#as you can see it's still under construction but i love it already

[almostempty]

Kick and Scream

Self Esteem Part 3

Pairing: fuckboy!Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel catches you on a date and communicates how he feels about it (the only way he knows how).

Warnings: fuckboy!Joel, dub con, smut, pwp, unprotected piv sex, fingering, creampie, dirty talk, public sex, blow job, reader is still sippin' on some dumb bitch juice for Joel (me), jealous!joel, possessive!joel, emotionally manipulative but sexually proficient Joel, toxic breadcrumbing Joel fucks, smash and dash, no use of y/n, AU no outbreak, special guest appearance by date night dave, OOC Dave bc I don’t know that man so I made him single, rich, hot, and pervy idc idc idc, more i might be forgetting rn,  

Notes: please leave feedback! open to constructive criticism or delusional inspiration

Thanks: to EVERYONE who read part 1 and 2, but ESPECIALLY  @auteurdelabre for inspiring, I hope you enjoy it bb. I'll try to tag those who specifically asked for more brb, and @strangergraphics

WC: 9.3K (idk it got long and horny heheh) 

AO3: HERE | Masterlist: Here

Part 1: Self Esteem

Part 2: Want You Bad

Part 4: The more you suffer

You stare down at the hand that just landed on your thigh, cocking your head in assessment. You can feel the scowl tugging at the corners of your mouth. As you work out what expression you should paste onto your face instead, the man sitting next to you seems unbothered. Maybe even encouraged? He continues his lecture about the benefits of indoor rock climbing. You sigh, staring across the park as he continues without pausing to breathe. 

You watch the couples milling around the park, wondering if that’s what you look like with this guy's hand on your leg. You stare back down at it, his long fingers shifting slightly as he continues his animated speech. Sweat beads at the back of your neck, and you feel fidgety. Trapped under the weight of his limp hand. He doesn’t seem to notice when you squirm and readjust. He’s circled back to his earlier lecture about how you just have to learn to play an instrument. If he’d let you get a word in, you could verify that you already do, but he seems to prefer the sound of his own voice. 

This guy should get a podcast. The kind where a guy with a microphone talks to himself for three hours about whatever he wants. He’d crush it. You laugh to yourself, unintentionally encouraging him with your smile. He’s not not good-looking. But you’d prefer someone interested in asking you at least one question. 

You stifle a laugh at the intrusive thought of taking him home and stripping his clothes off while he prattles on about amateur bird-watching, sorry–birding, or unicycling. 

Eventually, you extricate yourself from the disappointing date, accept an awkward hug, and turn down dinner. You haven’t left the parking lot yet when your phone buzzes. 

Unsaved number: had a great time with u

Unsaved number: would love to see u again :) 

It’s not that your skin crawls, but it is a full-body no. 

You: thanks, I’m glad I got to know you more 

It’s not technically a lie. You’re glad you learned he’s not a fit for you. You feel okay about leaving it at that for now. You watch the sunset from your parking spot. The park is filled with couples laying on blankets being romantic. You roll your eyes at them and then at yourself for being bitter. Your phone buzzes again, and you wince, hoping it’s not your long-winded date again. It’s not. 

Joel: what you doing?

Fucking Miller. You scoff aloud in the private space of your front seat. By now, he should be on your blocked list, but the quick hit of euphoria that floods through your bloodstream, warming your cheeks, keeps you hooked. He’s a filthy drug that blinds you from logic or survival instincts. Your eyes dart to the pedestrians in the parking lot. Worried. As if the milling strangers know what you’re up to and are about to shame you. A little voice reminds you that if you feel guilty about something, you shouldn’t be doing it. You ignore that voice. Nobody in the parking lot catches on, coast clear, and you let yourself grin wide as a fool when you type your response. 

Later that night, you’re grinning again. Sprawled across your couch, sweaty skin plastered to the faux leather cushions. Sated. Bought and sold on your own lie, you tell the little voice that you didn’t want Joel to stay anyway. You convince yourself some form of compromise is happening, however twisted, when he shows up and leaves you wrecked. He comes to you. You don’t have to get to know each other to make each other feel good. Whatever puts you at ease. 

