s outline so deep inside of your pussy. With each thrust he was hitting a spot that was making your toes curl and tears of pleasure pricking your eyes.
“Eyes up, baby,” he crooned and you looked at his face again. “Good girl,” he praised and your walls squeezed around his cock. “My good girl,” he added, knowing perfectly well how his words were making you feel. “I’m gonna fill you up with my baby, you’re gonna be all swollen and sweet for me, I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispered his promises but with time his words were getting less coherent and audible as they were turning into grunts of pleasure.
Buck pressed his forehead to yours as his golden hair strands stuck to his sweaty forehead and you felt his body tensing while his hips’ movement became chaotic. He was close and you cupped his face; his cheeks pink and his full, soft lips slightly parted. He was a sight.
“That’s right, baby, just like that,” you encouraged him, “give me that, all of that, baby,” you pleaded as his spasmodic thrusts were bringing you closer to your own peak, too. “Make me a mama and I’m gonna grow your baby, I’m gonna make you a daddy,” you promised.
Buck moved one of his hands down and put it on your womb, pressing on it gently as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, you could no longer force yourself to keep them open at the overwhelming feeling and a knot in your lower abdomen finally relaxing as you reached your high with a loud moan of your husband’s name. He spilled himself deep inside of you with a groan into your ear but he didn’t move an inch once your highs were gone. Still inside of you, he grabbed your thighs and moved them up to press them to your chest before joining your lips together in a sloppy kiss.
After a while you felt him softening and that was when he finally slowly pulled out but he kept your bent legs pressed to your chest in a steady grip as he glanced at the clock on his bedside table. He would usually keep you like this for at least five minutes for his seed to take.
“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he cooed to you. “Gonna be even more beautiful carrying my baby, you know that?”
“Why would I want it so bad if I didn’t?” You chuckled and he shook his head with a soft laughter. He let go of your thighs and you sat up to cling to him and pepper his blushing and sweaty face with soft kisses as your hands moved across his chest and arms to caress them. Buck put his hands on your hips and pulled you closer to kiss you all over your cheeks as well. Both of your naked and exhausted, sweaty bodies were tangled with each other as you were sitting on your bed and sharing dozens of sweet little kisses.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you whispered.
“For what, sugar?” Buck moved away slightly as he cupped your cheek with his hand and raised his eyebrow at you. “We don’t know yet if we’ve made our little baby,” he smiled softly.
“No, I know. But thank you for coming home to me,” you caressed his ruffled hair to move it away from his forehead. “Thank you for being such a good husband to me.”
“You make loving you so easy, sweetheart,” he assured you. “You were right. I love spoiling you because you deserve the world.”
“I don’t want it,” you shook your head as your eyes widened. “I only want you, Major Cleven. You are my whole world.”
Visibly moved by your words, Buck laid you down carefully as if you were made of glass. He lowered himself as well, pressing a kiss to your womb and laying his head on top of it while his arms hugged your waist.You played with his hair and smiled softly at your husband.
“I hope you hear me if you’re there, little one,” he whispered into your abdomen. “You are so loved already,” Buck assured. “And so lucky to spend the next nine months under your sweet mama’s heart,” he added.
“And to have a daddy like Major Cleven,” you played along as you caressed Buck’s cheek. “I chose you the best daddy you could ask for, little bean.”
MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST
294 notes
·
View notes
Text
Name Your Price — Amren x Reader (Starfall Week)
Hiiii! Here’s my little piece for @starfallweek 2024. I hope you all like it 💕my beautiful soulmate @greeneyedivy helped me name it 💅🏻
I used the prompt “character A finally makes a move on character B”. I’ve never written for Amren before so this was quite fun!
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 3.9k
“You’re sure you don’t want me to fly you back up?”
Cassian cocks an eyebrow at you, the steadiness of his hold dissipating as he tugs his arms from around you. Though your feet are on solid ground, it takes a moment for your equilibrium to right itself. Being in the skies is something you haven’t yet become accustomed to, despite three of your closest friends sporting wings. And being flown on Starfall is an experience entirely of its own.
“You’ll miss the best part,” Cass complains, peering up at the dark canopy above you. The sky is beginning to stir as the stars ready themselves for their journeys. It won’t be long before they’re soaring and crossing.
And tempting as it is to stay and watch the sight that never lessens in its magnificence, you feel…different this year. Like there’s somewhere else you ought to be. Someone else you ought to be with.
“I’m sure,” you dip your chin. “You go, Cass. Enjoy it.”
But he doesn’t move. He studies you head to toe, studies every shred of effort you put into your appearance — hair and makeup perfected, a stunning outfit hugging your body. You feel beautiful, no doubt — and yet you’re leaving after a mere hour of drinking on the balcony with your friends.
“You know she’s just going to be holed up in her apartment with the curtains drawn,” Cass says. “She hates Starfall.”
You cock an eyebrow. “Who?”
“You know who.”
Amren.
Is it little bit humiliating that you’re so damn transparent? Perhaps. But Cass is one of your closest companions — you can hardly expect him to believe that you’re simply leaving to return to your own home and switch your stunning dress for your pyjamas.
You shrug a shoulder. “I just want to check on her, is all.”
“Hmm,” your friend’s lips twitch. “I’m sure.”
With a roll of your eyes, you swat his ludicrously huge arm. “Go back to the party,” but you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you — for flying me.”
“Good luck with the tiny little rain cloud. She’ll be even crankier tonight than usual.”
With a lopsided smirk and a fond — and annoying — mussing of your hair, he launches back into the sky and heads back to the House of Wind. You stare after him, wondering if you’re making the right choice.
Because when Amren says she wants to be left alone, she means it. But…you don’t know. Things have been changing. Things have been…different.
This is your third Starfall, since your move to the Night Court after the war. A native of the Day Court, it had surprised you to find yourself so at home in a place of starlight, so opposite to what you’d always known. But as one of Helion Spell-Cleaver’s nearest and dearest, you’d worked closely with Rhysand and his Inner Circle during those fraught times of battle and bloodshed — and bonded with them far more than you’d ever expected yourself to. Become an honorary member of their unit, so to speak.
And when Rhysand had courteously invited you for a visit to Velaris after the war was over, you’d known from the second your feet had touched the cobbled streets — this was where you were supposed to be.
Three years later, with a home here, a job as a Night courtier…it was hard to imagine you’d ever been anywhere else.
And perhaps the most notable and unexpected connection you’d forged was the one you had with the with the tiny creature whose barbed, edged words were — you’d learned — a sign of affection.
You did not understand Amren one bit. She was a mystery you couldn’t puzzle out, a being that was sometimes so harsh, it was hard to believe she had any warmth in her at all. But Rhysand giving the two of you a subject he’d needed you to research together had brought you closer, over the recent months. Had shredded through that trepidation you’d once felt around her and shifted it into something…different. Something exciting.
You find that try as you might, you can’t stay away.
And that’s how you find yourself strolling those cobbled streets of Velaris, dressed up to the nines and stars beginning to burst above you. You could be spectating the brilliant sight with your friends, but something tugs you towards the other side of the city. To the loft apartment with the sloping windows and the strange, intriguing female who dwells within
Indeed, as you approach, you find those windows to be blacked out. Blocking out the sight of what is occurring in the skies. You almost smile, but now you’re nervous and second-guessing yourself a little. You could turn away, go home — in all likelihood, Amren won’t want to see you.
But tonight feels different. Tonight feels like a reckoning.
So you swallow your nerves and decide you’re doing this.
✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
You knock once, and a voice that is both nightmare and fantasy calls out, “Go away!”
Not unusual for Amren. She tells guests to go away, even when she’s invited them.
So you brace a hand against the door and call back, “It’s me.”
There’s a beat. And then small footsteps are padding closer. There are the sounds of bolts being undone, locks clicking. Whatever it is Amren feels she needs keep out is little more than a distant thought as she yanks the door open just a tad and eyes you suspiciously through the gap. Her steely gaze takes in your dress, hair, makeup. She lifts her chin.
“Why are you here?” she asks.
You shrug. Feel a little pathetic as you answer, “I thought I’d come see what you’re up to.”
“Why.”
“Perhaps I find your company to be just slightly more scintillating than Cassian’s.”
At that, there’s the briefest twitch of her lips. She masks it expertly. “A dead rat has more to offer in the way of company than that boy.”
You snort, rubbing at your arms. Goosebumps are pebbling your skin. The air is too brisk to comfortably be stood in for too long.
Amren studies you again, and too quickly for you to register, she’s widening the gap in the door and yanking you in by the front of your dress. She slams the door shut and gets to work refastening the bolts, sliding across the chains, securing every lock. It’s all you can do to stand and watch.
And then she turns to face you with a neutral expression — one that says that if you find anything peculiar about her behaviour, shut the fuck up. You know she won’t tell you what’s got her so on edge, so you don’t bother asking.
Instead, you turn, still rubbing at your chilled skin, and study the general disarray of her huge, open-plan studio apartment. Her bed is unmade, her trinkets and baubles scattered across various surfaces. And on the numerous overlapping rugs that cover the floor, a gathering of books, some stacked in a pile, others tossed aside, a few open on certain pages. It would seem she is spending the night going over your recent research.
“Perhaps a drink?” you ply, angling away from the mess.
She quirks a dark eyebrow. “Tell me, what is it about you and the others barging into my home and making demands of me?”
“I believe it’s customary to offer your guests refreshments.”
“I believe I didn’t ask for guests in the first place.”
Her words, to anyone outside your circle, would sound so sharp, so harsh. But you know Amren, now. That last sentence vaguely translates another meaning: I wasn’t expecting guests, but thank you for coming. Of course I’ll get you a drink.
Not that she’d ever say that in a million fucking years.
She saunters past you, towards the kitchen area. As she goes, she closes the open books and throws them onto the stacks. Picks up empty glasses.
“Don’t clean up on my account,” you say, knowing full well that she isn’t.
“I’m not,” she confirms. “I don’t want your clumsy feet treading on anything,” she places the empty glasses in the sink and turns to you. “What do you want to drink? There’s wine, wine, or wine.”
“I’ll have the wine, then.”
With the barest incline of her head, she turns her back to you. While she’s occupied, you take a moment to study the covered windows, everything that blocks out what’s occurring outside. Even the skylights are covered, and your lips twitch at the thought of her wrestling her way up there to fasten drapes over them.
It’s all so methodical, so thought out. And though you know she’d probably never tell you, you can’t help wanting to break down that barrier and know the more vulnerable side to her that is so unsettled by this holiday.
A glass is placed in your hand, and you clear your throat, ripping your gaze away from the skylight — but not fast enough for Amren not to notice.
“It unsettles me,” she says drily, surprising you.
You try your hardest not to blink at the offered snippet of information. “What does?”
“Starfall. What it is. What it signifies.” Taking a slow sip of her wine, she sits on the rug. You follow suit. “Those stars, beings, whatever you want to call them…they are on a journey. Going from one place to another. Perhaps from one world to another. That was once me.”
“…and that unsettles you…”
“Perhaps I know one of them, from many, many years ago. Perhaps they are an associate of a time and a world long-forgotten. A past friend or foe or—”
“A lover?” you supply. You’re not sure you mean to say it.
But Amren’s grey eyes slide to you, and one side of her mouth lifts into a wicked grin, bearing sharp white teeth. “Does that surprise you?”
“Yes. No. I suppose I know nothing of your personal relationships. Of what you like.”
“I like what I like, and I hate what I don’t like.”
You stare at her, thoroughly annoyed and thoroughly entertained. Speaking with Amren is so often trickery and riddles. No matter how much you may feel like you’re getting somewhere, she always leads you on a merry dance that circles you back to the first step.
“And what of you?” she asks, surprising you.
Your eyes snag on the way her razor-sharp black hair moves as she angles her head. The ends tickle the column of her long, creamy neck, adorned with a jewelled necklace. For one moment, for some reason, the sight makes your head empty.