Sometimes it works. Some days, you feel hollow and anxious. Obsessively tapping your phone to see if he’s responded when you reach out first. Pacing around your home, stressing over whether you should stay up just in case and even in bed, you can’t help but stay alert for a knock at the door. 

The cycle leaves you with dark circles under your eyes most days. But, on the mornings after Joel shows up, you have a bright twinkle in your eyes and a knowing smirk that greets you in the bathroom mirror. Katie noticed the smirk one day and called you out. She demanded an explanation for the mystery dick fairy. 

You wouldn’t admit his identity to her, afraid of getting too involved with someone in her boyfriend's network. But you did admit to the toxic cycle, and your friend was not as amused as you when you tried to pass it off as a joke. She tried to convince you to look for someone to date, but you argued that wasn’t what you wanted anyway. She suggested at least someone who could commit to a plan or send a text back. You knew it didn’t sound great out loud. 

As the days of summer crawl along, you wonder if she’s right. At least, it was worth considering. It’s a feeble attempt to smother your spiraling thoughts about Joel. Still, when you start getting messages from the dating app Katie chose for you, it gives you something to interrupt your racing thoughts. At first. Somehow, it starts to feel even worse. Ignoring the sinking feeling you get when it isn’t Joel’s name in your notifications gets more challenging. 

You had accepted that it was a lost cause to plan anything with him, but you still can’t find the self-respect to turn him away when he shows up at your door. Sometimes, he sends you a grammatically inconsiderate text. You wonder if he somehow has a cell phone plan that still charges him by the message with the way he uses as few words as possible. 

He never stays. Never invites you to his. He evades any predictable behavior. Maybe he’s worried someone ordered a hit on him. Maybe that’s all it is, you muse. Not a contracted kill. The unpredictability. Chaos. That’s what makes him addictive. The brightness of the highs makes you temporarily forget the darkest lows exist. That, and the dirty little thoughts that pour from his mouth and drip into your psyche. That stupid, sexy voice burning into your memory, yeah, that’s definitely addictive. You snort at that. I am unwell, you think. As you pick up your phone again, you see a message from someone new. 

\\\///

Heat radiates off your face as you fling another shirt across the room. You’ve tried on the same three outfits over and over again. Ripping them over your head and tossing them into the pile of laundry purgatory. Maybe sweating and mouth-breathing is a turn-on for your date; if so, you’re gonna nail the first impression. You sigh and commit to option two: the little black dress. A classic, right? 

“Shit,” you curse at yourself when you stumble while attempting to pull your shoes on as you walk down the hall. This is what you get for agreeing to a late evening date on a weeknight; you feel like a mess. Scrambling to play it cool and classy, you pause to recalibrate before opening the door. What was his name? You can’t remember. He didn’t look like your usual type, but Katie had convinced you to branch out a little. More specifically, she told you it was a green flag already if he wasn’t your type. 

You swing the door open, hoping he introduces himself first. He looks expensive. The dark-washed denim, the boots, the jacket, and the watch. Like he walked out of an ad campaign for a brand out of your budget. Dave. He does introduce himself, thankfully. He’s more clean-cut than your usual type, but he speaks confidently and gives off an air of put-togetherness that intrigues you. His voice definitely stirs the butterflies in your stomach. 

Oh. You realize you’ve definitely been busy staring at him and have no idea what he actually said with his sultry bedroom voice. Your eyes widen a little. You don’t wanna fuck this up and embarrass yourself. Luckily, he seems unbothered. He tilts his head with a seductive half-smile. He’s enjoying the way you assess him. That definitely does it for you. Stupid, smug men making you weak in the knees. 

“You ready?” he asks, voice all smoky for no good reason. 

“Yeah,” you manage to say as you recall how to speak and act human. Until you see his luxury car waiting for you. He clocks your beat of hesitance. 