But you shake yourself out of the bizarre reaction and ask, “What of me?”
“What do you like?” Amren asks.
You almost snort as you take a long sip of your wine. Amren is simply not somebody who asks questions about other people very often. And the topic of your love life seems like one that would be trivial and pointless to her.
“Are you asking because you want to know?” you smile. “Or to be polite?”
Another flash of those brilliant teeth. “Have you ever known me to be polite?”
“I suppose not, no.”
“So tell me, girl, what takes your fancy?”
Draining your glass, you set it aside and lounge back, bracing yourself on your hands. And perhaps the wine is already commanding your mind and blurring lines — because it tells you to glance down at the full lips in front of you, painted with red that’s deepened by the dark nectar she sips at.
You do.
Amren watches. The air seems to shift.
“Pour me another glass,” your voice comes out huskier than you intend, “and I’ll tell you.”
✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
“Lions?”
Rare, for Amren to sound like anything besides being perpetually bored. An hour or so later — and too many glasses later — the two of you are sprawled back on the rug, staring at the ceiling.
“Helion keeps lions?” she turns her head to quirk an eyebrow at you.
“Yes,” you answer with a laugh in your voice. “Very real, very fucking huge lions.”
“I rather thought that Pegasuses were his thing.”
“They are. But his lions are a prided jewel of his — and a court secret that I absolutely should not be sharing with you.”
Her petite, lithe body rolls onto its side. She crooks her arm at the elbow and rests her chin there, staring at you through glazed, grey eyes.
It takes only a beat of eye contact for you both to break into laughter.
This is…unusual. And nice. Though the two of you have undoubtedly been growing closer, Amren always has a glass wall up that allows you to peer through but not penetrate. Tonight is the first night that you feel that…that you might be on the other side of that wall. That she might be letting her guard down for you.
You like it. A lot.
The laughter thinning out, she stares at you. It’s a little strange to see those sharp, angled features not appear harsh and ready to slice at anyone. She appears…open. Almost normal.
“Lions,” she repeats, in something like wonderment. “And they just roam about his private estate? Are they tame?”
“He has sprawls of private land on which they can roam freely,” you tell her. “That land is guarded very well, from anyone he doesn’t wish to share the sight with. The lions are very tame. There’s a rumour — though I never got Helion to confirm it — that they once walked on two legs and spoke our language. That thousands of years ago, a curse bound them to their feline form that even Helion’s vast libraries hold no answer to cracking. And since they weren’t able to break the curse, he and his predecessors set to ensure that they would, at least, always be safe and accommodated and able to live comfortably as they are. If it’s true, they seem perfectly happy in their lion bodies.”
“So Helion allowed you access to them? What are they like?”
You smile — at the images that the question conjures up, and the fact that you hold Amren’s interest enough for her to ask it at all. It makes you feel…proud, somehow. Like the cat that got the cream.
“Amazing,” you rest your arms behind your head, taking yourself back to that private land on which you spent so much time — just you and the lions. “They’re just…regal. The males have huge, brilliant manes. The females are so lithe and elegant. The cubs are painfully adorable. There are families of them. Sometimes, they fight. Often, they play. They love to snooze in the sun and frolic in the long grass. The youngsters love splashing each other in the lake. If they recognise you as someone they can trust, you can comfortably sit with them and stroke their fur. They especially like you if you bring them food.”
There’s such a long pause as Amren takes in your words that after a short while, your eyes slide to her, half expecting to find her asleep. But she simply stares at you. Quiet. Assessing.
“I think I would like to see lions,” she says after a moment. To her, it seems to be a huge confession. Something not easy to admit.
You study the perfect lines of her face. That face that appears in your thoughts when you’re trying to sleep, think about absolutely anything but her. You’re not sure you like how drawn you are to her. She’s so unreachable that it only makes you reach harder. So difficult to work out that sometimes, you question if she delights in your company at all.
It is, after all, you who always seeks her out. Since you began your research together, it’s been you who has found excuses to see her.
You who barged your way into her home tonight, while stars collided above you.
And you who might do something unwise if you stay any longer.
You clear your throat, breaking eye contact. Your head feels as though it’s filled with cotton as you sit up and announce, “Perhaps I should go.”
Amren pauses. “Why?”
“I didn’t mean to take up your entire evening.”
“You could stay,” she also sits up, tucking her legs beneath her. “You never did tell me what it is you like.”
You take a moment to just…breathe. You’re not used to Amren being so…warm. It’s dangerous. Exciting. You don’t know if it’s safe.
Slowly, you turn on the floor to face her. “I’m not sure you’d appreciate the answer.”
A dark eyebrow arches. She likes doing that. “Tell it to me anyway.”
Should you? Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing. Maybe you’ll tell her that thoughts of her keep you awake, not in the forms of nightmares but in the allure of fantasies. Maybe then she’ll cease all work she does with you, and distance herself from you, and you can rid yourself of these feelings—
“You are what I like,” you speak quickly, flushing hot. “Who I like. I was thankful when Rhysand tasked us to work together, because I was already drawn to you. It seems I can’t stay away—”
A flash of dark hair, the potent scent of perfume and wine, are the only warnings you get before Amren is in your face, her perfect mouth sliding over yours. Wine is the overpowering taste of the kiss, but there are hints of other things behind it — sweet vanilla and something floral.
It takes you by surprise, no doubt. But you push the shock away and sink into the rightness of it. Your shoulders slump, body loosening. You slide a hand up to tentatively cup Amren’s cheek, and you kiss her back.
What starts out slow and explorative quickly builds into something that steals the very air from your lungs. Your bodies seem to move in perfect synchronisation, finding the right positions from which the kiss can deepen and grow. Amren kneels between your legs, and a sharp tooth gives the slightest, twinging bite to your lower lip — one that makes you gasp.
The act is deliberate. She slides her tongue into your mouth, folding it around yours. Your tastes mingle until you’re not sure which is yours and which is hers, and that simply will not do. You want her on your tongue. The flavour of her skin and that scent of hers that is quickly growing stronger, thicker, shifting into something else that you would commit sins to taste.
Your fingers sink into Amren’s hair, and she makes a low noise that could be a warning or a plea. The strands, despite always looking sharp enough to slice through rock, are silken, soft. You fist them in your palm and tilt her head back to kiss her deeper.
But she pulls away, her heavy breaths landing on your lips. Her eyes meet yours, and it’s the first time you see her looking anything besides…steeled. Composed.
She looks flustered. Like pulling away from your mouth was the last thing she wanted to do.
“I don’t know what this means,” she blurts.
The admission makes you pause. You agree, “Neither do I.”
“No—not just this. What you do to me. I don’t know what any of this means,” she narrows her eyes at you, almost accusatory. “Emotions like these have always felt pointless to me, but you…”
“…but me?”
“You…” the word is leaden on her tongue. “You are different.”
Her gaze slides to your mouth again, and you can tell that her comfort is in articulating her feelings with actions, not words.
And that is just fine by you.
Like she reads the encouragement straight from your thoughts, a breathy word escapes her. “Yes.”
And then she’s fastening her lips on yours again and stamping out every shred of confusion. No matter what either of you are unable to say, the dance of your mouths can speak it all. For now, no more than that is necessary.
Amren kisses you, and you kiss her. It’s deep, desperate, yearning. It’s bigger than anything and everything. The stars that race through the sky pale in comparison.
This is the real beauty of this night. The real thing you had hoped for. It could end no better way.
You kiss until your mouths are bruised and tender. Until the taste of wine is gone, and there’s nothing but the two of you on your tongues. For all you know, the rest of the world outside this apartment could have disappeared. You’re not sure you care.
You’re the one to pull away this time, but you don’t move far. You part your lips to gulp down breaths and press your forehead to Amren’s. Your voice is a rasp as you joke, “You better not be kissing me just so I’ll show you the lions.”
She laughs — actually laughs. It’s a short, brusque chortle, but it makes you glow with pride.
But she quickly sobers. Her face is serious once more, her eyes drinking you in.
“I’m kissing you, girl,” she says, “because I think about you too much. Because the very first time I laid eyes on you, it scared me — what I might do to look at you forever.”
You try to mask your surprise. You hadn’t realised—
“It was me who suggested to Rhysand that you and I should work together,” she admits. She pulls back a little, as if urging you to read the honesty on her face. “It felt pathetic and foolish, but I did it to be close to you. I can’t stop myself wanting to be close to you.”
Exactly the same feelings you had tortured yourself with all this time. To think that Amren had agonised over it just as you had is comforting, somehow.
You reach out a hand, pinching a strand of her soft hair between your fingers. She watches the action closely.
“Don’t stop yourself wanting it,” you say, not at all sure that it isn’t a plea. “Don’t stop yourself, when I want it, too.”
“…I’m not used to being…unsure of things.”
“Embrace it,” you offer a smile. “Have fun with it.” With me.
She stares at you, brooding and calculating. You wait for her to decide that this is too out of the realms of familiarity. She won’t allow herself to be so vulnerable.
But then she moves her hand to yours — the one still touching her hair. Slowly, tentatively, she laces your fingers together. She stares down at your joined hands as though the sight is alien, fascinating.
“Stay,” she eventually says, glancing up at you. There’s an undertone in her voice, an inference.
“…the entire night?” you hedge. You try to keep the hopefulness out of your tone.
Her red lips lift into a smirk, grey eyes glimmering. “On one condition.”
“Name your price.”
Your heart picks up as she leans in again. Her hair tickles your cheek, and she watches closely as your skin flushes at the proximity. Her lips hover against yours.
But instead of kissing you, she whispers four words that land straight on your waiting mouth.
“Show me the lions.”
#starfall week#starfall week 2024#starfall#amren#amren acotar#amren x reader#amren fic#acotar#acotar series#a court of thorns and roses#acotar fandom#acotar x reader#acotar writing#acotar fanfic#acotar headcanon#acotar fic#prompt
181 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! I love your stuff, especially for the slashers. Wanted to ask for them (the slashers, specifically including michael, bubba, jason and stu) with a reader who wants to join them in killing/wants to try it with them? Out of curiosity or wanting to help them or some morbid desire, the reasons up to you. If you end up doing this then thank you! <3
Slashers with Reader Who Wants to Kill with Them
A/N: Thank you so much! I’ve included the specific Slashers you requested. But I wasn’t sure if you were asking for just them or if you wanted all of them. If you’d like to see the others, feel free to pop in my inbox again, and I’ll make a part II! :)
Michael Myers
Michael was drawn to you for a reason
There had always been a bit of darkness brewing in you, so being with a serial killer only brought that out more
When you brought up the idea of you joining along, Michael was unsure at first
He felt that you may be too fragile to risk the danger
Although terrible at showing it, he didn't want you to end up dead
But when you kept insisting, he finally gave in
You were just forced to not leave his sight the entire time
He doesn't like you getting to the target first
He'll let you finish the job (sometimes), but he wants to be the one to knock them down
He would also want you to use a knife during the killings
Anything loud would be an immediate no
When he realizes that you may like killing as much as he does, this soon becomes a regular thing for you both
It's as romantic as Michael will ever get
He teaches you different areas on the body to target
Shows you shortcuts along the paths so you can always get to your target
But he'll be there to help you out if things go south, of course
Just don't expect him to share all of this secrets
He enjoys having that advantage over you
If you get badly injured though, it's game over
Jason Voorhees
He's pretty iffy about this at first too
His mother is the main driving force behind his crimes, so although he doesn't mind killing, it's not pure passion that drives him
So when you shared that you were interested in doing what he does, he felt a little confused
Your safety is his number one priority, so he would be pretty adamant to not let you do it at first
However, if you put your foot down, he'll give in
Will give you your very own weapon (something quiet) and teach you how to use it
Would probably bring home some random victim for you to try to kill the first time around
He wants to make sure you really want to do this (and being at home meant you were safer)
If you tell him that you truly enjoy it, then he'll take you out with him
But don't leave his sight
He'll become very pouty if you run off
He's very sweet to you after everything either way though, carefully using warm water to wipe off the sweat and blood from your face
Bubba Sawyer
The hardest one to convince out of these
You just wanted to help him and his family out, but he continuously refused
Bubba doesn't even really kill for enjoyment
He does it because it's how his family survives (or so he's been told)
So you wanting to join is mind boggling to him
It's way too dangerous anyways
But he is quite a softie for you so if it's really important, he'll eventually give in
Always has to be there and helping you though
He won't let you do anything on your own
Will give you a run down of the land and help you memorize the layout
Sounds of joy whenever you kill someone yourself
He's very sweet with cleaning you off after too
But if he sees even one scratch or bruise, he will not let you outside for a long time
You basically have to repeat the begging and reasoning with him all over again before he considers letting you help him after that
Stu Macher
Hell yeah
Stu is all over this and is basically over the moon
Killing wasn't exactly in your things to do, but the more you watched Stu come home with a high, the more you wanted to try it out
He starts rambling about what your outfit should be, where to get the best knife, who would make the best target, etc.
Wouldn't let you do any killings on your own at first
He has to make sure that he is just a few steps away so that he can help you if things don't go as planned
Seeing you in blood is an immediate turn on
He will definitely make out with you over the dead bodies
Constant praises over what you did right and how hot you looked doing it
Raiding the victims' pantries and eating their food after everything
He especially loves to shower with you at the end of the night and hold you close
All of this gets to the point where he doesn't even want to go on a killing spree unless you're there by his side
#slasher preference#slashers headcanon#slashers preference#slashers x reader#slashers#michael myers headcanons#michael myers x reader#michael myers#halloween#jason voorhees headcanons#jason voorhees x reader#jason voorhees#friday the 13th#bubba sawyer#bubba sawyer x reader#the texas chainsaw massacre#stu macher x reader#stu macher#ghostface#ghostface x reader#scream#scream movie
299 notes
·
View notes
Text
king of it all (one-shot) könig x fem!reader
｡ ★ • * ｡ word count: 2,924 words
｡ ★ • * ｡ cw: oral sex, vaginal sex, masturbation, dry humping, inappropriate use of boots/shoes, degradation, praise kink, dirty talk, teasing, jealousy, angry sex, tabletop sex, swearing
｡ ★ • * ｡ description: you and könig have been childhood friends for as long as you remember, you don't know what it is about him that fascinates you, but you're glad that you're drawn to him. the two of you even go as far as working for the kommando spezialkräfte together. nonetheless, he's proven to be a very good friend to you on multiple occasions, he is someone you simply cannot imagine living without anymore. the two of you have vowed to do everything and anything together - which seems to include some very intimate things too... one day, however, könig feels under the dumps and as his best friend you decide that the only way of reminding him of his worth is to show him.
lower-case intended.
↳ au where you and könig are life-long friends who work alongside one another, helping with not only each other's needs but desires too.
｡ ★ • * ｡ ao3 link: king of it all (one-shot) - horridmort - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]
“general!” könig says urgently as he tries his best to catch up with the long strides of the brigadier general, ansgar meyer, who was trailing his way up ahead.
“if you give me a chance,” könig continued, “you will not regret it.”
“i’ve seen enough,” the general spoke, coming to a halt as he turned towards könig to assess him, “with constant movement like that do you seriously expect i’d award you into fifth platoon?” the general scoffed. könig shifted on his feet, not saying a word. not just because talking back to a general was completely unethical but because he physically couldn't.
the general gave him another look.
“you can’t seriously propose the idea to me that you’ll be an excellent sniper when i’d be able to see you from a mile away, hell, hear you even,” the general said as he shook his head. he didn't bother to wait for a response, he twisted around and walked away - leaving könig on his own.
you heard könig mumble something under his breath in german. you’ve heard him speak it multiple times, picking up a few phrases into your own vocabulary every time he’d slip a word or two out, which was generally when he was overwhelmed.
but unfortunately, you couldn’t quite pinpoint what he was saying this time.
you’d known könig since the both of you were very young. he didn’t exactly fit in, deemed to be ‘odd’ and ‘strange’ to the point that he was bullied for it. although he managed to form a somewhat stable friendship with you because of your interest in him, he would purposefully make sure he wasn’t ever spotted with you - simply to make sure that you wouldn’t fall victim to what he had to go through from his peers. and also because he always had a hunch that you’d feel embarrassed to be seen with him.
but the two of you weren’t kids anymore and you’d both learnt to do things together. he had told you about his wishes to join the german army, and to your own surprise you tagged along too. you had formed an indescribable form of attachment to him so joining him felt like the right thing to do.
you enjoyed it. although you didn’t know the first thing about combat��
you were placed in a unit specialised in training women and had caught a glimpse of him speaking to the general when you were on break.
you watched his large form retreat towards a safe house and decided to follow him in.
when you were inside you found him in a corner, slouches into a chair, holding what looked like a sniper hood in his hands. his legs were spread, elbows resting on his knees as he looked down at the hood in his hands.
he was too dazed to notice your presence as you walked over to him.
“könig,” you begin, “hey.”
he looked up at you almost immediately, as if your voice was the only thing that could manage to bring him out of his reverie. you noticed the way his muscles seemed to tense a bit.
“y/n,” he says, trying to push excitement into his voice. he lets out a little laugh, brushing himself off as he leans back in the chair and drops the hood on his lap, “sorry, didn’t see you there, flower.”
you had no idea where that nickname of his came from but you couldn’t ever deny the blush that rose to your cheeks every time he would use it on you.
“i saw you speaking with the general…” you trail off. not knowing if you should even bring it up.
“ah,” he says as his eyes instantly dim just a fragment. “so you saw that,” he confirms, to himself more or less. looking down at the hood in his hands, his fingers begin to tremble a little and you feel the urge to hold them until they stopped shaking but decided to go against it.
“i just wanted to know if… you’re okay?” you asked, this time it was you shifting on your feet. it was a stupid question because you knew he wasn’t, yet you weren’t sure of what you were meant to say, of what he wanted and needed to hear. you felt awkward and you didn’t know why. things weren’t usually like this between you and him so what changed?
“yes of course, i will be just fine,” he says, his smile overtaking his features. you could tell he enjoys your concern.
“i want you to know that i think you’ll be able to prove the general wrong, and you’ll show him exactly what you’re capable of,” you told him, not knowing what else to say.
he raised a brow a bit, not expecting you to continue on with the subject seeing as he didn’t know you heard the entirety of the conversation - he had assumed you just witnessed it passing by.
“i appreciate your faith in me,” he says, quietly and carefully avoiding eye contact. you watch how he flexes his fingers around as if not knowing what to do with them.
going against yourself you decide to give in. you kneel in front of him and clasp his hands in yours. he looks down at you - at your sunken height beside his feet, shock filled in his wide eyes.
you hadn’t held each other's hands in years. his hands were much rougher than you remember, but for some reason you liked it that way. but besides that, you didn’t even realise he had slipped his gloves off in the first place. he was typically found only ever having them on.
“you- what-,” he starts, blinking rapidly.
“listen to me, könig. no one’s words can determine who you are, you know you are worthy of what you claim to be and i’ve seen that for myself as well. it’ll only be a matter of time before everyone else realises that too. i truly do believe in you,” you tell him.
he stares at you a while, taking the time to soak you and your words in.
“i don’t know. perhaps that man is correct. he is not usually wrong about anything,” he tells you, averting his gaze by twisting his face away from yours. you watch how his ears start to redden due to the proximity between the two of you.
you sigh, not knowing how to make that man believe in himself more. it pains you to see him like this.
“no, könig, you have so much potential but people only underestimate you because they haven’t seen what you have to offer. i know you can all prove them all wrong, you’re a literal minesweeper out there.”
he seems to delve into your words with a little more thought this time.
“i guess you are right,” he says, his fingers brush yours and you are reminded that the two of your are still clasped onto one another.
satisfied, you give him a big smile, “that’s it. you’re a king, remember?”
he tries to smile but fails, his eyes divert to your intertwined hands.
“i think sometimes, that i am not worthy to be tied onto that name,” he tells you.
you frown, unsure of why he feels like this. you thought your encouraging words had helped him but it seems it did quite the opposite.
“then perhaps i’ll just have to remind you,” you say, not knowing where the sudden boldness has emerged from. you were starting to run out of options.
he parts his mouth a little, a brow raised in surprise as you let go of his hands and grab his sniper hood - throwing it to the side before fumbling with his zipper.
“ach du lieber gott!” he exclaims, “who are you and what have you done with-“
“i’m trying to make a point,” you tell him flatly, “can i?”
he pauses for a moment before looking away with his eyes closed, slowly nodding at your request. with his head turned away you take it as an opportunity to strip yourself of your clothes, leaving yourself completely naked in front of him. you knew the way he reacted to your body, you assumed that with him seeing you like this - all vulnerable and bare to him - would get him worked up.
“we always do things together, don't we?” you remind him. you had a habit to say that to him since he has always forced himself to fend for himself because of his past.
“yes, we do,” he manages as he watches you take himself out of his cargos. your lips part at seeing his length spring out, sticking up with a bead of pre-cum dripping off of the head. he twitches in his seat as if embarrassed by his biological reaction to you.
you’ve done similar things like this with him before in the past, but not ever since you joined the army with him. the two of you simply got too busy.
some people say that going intimate will mess up the years' worth of friendship used to create the platonic bond between two people. it makes it complicated, a full-blown situation even. but you on the other hand had speculated it would make you and him stronger, give each other that closure. and it did.
“so eager?” you tease, looking up at his flushed face.
“it has been a long time since…” he starts but gets cut off when you take him into your mouth.
he lets out a groan and immediately throws his head back, one of his rough hands hold the back of your head, a thumb strokes your hair up and down, comforting you as you take him further down.
his cock hits the back of your throat, you gag a little and your hands press against his thighs in response.
your core throbs as you adjust positions, taking him in and out of your mouth.
"my," he pants, "never knew you were so talented with that mouth. maybe your true area of expertise lies somewhere beyond these compounds. what on earth are you doing here with me?"
it was the longest sentence you've heard him say in one go. you playfully rolled your eyes at his incessant rambling and licked up his shaft, causing him to shiver. your eyes never stray away from his as you watch his breath hitch when your mouth leaves his cock.
“all of that training,” he grunts, before letting out an exasperated laugh, “has taught you to become very confident.”
he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you away from his cock, before he slams you back down on it - earning a muffled noise from you.
"you are perfect," he praises, "my perfect girl."
he brings his free hand to rest on-top of yours on his thigh. his fingers curl around and fist your hand in his. könig's eyes flutter closed as you bob again and again. you graze your teeth along the length of his cock in a teasing manner, which gains you a hiss.
"heilige scheiße, you are too good at this, flower," he lets go of your hand and brings it to the side of your face, cupping your cheek. he rubs a thumb across your cheek to feel his cock pulsing in and out inside you. he groans, tightening the grip he has with his other hand in your hair.
you retreat backwards a bit to catch your breath, wasting little to no time before you're attached to him again, your tongue swirling around his tip before you take him whole again.
"how do you know how to do such dirty things? tell me," he commands, but all he gains in response is the naughty noises coming out of your mouth as you pump his cock deeper.
"tell me, flower. have you done this with the other operators? do you stuff their cocks in your mouth and tell them how great they are, too?" he says, his voice sounding menacing, as if truly taunting you.
you don't respond, instead you swirl your tongue around his length once more.
"i asked you a question," he says, pulling you away from his cock once again, holding you so delicately yet so forcefully by the hair. you catch him staring straight at your lips which are no doubt excessively plump and red from all the sucking and fucking you've been doing with your mouth.
"no, no one else, just you," you manage as you lick your lips, and you swear you see his cock twitch a little, begging to be touched again. you grin but that soon fades as you see the look on his face.
he's not amused.
not convinced.