“Good.” 

His authoritative voice flips the right switch in you, and you let him lead. When he opens the door for you, it’s like the final component of his spell. You are bewitched. Under a thick veil, you didn’t even notice the truck that rolled by as you sank into the leather seat. You didn’t notice when the truck pulled over up the block, idling noisily on the quiet street. No, you were busy, focused on manually breathing and taking in what you’d describe as the interior of a spaceship. 

The good news is that Dave is charming. He is easy to talk to as he drives. Flirty and quick-witted. He asks you questions and pauses to consider your responses. You aren’t sure you have much in common, but you like his self-assured demeanor. 

When you walk into the club he’s brought you to, you hesitate once again, feeling underdressed. The club is split with a lounge on one side of the bar–full of intimate booths and plush chairs surrounding tiny tables and trendy mood lighting. Kind of like a swanky hotel lobby, you decide. On the other side of the bar is a dance floor, dimly lit with loud music blasting. Women in bodycon dresses and heels fill the room. You feel plain in comparison. 

“I didn’t know there was a dress code,” you mutter. 

“There isn’t,” Dave asserts, “besides, you look good in this.” He accentuates his statement by running his hand down your spine. It settles some of your nerves and lights up others. He ushers you, hand on your lower back, towards a small booth. And as you settle in, he’s undeniably charismatic. Dave doesn’t reveal much about himself but keeps you laughing and seems genuinely interested in you.  

Despite the loud music and people noise, it’s easy to feel like the room is only for you and him. You sip your drink and warm up to his affection. You’re quick to smile, and despite how serious he seems, he has a playful edge that has you on your toes. 

You can taste the chemistry between you, bright and sparkling. He spurs your confidence with his dark eyes when he not so subtly lets his gaze linger on your body. You stop shying away from attention and try to bask in it instead. It boosts your ego and stirs up your desire. 

When you let yourself look, really look, you decide Dave is handsome. His strong features, broad shoulders, and impeccable grooming work for him. He seems meticulous but not too uptight to have fun. A dark sense of humor flirts behind his twinkling dark eyes. You decide to let him know that you’ve determined he is a handsome man. He gives you a look. Like he already knew you thought that. Your cheeks warm slightly at that. Were you obvious? 

It’s not until he peels away from you to refill your drinks that you notice how close you have been sitting. You mourn the loss of his body heat as he walks away. You had low expectations after your last few dates, but tonight, this feels different. Your eyes trail along his path to the bar, and you lazily rest your chin in your palm before your breath hitches, and you freeze.  

You feel like you’ve swallowed a bowling ball. It’s lodged in your throat first, then constricting your chest, until finally, it sinks. A heavy, solid weight flipping your stomach. You’re locked on a different set of dark eyes. They’re glowering at you through lowered brows from across the room. Seated at the same bar where Dave ordered your drinks. 

Joel stares at you over his drink. He downs the glass without taking his eyes off of you. One quirked brow, asking really? 

Really what? Is he judging you? For what, being on a date? 

Another glass replaces his empty tumbler, but he doesn’t acknowledge the bartender or the rest of the world.

This fucking guy. 

The bowling ball in your gut mutates into something fiery. But, you have nothing to be guilty about. It’s not your fault he’s alone, bitter, and drinking at a bar full of people having more fun than him. In fact, you could say it’s his fault that you’re both here. 

A scowl forms on Joel’s face when Dave slides back into the booth beside you. Good. You hope he suffers. You hope he sees how easy it is for someone to treat you well. And how happy you look. 

You don’t hesitate to lean your body against Dave, giving in to your urges. You squeeze his arm when he makes you laugh, and your touch lingers. He preens under your admiration when you comment on his firm biceps. He is quick to match your advances. Finding excuses to brush your hair behind your ear and settling a heavy palm on your knee. His hand creeps a little higher up your thigh but doesn’t graze the hem of your dress. Respectful. That’s different. 