"seriously, könig. i haven't," you reassure him.
he scoffs and shifts positions in the chair, outstretching his legs in front of him. you take that as an initiative for you to move too.
and so you do, by pulling yourself up to his lap to straddle his thigh.
he quirks a brow in amusement as you rub yourself against him. ignoring his cock completely as a very sensual moan escapes you as you tilt your head to the side, feeling your wetness growing more and more slick as you watch something in his eyes flicker when watching you please yourself on his lap without the use of his cock.
you rub your pussy against his thigh making sure to leave a wet spot. he watches you with astonishment as he brings a hand to his own cock, thrusting it in his hand at a reasonable pace as he watches you make yourself come.
you both pick up the pace, and you get louder which seems to get him more excited. nearing your climax you squeeze your eyes shut but before you can come you're being pushed off.
"könig? what are you-"
he got up from his seat and walked over to you and inspected your form on the floor - all laid out with your knees bent in the air, exposing your leaking cunt to him. a sudden wave of humiliation washes over you as he watches you lying there with an inscrutable gaze.
before you can even muster out a word, the bottom of his boot presses onto your pussy.
his mood changes as easily as british weather.
"you're enjoying this too much," is all he says before he starts rubbing his boot up and down your pussy in slow motions.
"fuck. don't, don't do that..." you pant, but despite your words your back arches - craving more of this odd sensation.
"i will do whatever i want. i am king after all, remember?" he muses, applying a little more pressure.
god, this feels wrong. so, so wrong.
"könig, please," you whine, but then he comes to a stop. denying you once again. before you can have a go at him, he carefully sweeps you up from the floor, curling his arms around your naked form. his big, rough hands on your warm and flushed body makes you feel even wetter.
"careful, flower. we can't have you dripping. you've already made my boots so dirty. what a mess." he tuts, walking over to a table. with one arm he swipes the contents of the table to the floor, making space for you.
he rests you on the table, holding your legs up so that they can curl around his waist.
you whimper as his cock brushes your entrance; in response he lets out a groan that has your hips hiking up. you don't even have time to beg him before he's already buried inside you. the feeling of him ignites you. if he wouldn't stop denying you at the worst of times you would've came a hundred times over already.
he grunts as he grabs your hips, pushing into you deeper and deeper. he doesn't thrust - not yet. he tries to maintain as still as he can so that you can adjust to his length. when your pussy clenches around him completely he groans again and starts pacing in and out of you.
his fingers dig into your hips with each thrust like his life depends on it. he starts going faster and faster making you move your hand to absentmindedly reach over and touch your clit, your other hand makes its way to grip his forearm which seemed to be tensing rather vigorously with the number of veins popping out.
"you will come with me, won't you?" he questions, his voice strained. you could tell he was about to come soon.
"yes, yes," you manage, "i'm going to-"
he spills inside of you, still thrusting as he does. in fact, he goes even harder, urging you to finish with him. you shiver as you screw your eyes shut, letting your climax take the best of you. after a few moments of panting, he pulls out gently, and you stare at his come-coated cock, an immediate feel of thrill and heat zips up the entirety of you body just from the sight.
he chuckles, pulls you up so that you are vertical with him, and cradles your body to his.
"ah, so this is how it feels to be a king," he says, moving backwards a bit so that he can crane his neck towards your collar bone. he starts nipping little kisses up your neck, "perhaps you would have to remind me of this feeling more often, don't you think?"
#my fic#cod x reader#call of duty#konig x reader#cod mw2 x reader#konig call of duty#konig smut#konig fic#cod smut
92 notes
·
View notes
Text
You know, I get blocked a lot by genderists, and every time they block me, they always send me a me a message specifically asking why I, a “terf,” am following them (in addition to “telling me off”). But I can’t answer, because they blocked me. So I’m gonna answer here:
It’s because you made a good post. Because you said something that spoke to me, or you have lots of good opinions on many different topics, and I want to hear what you have to say. Or because I like your art. And it’s quite likely that I didn’t know you were “queer,” because I don’t obsessively vet blogs before I follow them. And if I DID know that you were “queer,” I was okay with that. Because I believe that it’s healthy and good to expose myself to the opinions of people I disagree with, so I don’t get trapped in an echo chamber. It’s quite likely that I agreed with a lot of the things you had to say.
And I’m gonna be honest, I really don’t understand why you’re messaging me when you’re blocking me. When I block people, it’s because I want to become invisible to them. Say (for example) I blocked a user because I discovered they were a neo-nazi. I know that nazis are dangerous. If I go to their messages and tell them that I’m blocking them, I’ve accomplished three things:
1: I’ve informed them of our conflict, which they may or may not have known about;
2: I’ve made it personal, therefore motivating them to obsess over it, and
3: I’ve drawn attention to my username and helpfully saved it in their messages for them, thereby making it easier for them to stalk me and/or harass me through other accounts, or even even dox me to their nazi friends.
Whereas if I simply block them without messaging them, they may not notice that I’m not showing up in their feed anymore and gradually forget about me. Which is ideal, because dangerous people hold grudges and act on them.
So if you’re messaging “terfs” before blocking them, you’re either:
A) naive about internet safety because you’ve never experienced harassment from dangerous people either personally or through a friend, or
B) simply don’t believe that “terfs” are dangerous.
And let me tell you, as a long-time radical feminist who HAS had friends who were harassed and stalked by dangerous individuals, giving them your attention is a sure-fire way to fuel their hate. Arguing with them makes their hatred worse, and you will never get the last word in because stalkers are fueled by anger. It energizes them, and they like it.
Now don’t worry, this is not a threat. If you’ve sent me a message before blocking me, I’ve already forgotten about you. I don’t have the energy to hold grudges, and I never hated you to begin with. I genuinely believe that most people I disagree with are just average people who are trying to get through their day, and arguing is usually not worth anyone’s time. I’m telling you all of this because, even though I disagree with gender ideology, I don’t want you to endanger yourself by getting the attention of a dangerous individual.
However, if you have been messaging “terfs” before you block them for years and never once experienced retaliation or been afraid of them retaliating, you should take a few minutes to really, I mean really think about why that is.
Best of luck, even though you would never wish me the same.
73 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sky's The Limit Part 3
we're back baby and things are getting spicy (ish)
Warnings: alcohol consumption, mention of strippers/lapdancing, two horny people who desperately need to get off, shameless flirting, Bradley being a babe as usual, continuation of the bob fucks agenda
Sky's The Limit Part 3
Bradley could tell you were starting to get a little down. As one of the only people who actually knew about the book, he was also one of the only people you can tell about how it was really going. You had been giving hints that it was not going well, but after he catches you lying face down in one of the Hard Deck boothes, he decides that’s enough. It was time for you to have a bit of fun, even just for one night.
“Bradley, it wasn’t what it looked like.”
“I know.” He keeps staring ahead, hands still on the wheel. He had offered to give you a lift to his house, where you were supposed to be having a few ‘casual drinks’. You took one look of the bag of balloons and had known exactly what that meant.
“You don’t have to throw me a stupid party.”
“But this isn’t just any party, baby girl. This is a Bradshaw party, which only get offered to the creme de la creme. Besides, you haven’t even been given a proper welcome to San Diego. There’s no way you can stay here one more day without an official welcome.”
You smile at him. Bradley truly was one of the best friends a girl could wish for. Losing his parents only meant he loved people harder and you loved that about him. You couldn’t have imagined anyone more perfect for your sister, you just wanted them to hurry up and realise they were in love with each other so he could legally become part of the family.
“Ugh fine, But you best make -
“Those biscuits you like. Honestly what do you take me for Ladybug? I’ve already got the ingredients in the back.”
You turn around. Of course he did.
******
Of course the party is perfect. Bradley had cued all your favourite songs, supplied all your favourite snacks (as well as some supposed San Diego delicacies) and invited all your new pilot friends, who you had really become quite fond of. They’d all been extra nice to you lately, which made you wonder what sort of desperate vibes you were giving off. Even Jake had been less annoying the last week, perhaps sensing your stress, making less sassy comments, leaving you well alone when you were trying to write and even occasionally letting you rant about the inaccessibility of online archives. The most surprising thing was that your favourite coffee had been turning up at the Hard Deck every morning before you arrived with a little ladybug drawn on it, along with anonymous notes that had literary motivational quotes on it. You had initially attributed it to Bradley, but he denied it and no one else at the party would fess up either.
The party is in full swing, and you are a couple of drinks in, starting to feel relaxed for the first time in weeks. You were listening to Phoenix tell everyone about her new girlfriend, which was nauseatingly adorable. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt like that about someone. The last guy you went on a date with tried to give you his manuscript to read over the minute you said you were a writer, and after that you swore off casual dating. Which was lucky, because it seemed all the men here were Navy men, which you had sworn off a long time ago.
Without thinking, you find yourself scanning the room.
Everyone is here, except one particular blonde pilot. You don’t know why you are looking for him. It was just wherever the pilots were, so was he. You had to admit, It was sort of odd for him not to be there. You find yourself wondering if he finally got that hot date he seemed to be begging for. From what the other pilots told you, Jake had always been a massive flirt and had been known to get around most of the women of San Diego. You hated that you were thinking about this so much and took another hefty swig of your drink.
“Hope you didn’t miss me, darlin’.” A familiar voice leans into your ear.
You almost leap out of your skin. “Jesus Christ, Bagman you can’t sneak up on people like that! You nearly scared the pants off me.” He looks down on you with that annoying smile of his and you suddenly feel very cold in your little strappy vest top.
He leans down. “Trust me, don’t need to scare you to get you out of your pants sweetheart.”
You roll your eyes at him and are about to come back with a witty retort when you see out of the corner of your eye Bradley brandishing an empty bottle. He claps his hands and everyone turns around.
“I think it’s time for a game guys.”
“Really Bradley?” You raise an eyebrow. “Spin the bottle?”
“What, are you scared?” Jake immediately chimes in. You shoot him daggers.
“Only of having to touch you.” You smile sweetly at him as he mimes an arrow going through his chest.
“Can it lovebirds!” Bradley announces, rubbing his hands with glee, “We’re not so basic to play Spin the bottle.” Bradley looks at you and grins. You know this means trouble. “It’s time to play Truth or Dare!”
There is a chorus of cheers across the room.
“Bradley, you are in your thirties.” You tut under your breath, but he ignores it.
He spins the bottle first. It lands on Fanboy first, who chooses truth.
“Which superhero would you bang?” Bradley asks
“It’s got to be Catwoman right?” Jake is indignant.
Fanboy takes a moment to really think it through, “I dunno, I like to think about what Wonder Woman could do. The lasso could come in handy. What about you guys?”
“I like Batgirl.” Bob offers.
Coyote suggests “Mystique, you know, for roleplaying. It’s basically like having infinite wishes. Also love me a bad girl.” Payback sagely nods.
“How much have you guys all been thinking about this?” You turn to Natasha, who shrugs.
“Jean Grey does it for me.” This made sense, having seen the pictures of her new ginger girlfriend.
They spin the bottle again, this time landing on Bob. He says Truth and you can see Jake already brewing the question, so you jump in.
“How many hookups have you had in the last year?”
“That’s not fair, I was going to ask!”
“Quit your whining.” You turn to Bob, whose cheeks have tinged pink. “Go on.”
“Oh, er, I don’t know, maybe” He starts counting in his head. “Twenty, twenty-five” He looks up. “Are we counting repeat incidents?”
“As in you had sex with them more than once?”
“Uh, yes, I guess.”
“Sure.”
“Because that would bring it up to sixty, seventy- “ You watch as everyone’s jaws go slack.
“Are you joking?” Jake is stunned. Bradley turns his head. “How?”
“I don’t know, I just like helping people, and I tend to run into women who need help with their coffee, or taking things to their car, or need something tall fixing around the house…” As Bob rambles, it’s cute to see how unaware he is. You lock eyes with Jake, raising your eyebrows to say I told you. Bob fucks.
Third time around, the bottle lands on you.
“Truth.”
“Oh come on, not everyone can say truth or we are all going to die of boredom.” Jake folds his arms.
“Firstly, I don’t think Bob’s truth was boring at all. In fact I found it very interesting.” You say, throwing a wink to Bob. “But fine, have it your way. Dare.”
This time, Reuben, who has been very quiet, pops up.
“You have to give Jake a lapdance.”
“What the hell Javy? I thought we were friends.” He shrugs.
“Just for one minute.
“No way.”
“Hey, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” Jake sits back.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean Bagman?” There is a chorus of oos from around the room.
“Nothing, it means nothing!”
“I get it that I’m not your usual type Seresin, but you think you wouldn’t enjoy it?”
“No, just… I mean you seem like the sort who would hate strip clubs.”
You go to speak but bite your tongue.
What Jake didn’t know was that for your last book you had a whole plot involving strippers which meant you spent several days with dancers researching their life. One of them, Brandy, became one of your best friends in New York and had given you many a lesson in lapdancing (to make your writing accurate, of course). But you figured this was a fact best left unsaid. Besides, this was a rare chance to get Jake to eat some humble pie.
“Yeah…But a dare is a dare. Javy…put on Pony.”
You were grateful that the hot weather had meant you had put on a vest and a fairly cute pair of daisy dukes. If you had been wearing a dress there was no way this would be happening. You make a show of stretching while they set the room up, Jake sat on a chair on the middle. You wink at him as you bend over and you see him flush just a little.
Javy gives the signal for the music. You are kneeling on the floor in front of Jake,.
“Hope you’re ready to have your world rocked Bagman. Bradley, look away.”
“Yes ma’am.” Bradley, seeing you as his honorary younger sister, did what he was told. “You took a deep breath and then a large swig of whisky.
You sat on your knees and let your hair down, slowing rolling your neck as the music starts to play. You try to ignore the hand shaking and slowly look up towards Jake. You expected him to be smug but he’s looking at you with such a look of confusion and pity that you suddenly realise. He genuinely doesn’t think you can do it. You are suddenly filled with a devilish combination of spite and rage and power. You close your eyes, slowly rolling your body and feeling all the way up yourself, grinding up on some imaginary guy until you flash your eyes open and send him one cautionary wink before slowly licking your fingers.
You crawl towards Jake and push his knees apart, slowly rising up between them. It’s a good thing he’s wearing shorts right now, his thighs exposed, so you can feel how his skin burns under yours. The look of pity has turned into something else, both fear and astonishment and something darker, but you have no time for this. Your nails dig slightly into his flesh as you rise up slowly between his legs until you are eye to eye. You slowly wrap your legs to the outside of his thighs and slowly start grinding down on his crotch until.
Oh.
At least Jake’s arrogance was starting to make sense if all of what you were feeling was true. With this realisation you look up and lock eyes. Jake’s look burns through you like he could devour you whole and you feel him grip onto your thigh, just a little squeeze, and then you suddenly have a terrible physical urge between your legs, when the music suddenly stops.
“That’s one minute!” Reuben calls out. For a moment, neither of the two of you move.
“Guys? You can get off each other you know?” Phoenix interjects. You both leap away from each other. “Although I should say that was phenomenal.” You croak out a thanks before heading to the kitchen.
What the hell was that? You wonder as you pour yourself a glass of water. I guess it really had been a while. Your heart is racing and you steady yourself against the counter, closing your eyes.
“What the hell are they teaching you on that pHD of yours?” Your eyes open to see Jake standing in the door with his arm leaning against the frame. He must know how his arm looks when he does that. You hate how much you like it.
You take a moment and reassume your confidence, laughing a little. “Oh that? Just a little something I picked up back in New York.”
He walks towards you until he’s right next to you on the counter before leaning in. You can feel his hot breath in your ear. “I knew there was something fishy about this pHD stuff. And now I know.” Your breath hitches. Surely there was no way he could have figured it out, could he? Your lapdance scene wasn’t that similar in the book. He looks away from you. “I thought you reminded me of someone and now I know it’s JLo in Hustlers.” He looks over you with a slightly more sincere look. “So are you..you know?” He waves his hand. You can’t believe that out of all the things, the subject of strippers would make Jake Seresin awkward.
“And what if I was?”
But much to your surprise, Jake shrugs. “Everyone has to pay their bills somehow.” He turns back towards you. “It’s just if you’re not, I think you should seriously consider it. I think you would earn a lot of money.”
“Would you come to my club then?” The alcohol is making you overconfident, so you gently stroke your index finger down his chest.
“Baby.” He now leans his arm on the kitchen cabinet behind you. His face is so close, just above you. You could smell his cologne again and you find yourself wishing you could lick it off his neck. “I would be there every damn day.” You felt a flutter in your stomach. This was dangerous territory, but it was too late. What would it be like to kiss Jake Seresin, you wondered, leaning forward just a little -
“There you are Ladybug!” Bradley’s voice booms and the two of you pull apart once again. “Hangman, I hope you’re not trying to get seconds.”
The two of you return to the party. You don’t see Hangman for the rest of the party except once where you catch eyes across you the room. You smile at him and he smiles back, before you are pulled back into conversation. When you go to find him again, he is gone. Weird that he left without saying goodbye.
When you finally get home and get to bed, you find yourself instinctively reaching your hand between your legs when it happens. Who flashes into your head but a certain blond, handsome and potentially well-hung pilot.
You were fucked.
---
hope you all enjoyed! Let me know if you want to be tagged in part four!
Tagged:
@dizzybee03 @mrsroosterbradshaw @tgmreader @dgs8891 @alldaysdreamer @eloquentdreamer @ravenwtfbro @dempy @milkbummm @memoriesat30 @yourfavouritecitizen @burningwitchprincess @il0vebeingdelulu
#jake seresin x y/n#romance#fanfic#hangman top gun#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin#top gun maverick#bob fucks#bradley bradshaw#top gun fanfiction#bob floyd
82 notes
·
View notes
Text
Is there any love in heaven?
I’ve been thinking about writing about this for a while, because it’s a major point in the characters of both Aziraphale and Crowley – although this is mostly about Crowley because it relates to something else I'm writing. It’s also all my opinion, I totally understand why other people have a different opinion and a different reading of things that happen in GO, so please don’t be offended by any of this. I'm prepared for the fact that I might be totally wrong, and that's okay too.
Anyway, is it possible that Crowley feels horribly about his fall because he has been torn from the grace and love of heaven and the Almighty? Well, anything’s possible. But also…
What love?
Look at these angels.
Are you seriously suggesting to me that they in any way feel loved? They haven’t got the first clue about love. They don’t feel it. They don’t experience it. They don’t know what it is. The Almighty does not love them.
Angels in GO were created to be servants of the Almighty. They are there to do her will and make sure the Great Plan is carried out. They aren’t her children. She isn’t coddling them like a parent or even loving them as equals or friends. She treats them as servants, or at best as members of her political party.
How do we know they don’t understand love?
We know from season two that the angels have no idea how human romantic love works. Aziraphale has to explain the concept as “what humans do” and Michael et al clearly have no context for this piece of information. They don’t even understand that “miracles don’t work like that” (even Crowley doesn’t appear to know this interestingly). Later on Crowley is able to trick Muriel, and then by extension Michael and Uriel, into believing human love works in a certain way (“you can only tell if people are in love by waiting a few days because humans are weird and that’s how it works”). So it’s fairly obvious that there is no concept of romantic love in heaven.
So this is all very well, but of course, the Almighty wouldn’t have romantic love for the angels, so it could be plausible they wouldn’t understand that but would still understand other types of love. Except…
The archangels, and even Muriel, see nothing wrong with depriving Job and Sitis of their children. They literally don’t understand the bonds of any sort of love that might exist between two beings.
Aziraphale understands because he has been on earth and has seen first-hand the way in which humans form bonds of love. He knows of the love between two humans and between a parent and child. When he tries to explain this to the archangels all he can come up with is “I think they quite like the old ones”. If there was some parallel to be drawn between any sort of love the Almighty might bestow on the angels then he would absolutely have used that to help explain what Job was going to feel at the loss of his children, but he doesn’t, because the parallel doesn’t exist – the angels know nothing of love.
But Aziraphale recognises love when he feels it in Tadfield?
Sure. He’s been on earth a long time. He knows what love is and as a being of goodness it seems he can sense very strong good emotions. He loves things himself in many different ways (books, food, Crowley, humans) and recognises that what he feels for them is love in different forms. He’s learnt what love is through being on earth.
Also just because the Almighty isn’t bestowing her love on her angels doesn’t mean that she made them without the capacity for love. (Even Gabriel clearly has the capacity to love.) It’s possible she wanted them to worship her, or at least be obedient to her, and that in the early days this obedience was not intended to be the obedience of fear, but the obedience of gratitude and perhaps respect or obligation.
In fact the word that would best describe this would be devotion. The angels were supposed to be devoted to the Almighty and to her Great Plan. They were supposed to be devoted to their purpose, unquestioning and obedient. Devotion is not the same as love, especially when it only goes one way, and of course when a relationship only goes one way the relationship either fades away entirely or becomes twisted over time.
Could this be a new thing?
Is it possible that when they were first created the Almighty did love her angelic creations? Well possibly. I’m sure she was pleased with them. I’m sure at first they were delightful to her. None of this is the same as suffusing them with her love.
When Aziraphale and angel-who becomes-Crowley meet in S2E1 we see them both as they were before the fall happened. Do either of them seem like they are basking in the love of an Almighty being? Not to me they don’t. Aziraphale is his usual lovely self, but he’s already nervous and knows that you can get into trouble, even in this pre-earth era. Crowley appears to have been completely absorbed by his star building project and barely paying attention to the Almighty or what she’s doing. Again, they are servants who have been given orders, or members of a political party who are out working in their constituencies, following the general party line, but mostly just getting on with their jobs. Aziraphale also knows they risk getting fired or punished if they invoke displeasure in their superiors – he’s not a being who is confident in the protection and safety of some divine love.
Also if the angels had once had the love of the Almighty and then lost it you’d think they might mention it at some point? Certainly Aziraphale might mention or hint or act in some way like that had happened. But he doesn’t, because it very likely hasn’t. Also when he thinks he’s fallen after lying to Gabriel about Job’s children if he had some sense of love from the Almighty he would know in this moment that he had not lost that love and that he was not fallen. And note here that he says, “I’m a fallen angel!” because he thinks he’s already fallen. He’s not expecting the fall to happen when Crowley arrives, nor when he actually steps into hell itself, he thinks it’s already a done deal and that it happened the moment he lied. There’s no way he wouldn’t know that falling involved losing the love and grace of the Almighty if it did in fact involve that – it would be a point widely advertised and feared in heaven, it would be something used to keep the angels in line. But it isn’t, because it doesn’t happen. There’s no love to lose.
What does this mean for Crowley’s fall?
Well for a start it means he isn’t carrying around some hang up over having been divinely loved and then having this ripped away from him. At most he is feeling rejected by his employer or his political party leader, which I’m not saying isn’t something that would cause him to be hurt or upset, but it’s certainly less significant than losing something that equates to the human concept of motherly or divine love.
Also to me for all that Crowley says, “I didn’t mean to fall” and “all I did was ask questions,” he clearly chose to do so – he chose to keep asking, even knowing the consequences. He picked a side in the war and must have at least in part known what picking that side meant. He knew he wasn’t siding with the Almighty and he did so of his own free will. Choice is a major theme in Good Omens – Crowley made a choice between two sides and picked the one that he saw as the better option at the time (not the perfect option, he doesn’t much like hell either, but I think he liked that they weren’t pretending to be something they’re not). He repeatedly makes it clear throughout the series that he does not regret this choice. He doesn’t want to go back. He thinks heavens rules and actions are ridiculous. Yes he’d love to get the chance to ask the Almighty a few questions, but only because he wants to know what the fuck they were thinking with this whole ridiculous plan.