You don’t need to look again to feel Joel’s eyes burning into you. It incites you that he has the audacity. The gall to make faces at you for showing up on a date. You decide you’ll give Joel something to scowl about, feeling emboldened by your date’s touch.  

You slide Dave’s hand further up your leg, letting go when he gets the idea. You reach for your drink, feigning nonchalance, but your breath catches, and your hand trembles when he traces his fingertips around the crease of your thigh. He skirts beneath the hem of your underwear, drawing lines over your hip and back towards your center. 

The soft touch tickles deliciously, and you feel the anticipation building in your core. He watches your expression, hawklike, noting the tiniest details in the features of your face. He notes when your breath stutters or your eyelids flutter softly. 

“This what you wanted?” he husks, still watching intently. Yes, yes, yes! 

“Almost,” you toy. Something about having both men’s eyes on you has your skin itching with desire and your blood running hot. 

Dave scoffs softly, repeating your word choice and shaking his head. Almost. 

“You looking for more?” he taunts as he wedges his large hand fully between your legs to cup and tease your cunt. 

You can’t help the breathlessness of the yes that slips out of you. You roll into his palm, and your mouth parts at the friction and his boldness. He smiles wolfishly, flashing his teeth, when he feels you twist and rock against him. His look encourages you. And you tilt your hips and shift your legs to give him better access. 

“Dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he asks, still locked on your face. You swell at this. His eyes lower to your glossy lips before he sips casually from his drink, so composed. 

Your cheeks warm at his words, but he has his answer when he slips a finger beneath the damp lace between your legs and drags it through the pool of arousal gathering at your entrance. Your lips part at the contact, chest heaving, and you give him a nod and coy smile in response to his question. You’ll be his dirty little thing tonight. 

“That’s good,” he declares, pressing a kiss just below your ear before adding, “I’d like to do dirty things to you.” 

His husky voice and declaration stir an urgent need to be touched within you. He continues to agitate your nerves as his hand massages over your swollen sex. Your skin feels tight and prickly, tensing, ready to feel more. You’re unconcerned with the debased nature of being fingered in public. 

When your eyes are instinctually drawn back towards Joel, you shudder. You can feel the twitching of your clit as your cunt floods over Dave’s fingers. The depravity that another man’s glare eases the slip of your date’s teasing touch is not lost on you. Instead, it turns you on even more. Joel’s homicidal stare has you squirming. You’ve seen darkness in his eyes before, but not like this. There’s no twinkle of mocking, and it’s not cruel in a hot way. If looks could kill, then this room would look like the club scene from Blade. 

Dave murmurs something filthy in your ear that makes you gasp. Your hand flies to his thigh, gripping tightly to keep you from melting onto the floor. 

“Don’t be shy, dirty girl,” he croons darkly, “you can touch.” 

“Fuck,” you groan under your breath when you move your hand to find his hard cock straining against his well-fitted jeans. 

He chuckles lowly at the way your eyes widen in response before he plunges two fingers inside of you, and you stifle a throaty sound. Your mind still wanders to Joel, and you wonder if he can see your perverse display below the table. Judging by his clenched fists on the bar, you’d say whatever he can see is enough to fill in the blanks. The sick part of you that feels more turned on by his agony expands within you.  

“Oh god,” you whisper as you suck in air. 

Dave works his fingers lazily into you. You feel intoxicated by the attention of both men. A concern flashes through you that someone else in the club could catch on or see more than you’d like to show. But a feeling in your gut tells you that it doesn’t matter. Dave seems strikingly confident with a lethal attention to detail. And the ferocity on Joel’s face only eggs you on. 

When you think of humbling Joel, a sinister smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. He’s the one that unleashed the horny, risk-taking monster within you and then disappeared. Fuck moping about him. You’re getting yours, you decide. 

You shoot Joel a wink. Pouring gasoline on the fire, hoping it pisses him off. 

You lean into the salaciously tempting energy radiating off of Dave. Reaching to hold his jaw as your lips lock and you let him control your mouth. Kissing him riles you up more. You palm at his erection over his jeans, delighting in the noises that roil deep in his chest. You hold back whimpers as the pressure of his fingers curling inside of you finds the perfect spot. 