When he “prays” to the Almighty it’s not really praying, it’s not a sign of faith, he’s just lamenting at a person he knows exists that he thinks is doing stupid things. He’s basically putting in a complaint to head office, though he knows the CEO isn’t actually going to be replying. He never asks her for anything, he simply asks questions, gives his opinion and makes suggestions. “Show me a Great Plan” – there’s nothing great about this plan, what are you playing at? Show me a better one. “You said you were going to be testing them, but you shouldn’t test them to destruction” – I remember you said you were going to do this, but it completely sucks, it’s rubbish, you’re doing the wrong thing yet again in my opinion.
What Crowley regrets and hates is that any of them were forced to choose sides in the first place. We see this most clearly after he thinks he’s lost Aziraphale in the bookshop fire. He knows where Aziraphale has gone – to heaven – the one place he can’t follow, and it’s then that he laments, “I didn’t mean to fall.” Except he did mean to (he’s an unreliable narrator about the whole thing). What this is is the point at which he regrets falling because he realises that the choice he made so long ago has now separated him forever from the one being he actually cares about. Crowley’s default reaction when something goes wrong is to say he didn’t mean it to happen. It’s ironic that a demon who thinks everyone should get a choice denies his own informed choices at every turn, but then Crowley also believes in second chances for everyone. (Look how many chances he gives Aziraphale, then there’s Elspeth and even Job’s children, who, Jemimah excepted, are self-centred brats – they all deserve a second chance at life according to Crowley). He didn’t get one himself and I think that’s what he’s really upset about. I picked my side but there shouldn’t be sides at all and I shouldn’t have fallen because I should have been given another chance.
Any other points?
Yes, a completely contradictory one that goes back to the idea of the withdrawal of love being a new thing where all angels once were loved and this has been withdrawn from them all. I’ve given this some extra consideration partly because whilst there definitely doesn’t seem to be a concept of the fall being traumatic in the original book it’s not totally beyond the realms of possibility that Neil might be retrofitting the story and might play that angle a little in the last series and I wanted to think about how that might go. Since there doesn’t seem to be any love in heaven now I can’t imagine any scenario where this isn’t an all or nothing loss of love.
I’m just going restate right here that for the reasons I mentioned earlier I’m dubious about it ever becoming a thing – pre-fall Aziraphale and Crowley do not seem to be basking in heavenly love, but for the sake of this argument let’s imagine for a second that they are. Let’s imagine the Almighty created the angels and surrounded them with her divine love and grace.
Maybe after the war in heaven the Almighty is so hurt by the rebellion of some of her angels (because nothing can hurt you like the slight of someone you love deeply) that she withdraws her love entirely from all of them. Maybe that’s why the archangels are so bitter and twisted – they were the most loved, they have lost the most. Perhaps all angels are all living under this shadow of having been loved once upon a time but having had that love withdrawn. Maybe that’s why the angels stick so rigidly to the party line – perhaps in a way they are all traumatised. If we can just be good enough, if we can be perfect enough, if we can get the plan exactly right, maybe we will earn back the love of the Almighty.
If that’s the scenario then that’s the greatest tragedy of them all.
145 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello! I would like to request Lockwood x Fem!Reader best friends to lovers based on gold rush <3
Gold Rush - Lockwood x Reader
A/N: I’ve always looked at gold rush as an enemies to lovers song so this was rlly interesting!!! Will update wc once I wake up 😴😴 (2.8k!)
It was the morning after one of the most tiring cases Lockwood & Co. had had in a while. Beyond the sheer size of the mansion, there seemed to be a new kind of Type Two waiting for them in every room. It was the type of case that left you too tired to complain at the end, but for whom the frustration carried over to the next morning.
“I’m charging them double at least. It’s one thing to bend the truth - they used it as a skipping rope!”
The four of them were in the kitchen, having breakfast. When she had come down, there was only George sipping his tea in the one lit corner of the kitchen. Lockwood was usually the first one up, so his absence was testament to his exhaustion. She had sighed, not realising that she had buttered some toast for him until she was done. George looked suspiciously invested in the newspaper.
“And- oh, you’re too sweet, Y/N.”
Lockwood had found the plate of toast, which she had hoped would disappear. He shifted behind her, making some tea, absent-mindedly grazing her head with his fingers as he walked past. Her grip on the cereal box tightened, and she raised it, reading the ingredients with newfound interest. She swallowed, feeling her cheeks burn behind the cereal box, hoping no one would notice. Lockwood certainly didn’t, because he had moved on to that night’s Fittes gala, but Lucy’s gaze lingered on her a bit too long for her to be fully in the clear.
When she felt that she had calmed down enough, she lowered the cereal box, her eye instantly drawn to Lockwood’s limp yet perfectly neat hair, each strand naturally settled in place. Even when most relaxed, there was something artificially manufactured in every wave in his hair, every crease of his face, but in a way that didn’t aggravate but enticed: ambrosia incarnate.
George made some intimation about heading tor the Archives to finish up the research on their next job, and purpose rushed back into Lockwood, broken out of his early-morning sluggishness. Lucy left for more rapier practice as well, but George hung back before leaving. He stared at her, which was normal George behaviour, yet a part of her felt compelled to justify her earlier preoccupation with the cereal box. It was so redundant - it wasn’t like he could read her thoughts (though sometimes she would suddenly remember how smart he truly was and how piercing his gaze could be, at which she would decide to try to not take any chances; it was only a matter of time), and even if he could, there was nothing noteworthy. Just…perfectly normal thoughts about her perfectly normal boss.
“Did you know…that Froot Loops don’t actually have different flavours?”
“Do you know that you’re eating pure sugar?”
“…you’re no fun.”
————————————————————————
Every year, they were always invited to the same gala hosted by the same Fittes agency, yet the preceding afternoon was almost always as stressful as any ghost-hunting job. Scarves hung on every surface by Lucy, who never wore any of them, shirts thrown down the stairwell as Lockwood dramatically proclaimed that none of his shirts would do, and George yelling at everyone to quit making so much noise until Lucy grew sentient enough to wrestle him into something semi-formal.
This year was no different. The four of them flitted from room to room like moths, contributing to more than one clumsy collision. Now, she wandered out of the attic into the hallway forlornly, clutching two different shoes. She liked fancy galas as much as the next person, but sometimes it felt overwhelming to get ready for them. “I’m not sure if I should come.”
“No!” That was Lockwood, rifling through a box of multi coloured cloths, somehow still pristine even when half-dressed. “You have to come. Lucy and George are too morally upright to gossip. I’ll be bored to tears without you.” Her heart stupidly fluttered, the corners of her mouth twitching despite herself as she watched him drape a bow tie around his neck. But of course, Lockwood wasn’t Lockwood if he didn’t have his signature ability to put his foot in his mouth.
“Besides, all of Fittes will be there, all of Rotwell will be there. We all need to go.”
“Of course.” Her harsh tone made Lockwood pause his flurry of activity, looking as though he wanted to fix what he had said. But he hesitated too long and now Lucy was barreling down the corridor, trying to find her boots, and the two of them awkwardly shifted away. She hadn’t meant to sound so bitter. What did she even have to be bitter about?
Before either of them could give it any more thought, they heard a dramatic gasp from George’s room, where they found Lucy blackmailing him into coming by holding one of his dusty old books hostage. George looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. But the blackmail worked, not that George let Lucy off the hook for the rest of the night, grumbling and bemoaning the (temporary) loss of his beloved friend. Other than that, they reached without much fuss, and Lockwood was quick to get to business.
“How about we do some networking?”
“What, with other agencies?”
“Connections couldn’t hurt.”
George shared a knowing glance with Lucy, but it was so brief that it was quickly forgotten, especially in light of his comment. “That’s just as well. I spy a couple Fittes agents who wouldn’t seem to mind, er, connecting with Lockwood.”
Lockwood frowned, but she didn’t pay attention long enough to see his full reaction. George had nodded towards this cluster (really, only three of them) of Fittes agents who seemed to have a particularly high propensity for giggling. They huddled even closer together when the four of them looked over, and they began furiously whispering into each other ears, eyes still intent on Lockwood. She hadn’t been much different when she had first joined the agency, and it certainly was amusing how oblivious he was to how ridiculously attractive he was, only showing a hint of awareness whenever he turned on the charm for particularly difficult clients. So polished, so shiny, so cool above the hot struggles of the ordinary folk he surrounded himself with, breezing through life. She would have resented him if he weren’t so darling.
Every time he wandered a bit too close to her, she braced herself for his touch. Because that was definitely what she was doing: bracing herself. Not like she wanted him to touch her or anything. And she definitely wasn’t repeatedly dying a slow and painful death as she replayed his brush at breakfast. And of course, Lockwood was too engrossed in his conversation with some stuffy bigwig to notice anything. He was gesturing around them with the air of someone far richer than he already was.
“We operate differently at Lockwood and Co. Glamour and glitz has its place, but personally we might have gone for something more…elegant. More…tasteful, perhaps.”
She snorted into her champagne a little more aggressively that she had intended. For someone so beautiful, Lockwood could be so full of shit sometimes. She smiled apologetically, and Lockwood helped fix things with that smooth laugh of his, but the disconcerted look in his eye told her he wasn’t going to forget about that anytime soon. Eventually, the bigwig needed to talk to another bigwig, so they excused themselves and turned to hunt for their next prey.
“What was that?”
“Oh, please, like I’m just supposed to stand and watch you and lie that blatantly. You’d sell your soul to have a gala as big as this tied to your name. You were so convincing, it’s almost impressive.”
“Thank you.”
“I said ‘almost.’”
He swooped down to the shell of her ear. “Good enough for me.” She frantically stamped out the butterflies in her stomach. Stupid Lockwood and his stupid warm breath tickling her ear and his stupid devastatingly appealing indifference towards morality. She pulled away from his magnetic field, thoughts tangled in her irritation.
“Y/N,” she stopped fuming long enough to realise Lockwood had dragged her to a quieter part of the party, but his words still bounced off her numb mind inconsequentially. “Are you alright? Was it-“ he grimaced uncomfortably. “Was it what I said back home? Because I didn’t-“
She was vaguely aware of her reaching out and holding his hand, trying to find the right words. The warmth of his hand anchored her even as she was drowning in it. It was dangerous, having him so close with a mind so willing to delve into nonsense. She could see herself tiptoeing out of his room, on wooden floors she only knew of through creaks far too late at night, her sweater dangling on the doorknob-
All of a sudden, he was gold under her touch. Gleaming and perfect, perfectly solid and assured as the riches that entrenched on him now consumed him: the perfect sculpture. And yet his eyes still hummed with the unmistakeable fervour of life, of spirit, of the adventure he so recklessly indulged himself in. She was slowing her breath, he was pulling her under, and she was dizzy with it, dizzy with him. It wasn’t normal, but they were never normal. Lockwood would beckon, and she would succumb, and each time common sense caught up to her just a little bit later than the last time, leaving her dangerously close to diving into the whirlpool that was Lockwood, inhibitions forgotten.
But then the music swelled, and laughter grated on her ears, and she remembered where she was. She let go of his hand almost spitefully, and walked away, ignoring his attempts to get her to stop. It was all so unnecessary and so saddening.
They left soon after, the can uncharacteristically quiet as two out of the four members tried to beat their hearts into submission. As they hung up their coats near the front door, Lockwood paused, and she was sure he was going to say something, but then the moment passed again and she was left climbing the stairs frustrated and wholly dissatisfied.
She kept the door to the attic a crack open, watching as much as she could of Lockwood drifting to the library, not looking away until she heard the soft click of the door. She closed her eyes, burning every memory and image of him into her retinas. Flashes of Lockwood danced like bright spots as she undressed: the bow tie left desolate around his neck, the champagne that blended in with his skin under the golden lights, the unscrupulous charisma that radiated off his too-bright smile…it was unhealthy how drugged she felt on the high that was Lockwood. But tonight had been too real, too visceral: she couldn’t bear dreaming about him for another second.
It was only twenty-four hours ago that she had been wandering near the coast with him while looking for the Source. The air was dizzy with salt and Lockwood’s eyes danced a bit too merrily for either of them to feel too burdened by the hunt for the Source. It was just as well that Lucy and George had found it, because she and Lockwood were utterly useless, getting drunk of each other’s laughter, stumbling in the shifting sand and gravel. She wondered if he thought about that night the way she did, if his breath caught too as he was swept up in the memory of the innocence they shared, blazing as they brazenly ambled foolishly for no one’s eyes but the moon’s and the seas’ who witnessed a love as pure as theirs for the first and last time.
————————————————————————
She woke up feeling painfully brittle from the previous night. She slept restlessly, too preoccupied to wade through her thoughts with much precision, until she finally heard enough movement downstairs. Lockwood was surprisingly already fully dressed, staring a hole into the wall with the case file of their next job in front of him. But his ironed clothes were jarring rather than refreshing, especially when contrasted against the bruises under his eyes and his translucent skin. Good. He was too disarming when he was well-rested anyway. All her resentment towards him dissolved at the sight of a stack of meticulously buttered toast and cup of tea: an Anthony Lockwood peace offering if she ever saw one. It made her want to cry, but it wasn’t the time for it, so she settled for a gnawing in her stomach.
From the boys’ stilted conversation, she gathered that Lockwood had already been to the site that morning and there was clearly something about it that their clients weren’t telling them. From the look she shared with George as they started discussing their clients’ possible secrets, it was clear that he too was slightly troubled. It wasn’t like Lockwood to go out for walks alone, especially before dawn. She nearly upset the milk jug when her heart swooped as she thought about Lockwood staying up alone, slowly bleeding into the shadows of the house that threatened to inhale him. It made her feel funny.
“Hm?” Lockwood turned, tuning back in only at the tail end of the conversation. She hated how adorable his half-confused expression was and how it made her forget how to breathe. She scoffed, leaving her toast but begrudgingly taking her tea with her, mumbling something about Anna Karenina. She was properly put off her breakfast. As if lingering in the edges of her mind wasn’t enough, he just had to disrupt her appetite too.
“Hey.” He had found her hiding away on the floor of the library between some bookshelves. Not that she was actively avoiding him.
“Hey.” Sleep deprivation wasn’t a good look on anyone, but Lockwood still managed to pull it off. Still, he looked miles more unkempt like this than in a regular, cotton shirt.
He uselessly gestured towards the plate, looking less than the perfect cool he typically maintained. “I brought your toast.”
“I’m fine with my tea, thanks.” She fixed her eyes back onto her book, painfully aware of him watching her. He sighed and sat down in front of her.
“I know you felt it too, last night. I don’t know why you’re mad at me when you’re the one going around lying through your teeth.” She snapped her book close. Enough was enough.
“Because we’ll never be anything more. You’re this…this craze, this bug that’s infected everyone that’s slowly sucking the life out of me, you…you hedonistic disease. You’ll hold my hand and brush your fingers against my head but you’ll never kiss me. And why would you?” She nudged her tea further behind; she couldn’t tolerate even glancing at it. It reminded her of the waves that teased their soles, brimming with awe, a memory that was steadily sinking into the grey of her unpleasantly cold tea. “You have so much more, so much better to choose from. Everybody wants you.”
“Who cares about everyone else?”
“I care! Normal people care! How can you expect me to just stand here, knowing that I will never be good enough for someone like you?”
He looked so genuinely lost that she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means. Someone as iridescent, and perfect as you.” She spat out that word with disgust. If she weren’t so upset, he would have made some stupid quip about her finding him perfect, but that was a bone to pick for another time. He reached out, holding her hand to his chest.
“Y/N…no one could be more perfect than you.”
She snatched her hand back. Now he was just mocking her. “Don’t! Don’t say that when it isn’t true.”
“But it is!”
“Anthony Lockwood, you are made of fibs, half-truths and tall tales. You bend the truth! You bend, and you bend and you bend until you snap me right in half.”
She was crying by this point. God, could she be more embarrassing? Lockwood shuffled towards her, wrapping an arm around her and speaking into her hair. The exact same spot his fingers had brushed and ignited this chain sequence of events.
“You’re right. I’m a vagabond. A no-good…charlatan. But,” he adjusted his head to look into her eyes, and now all she saw were faint tendrils of gold dust sprinkling in his irises. “I’m your charlatan. Don’t you think?”
And with eyes like those, how could she say no?
#fanfiction#anthony lockwood x reader#anthony lockwood imagine#anthony lockwood x you#fanfic#lockwood & co#lockwood and co#lockwood and co netflix#lockwood x y/n#taylor swift#evermore#gold rush#requested
120 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hello,
Here is the life update of my past 4 years.
I began this blog many years ago in 2012 when I was only 14 years old, and I then slowly gained the courage to start posting art at 17 when I joined the K fandom. It's wild to think that I am now 25!
I was never quite consistent in posting since I only shared my art here whenever I felt like it, but it slowed down ever so gradually to basically 1 post a year for Yata’s birthday. This blog helped me with my fear of showing my art to others as I was incredibly embarrassed of my work for a really long time.
I soon moved to the USA from my homeland and attended animation school for 1 year, and then studied illustration and visual development for 4 years and I managed to accomplish many things I never could have imagined. I graduated with honors this past May, was selected by the faculty and head of department as my major’s trustee scholar, completed my 84-page art book thesis, got a few pieces into the Society of Illustrators, and my school even shot a mini docu-film about me, my art and my life where I got to share my upbringing. Art school was very demanding and at times tough but I managed to get a lot out of it :)
In July of this year, I moved to California from Florida and I’m much happier than I’ve ever been. I come from a very small country so I never expected to get this far in the art world. I drew Yata for fun in my bedroom whenever I wanted to and now I’m in LA breaking into the animation industry (receiving my first credit too!)
the drawings I share here are a very very small part of the illustrations I make weekly. I wish I could share them with everyone as I’m very proud of them but I enjoy separating my fandom life from my real life a little too much! Surprisingly I am working as a background artist at the moment despite never drawing backgrounds in this blog lol. I think many of you would be surprised at how different my work is from irl!!
It hasn’t always been great, so I don't want to make it seem like it's been all perfect. I’ve had many hard times too and at the moment I am extremely homesick since I haven't returned home in a long time but I think these are needed sacrifices.
However, I'm excited for 2024. I'm looking forward to growing as an artist and my goal is to continue to have fun with art as much as I have right now. I think I’m lucky to have a great support system including my best friend @fuurais who has been by my side for 10+ years and I managed to convert into a K artist too <3
Thank you for the support, for the kind messages, and for the excitement every time I post. I am always happy when I think of this blog and the friends I made. I unironically think about Yata every day as he is past being my comfort character tbh. I am currently writing this with full-on orange hair that I've had for a few years now lol.
I don’t think I’ll be as active as I was at 17 but I will try to not ghost this blog completely. There are a lot of things I haven’t drawn yet that I really want to do and I'd love to share those drawings with everyone.
Lots of love -
Tael <3
91 notes
·
View notes
Text
Phobia || Draco Malfoy x GN!Reader
Draco Malfoy x Reader || I can’t
Summary: Reader is having a panic attack because some bullies pick on them about a phobia they have and Draco helps soothe and comforts them. He just stays by their side until they’re ok :)
Warnings: panic attack, crying, swearing, phobia
Word count: 1.7k
a/n: It's kind of short, but I needed to rant through this haha. Didn’t realize how bad my anxiety got over something until something triggered it again, so uh, now I’m writing. I’m not going to specify what exactly the phobia is, so I’ll make it quite vague, but I need to rant this out in writing. I’m still a bit shaky and sore from what happened, but I’ll be alright ^^ Also, I know panic attacks can be different for everyone, I still have a difficult time trying to put into words what I go through, but I’m trying my best, I want to be able to write it out and describe it.
Today actually started quite nice. The sun gently kissed your skin as you walked through the corridors on the way to class. Breakfast was pleasant as you had met up with your boyfriend, Draco, and chatted comfortably while eating your favorite foods and drinking pumpkin juice. Things were alright.
“Hey, love, I’ll catch you in Transfiguration alright? I’ve got to speak to Professor Snape now,” Draco gently kissed your forehead as he stood up from the table, grabbing his belongings.
“Alright, see you later!” You replied back with a gentle wave. Your gaze held such endearment for your boyfriend as you watched him walk out of the Great Hall. Not long after, you returned to eating your breakfast and laughing with your other friends.
Today was alright, or so you thought.
Everything had been pleasant until some awful upperclassmen started picking on you.
They found out about a phobia of yours not long ago and deemed it worthy of picking on you for it. So there you were, huddled in a corner of an empty classroom while four older Gryffindor and Ravenclaws relentlessly tore at your fear. They taunted you, laughed at your shaking, mocked your sobs. You didn’t know how to escape this cruel torture.
They found it ridiculous that you could fear such a thing. Such a thing that seemed mundane or normal to others. But it was a phobia for you. An extreme fear that you could not escape. It’s not like you wanted this phobia. You even thought it was silly, but when they attacked you so harshly about it, bringing it up in all of the wrong ways that triggered you, you just broke.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Draco had found it odd when you didn’t show up for Transfiguration. Normally, you would be there by now, greeting him with your ever so adorable, excited wave and small smile. You made Draco feel and act in ways he didn’t think he was capable of. He held so much love for you, he thought his heart might burst. Draco would do anything for you.
Thirty minutes later, there was still no sign of you. A scowl rested upon his face for the rest of the class. Why weren’t you sitting next to him in class? What could have prevented you from coming? You hadn’t said there was any reason you would be missing class.
That very same scowl was still present on Draco’s face when he walked into the Great Hall for lunch. He couldn’t find you anywhere in the small free time he had between class and lunch. His concern grew deeper when you didn’t show up for lunch. Little did he know, you were still huddled in the empty classroom, in the midst of a long and drawn out panic attack.
Draco did something he hoped he would not have to do, but he was getting desperate now.
“Hey Granger! I need your help with something.” He harshly whisper-yelled as he leaned closer towards the Gryffindor table.
“Not today Malfoy.” Hermione spat back, remaining turned the other way. Draco gave an irritated huff.
“I–....Please Granger. It’s about Y/n. Have you seen Y/n anywhere after breakfast today?” He sighed in defeat as he pleaded with the Gryffindor for any clue as to where you might be. He could hear Hermione sigh as well.
“Y/n is missing? I thought I saw some Gryffindors and Ravenclaws with Y/n earlier? They entered one of the empty classrooms I believe/” Hermione questioned, a hint of worry laced in her tone now.
“Shit.” Draco cursed more audibly. He knew that group of students always caused trouble for you. He thought he had taken care of them, and had told them to back off. “Dammit, that’s not good. Uhm, thanks Granger.” He quickly stood up from his seat, not hearing Hermione’s questions of worry. Hermione watched in concern for you as Draco ran out to find you.
“Y/N! Y/N!? Where are you!” Draco called out while jogging through the halls, hoping he would hear your voice ring out to him.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
By now, your tormentors had left. Their hour of torture felt like six days in hell. Bloody fucking hell. You had stayed curled up in that same corner, unable to move for another hour. Or two hours. You weren’t really sure how long you had been there. Your body refused to move, your muscles were tense and your body violently shook still. Big tears ran down your cheeks as you tried to calm your erratic breaths, but nothing was working. The tears wouldn’t stop and neither would your spiraling panicked thoughts.
Worst case scenarios swarmed your head. Your phobia imprisoned your mind. There was no escape from it. Is this the end? You just wanted to breathe normally again. You couldn’t catch your breath. Why did your limbs hurt so much? Oh yeah, you were frozen in that position. Your entire being tensed as if it grounded and chain you down.
What if something happened to you? What if it did happen to you? What if someone strapped you down and forced you to see it over and over and over again? What if–
“Y/N!” Your eyes shot in the direction you thought you heard a voice coming from. It sounded like Draco’s voice. You heard him call again through muffled hearing. You hoped your ears weren’t playing tricks on you. It was difficult to hear as your ears were ringing.
“Y/N! Where are you!?” It was him. Your lips parted, trying to muster the strength to call out to him. You could hear classroom doors opening and slamming shut. Draco was getting closer, all you had to do was yell for him and you knew he would come running to your side.
“I-I’m in here. Draco, I’m here,” you called out feebly, your voice shot from the silent sobs that constricted your throat. Thankfully the classroom door was open. Thankfully Draco was near enough to hear your small cry. Thankfully, thankfully, thankfully he finally entered.
Draco rushed over to your small, curled up form. His arms reach out to instinctively hug you. He kneeled in front of you, tightly embracing your trembling body.
“Love, there you are. What happened? Can you talk?” Worry was evident in his tone. You felt his voice in his chest as he spoke and leaned your head further into his chest. Breathing in his scent and listening to his heart beat began to bring you back to reality.
“A little.” You softly replied with a shaky voice. He hummed deeply in response.
“Can I move you?” He calmly asked.
“Yes.” He slowly maneuvered you and him into a position where he was sitting, back against the wall, with you curled up against his front and on his lap. Your whole body felt incredibly sore, you weren’t sure you could move on your own yet. The fear sometimes would paralyze you, leaving your limbs cramped in a position, unable to relax them.
Draco gently rubbed your arms and legs, knowing how you were when this would happen. “Does it hurt?” You gave a small ‘mhm’ and he squeezed you a little tighter. The two of you sat like that for a little while and you slowly calmed down enough to at least tell him what happened.
“I’m sorry, Draco.” You whispered out.
“Oh, love, you don’t need to apologize for this ever. Are you able to tell me what happened?” He asked so calmly again. You snuggled into his chest even closer.
“It was the same group again. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. They somehow found out about my fear… my phobia.” Your voice was still hoarse and quiet, but became even quieter at the end of your sentence. Draco already knew of your phobia. He witnessed what happened when you were around it, twice. Once before you started dating, and the other time towards the beginning of your relationship. It was never this bad though. This was the worst he has seen you become.
“My fear, I think it’s getting worse Draco. I don’t know how to control it or fix it.” You whimpered, stray tears fell down your cheeks.
“It will be alright, we can do this together. I can help you through it, yeah?” Draco wasn’t quite sure how he would help you through it or if he could help you overcome it, but he sure as hell wouldn’t hold it against you. He still loved you to the ends of time and back. “I’ll always be there for you.”
“Thank you Draco…” you sighed softly. “They tormented me for an hour. It–It was so awful. Why me, Draco? Why are they so cruel?” You sniffled at this, your voice cracking on your last question.
“They’re obviously jealous of you,” he chuckled softly. “They probably can’t stand just how talented, smart, amazing, and lovely you are.” You let a small laugh out through your nose. “But seriously, I’m going to fuck them up so badly for what they’ve done to you. I swear I will beat those pricks into a bloody pulp”
“Oh, Draco, please don’t cause too much of a ruckus. If you get detention, what would I do without you?” You playfully pleaded with him. Though worry was still prominent in your voice, you knew he would hold true to his words.
“Fine. I’ll just give them a stern talking to then.” He spat in anger at the thought of them again. “And I’ll report them to Professor McGonnagal as well.” You nodded in approval. Draco softly placed a kiss on the top of your head as he kept rubbing you comfortingly.
“I don’t know what I would do without you,” you sighed with happiness this time.
“I could say the same back to you, love.” You could feel the rumble of his chest as he chuckled softly.
“Can we just stay here a while longer?” Finally, you managed to look him in the eyes, with glassy, pleading eyes. He smiled at your action.
“Of course we can, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He hummed while resting his head on top of yours, arms still wrapped protectively around you.
139 notes
·
View notes
Note
HII, i'm so sorry to be a bother but can i request some headcanons with leon having a famous s/o, like a singer or influencer? :000
I’ve been HYPED to do this ask for a while Tehe! You never disappoint anon!
Leon W/ a famous s/o
Female reader, quite fluffy all things considered! Reader is a singer
You, a very VERY famous Galarian singer (I’m talking Taylor Swift level famous) were of course, in the spotlight a lot. You have a massive fanbase, who practically worship your music. What you did not expect, is that the Galarian Champion secretly likes your music.
He sneaks into a few concerts, and developed a bit of a celebrity crush on you when he heard your voice. It was like a Siren’s call. He loved the glamorous outfits you wore, and how much passion you put into your music. He totally secretly stalks you on social media a bit.
You, on the other hand, like his work too. You have a Pokemon of your own who often is in concerts with you, a female Sylveon. You think he’s attractive, and a good battler, but you don’t know him.
You accidentally run into him one day after one of your shows, and are VERY surprised to find him there. He quickly compliments you on your work, and small talk pops up. You get kinda flirty and that leads to some numbers being exchanged.
After moving past the talking stage, he officially asks you out, and you could not be more delighted. You’re both very busy people, but make time for each other regardless. (Awwww)
Of course, you decide to keep your relationship very secret once you get together. Don’t need the press meddling in your lives even more, now do we?
Right from the get-go, Leon is absolutely the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. He is perfect in every single way, and you can always spot him in the VIP box at your shows. This leads to you writing songs about him, very discreetly though.
Once he hears your new album, the lyrics catch his attention. It doesn’t take long for him to put the pieces together. Most of your more romantic songs are DEFINITELY about him. It makes him blush and giggle when he figures it out.
“Are these songs about me?”
“Yes…”
“🥺”
You’re not just dating him for the money, you’re genuinely in love with him. And you blurt that out one night while you’re snuggled up in bed, and he couldn’t agree more.
After that, Leon drops the bomb in an interview about his girlfriend. (With your permission of course) it’s safe to say, everyone went B A N A N A S.
You guys get interviewed together, and more of the tea about your relationship is spilled. Almost immediately, you’re Galar’s hottest couple! There is a blog or two dedicated to the press sneaking photos of you together. The most popular ones are where you stand on your tip toes to kiss him. Leon agrees. They’re adorable.
People start to put the pieces together that some of your songs are about Leon, and lose their mind even more. You just giggle and watch as the chaos unfolds.
There’s fan art drawn of you guys, and each is more adorable than the last. Leon likes showing them to you. You get flustered each time.
Leon now gets to show off his pretty girlfriend at formal events. You like dressing up just for him, and it makes him nuts. Jewels, makeup, fancy dresses, the whole shibang.
Even four years into your relationship, and with the amount of songs you’ve written about him, people are still crazy about you guys together.
And of course, when they get word of the engagement… It gets even crazier.
#champion leon#pokemon leon#trainer leon#pokemon#champion leon x reader#pokemon leon x reader#anon ask#request#champion leon headcannons#pokemon leon headcannons
41 notes
·
View notes
Note
can you do yelan for prompt number 1? maybe like the reader is a very well known private detective and Yelan was aware of their skills and cases? ^^
“Why don’t you just quit and work for me instead?”
characters: Yelan x gn!reader
warnings: none
a/n: I planned on posting this yesterday, but I didn't manage to finish it, so it's a nice coincidence than today is Yelan's birthday.
Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Yelan
Yanshang Teahouse. If anybody had told your past self how often you found yourself inside of it these past couple of months, you would have called them a liar, but as the people hiring you to investigate for them began paying more and your reputation steadily grew a lot of things changed for you.
And while it started out as a single visit, your curiosity about what made this place so special that people were ready to play a lot of Mora to get a table, eventually gaining the upper hand, only for you to meet a stranger that knew too much and seemed more than happy to provide you with helpful clues from time to time… As long as you payed the entrance fee for the Teahouse, of course.
“No. You’re cheating. These dice are weighted. I can smell it”, you tried your best not to show your despair too much as yet another round was won by your opponent, making your purse a little bit lighter once again. Only for you to be greeted with a smile that both seemed to confirm your suspicion while also making you question whether or not you were talking complete nonsense. The woman on the opposite side of the table not having to worry about anyone else hearing your accusation, seeing as there was no one but the two of you present..
“Are you sure that it’s treachery you’re smelling and not the tea you have been so awfully neglecting all this time?”, came the quip you should have expected from Yelan as she leaned slightly forwards, pointing towards the cup on your left, causing you to let out a long drawn out sigh before taking a sip.
“Anyway, I’ve heard you’re working on one of your little cases again”, she stated, finally revealing why she called you here at this hour of the day, the fact that she knew both slightly unsettling you while not coming as a surprise in the slightest. “And while I can’t tell you anything that would help you, I’ve heard that there’s someone who has quite a bit to say”, she continued.
“...Why are you helping me?”, you asked the question floating inside your mind for as long as the two of you knew each other. For someone simply operating a Teahouse, even if this luxurious, she seemed to know a lot, and while you knew what her answer would be if you asked how she knew all of this, having heard it countless of times before, it still didn’t explain why she’d tell you all of this, her weighted dice not exactly marking her down as someone driven by honesty and justice.
Before getting an answer however, you saw her signal towards the dice, causing the urge to let out yet another sigh to return in full force. “With how much money you leave here each time you visit, I might as well try and make it up to you every once in a while”, Yelan answered, causing this whole thing to feel even more fishy for you. But before you had time to voice any of your thoughts, the sound of a few dice being thrown interrupted you.
Both of you quickly took turns in rolling the dice, only for you to be the winner for once. But while some might have celebrated their rare win by buying something to drink with the money they had just won, you knew better than to siphon the money immediately back to the owner of the Teahouse. That, and you knew better than to believe you had somehow bested Yelan in a game of luck, knowing that there was rarely anything, if at all, that she let luck decide on.
“Hmm, seems like you’ve won.”
“Mhm, how surprising. That being said, you can put the weighted dice back now, no need to keep them in such a tight grasp”, you responded while staring at her other hand that remained conspicuously balled into a fist.
“Anyway”, you quickly changed the subject back to what was on your mind, “how do you really end up with all of this information, Miss ‘I simply like to listen in on customers’?”, you probed her once again, not expecting her answer to differ from the many other times you had asked before but being open to any surprises.
Instead, you were greeted with silence. The person opposite of you staring you in the eyes as a mysterious smile made its way onto her face.
“Why don’t you just quit and work for me instead? I’m sure a lot of your questions would get answered”
Yelan had long abandoned the idea of working with others, still not completely over the loss of her previous teammates. And while her skills had certainly improved since those days, her attitude about risking others did not…
But seeing the way you worked did make her curious. The few times she saw you get in trouble with a suspect, you managed to hold your ground remarkably well, while also knowing when to let others do the fighting. You were quick to pick up details, no matter how small they were, certainly making it so that you would be a huge help. Last but not least, you were seemingly starting to suspect something wasn’t like it seemed with her. And while there were certainly other ways she could make sure you kept your mouth shut, she had to admit that she preferred recruiting you in some way to the alternatives.
“I… don’t know. A detective working in a Teahouse? Don’t take me wrong, but I feel like that would be somewhat… unfitting”, you answered uncertain, nervously looking around as to make sure there was no personal that might take offense with what you were saying.
You know what? Maybe it was still some time until you figured out what exactly seemed fishy about her. But once you would, Yelan would know and ask again. If you turned out to be as reliable as she thought.
As the two of you said your goodbyes and you made your way towards the door, you stopped dead in your tracks once Yelan called out for you one last time, causing you to turn back towards her.
What you were greeted with was her presenting you with the fist she hid the dice in, only to open it and reveal it was empty all along, a satisfied smile on her face as she opened her mouth.
“I never hid my dice. I switched them with yours.”
141 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
valeprati
Vale prati
soufre-de-paris
o caminho é um só.
thefairestfacts
♡Did you know about this?Did you know about that?♡
sofiamorgan
Untitled