He pulls back from your kiss and looks down to watch your hand groping at him. You like watching him watch you. 

“You gonna take it out?” Oh. Fuck, you want to. It feels like more of a risk than you’ve taken so far. 

“Here?” you ask him softly.  

A wrinkle appears between your brows. Dave watches your swollen lips again just as your pink tongue darts out to wet them. He raises a brow at you, eyes dropping to where his arm disappears under your dress. 

“Oh, are you feeling bashful now?” he goads. His fingers curl against that sensitive spot inside of you as his palm presses firmly into your swollen clit. He makes it hard for you to answer. You try to pout at him, but the reflexive rise in your brows at the pleasure betrays you.  He chuckles again. “No? Just distracted, hm?” 

“Fuck,” is all you can mouth. It is distracting. Not the fingers inside you, well, not completely, but the urge. The craving to leverage your lewd new lover’s lack of regard for appropriate behavior into emotional revenge. The thought of Joel growing mad with jealousy as he watches you come overtakes your critical thinking. 

Eat your heart out, Joel Miller! You dare him across the room, letting your jaw fall slack and your brows knit in obvious pleasure. 

“Are you going to come for me?” Dave asks, “Here in this booth? Where anyone could see?” he tuts like he’s disappointed, and it works. The danger of it all does something to heighten your senses. It’s blinding. The bass from the music blaring from the dance floor rattling in your ribs, Dave’s designer cologne filling your nose, the sheen of sweat collecting on your chest, and the daggers in Joel’s eyes when you glance to confirm he’s still watching. All the sensations clash and shove you towards your release. 

“Yes,” you hiss quietly, “yes.” Your eyes slam shut as you try to remain composed while riding his fingers under the table. You flicker in and out of reality as your climax rolls through you. You’re drunk on the reversal of power when your eyes peel open, and you see the hardened expression on Joel’s face glowering at you. You wonder if his dick is just as hard in his pants, and the thought has you contracting again around Dave’s fingers.

“That’s a good girl.” Dave’s voice is somehow even deeper. It sends another ripple of pleasure to swirl low in your abdomen. You’d like to hear that again. 

With a touch more clarity after the violent edge of your arousal is dulled, your hand works at his belt, desperate to feel the heat of his cock in your palm. He assists, lifting his hips when you unbuckle his belt and pop the button on his pants so you can slide your hand beneath his underwear. His tension and urgency further stoke your power trip, and you feel overcome with the need to know how badly he wants you. When you wrap your fingers around him, hear the groan he makes, and feel the mindless buck of his hips, you have a more than good enough answer. He’s yours. 

Dave watches the way your eyes glaze over when your thumb smears the precome dripping from his head down his length. His hand stills distractedly between your legs, and his chin drops as he watches where your hand disappears under his dark boxer briefs. You’re constricted by the elastic waistband, but your grip is tight. Almost as tight as when he fucks his own fist. He’s mesmerized by the way you jerk his cock just right. 

You feel yourself salivating with the need to taste him. You’re getting frustrated with the limited space and want to see him in your hand. You sigh, wishing you could, until you realize you can, and grin. 

You pull your hand back out of his pants, and he snaps out of his stupor. Before he can comment, you cut him off. 

“Keep your pants on and take me to the bathroom so I can suck your cock right.” 

Your voice comes out lower than you thought it would. His eyes flare before he matches your devious look and obeys, spewing filthy thoughts you can’t make out under his breath as he does. He’s ushering you down the hall in seconds, and then you’re locking the door and dropping to your knees. Dave doesn’t wait a second longer, wrenching his belt open and dropping his jeans just enough for his cock to spring free. 

You don’t tease or start slow. He admires how you waste no time like you’re desperate to taste him. And you are. Only pausing for a moment to admire the way he looks, stiff and leaking for you, before you eagerly wrap your lips around him. You slide your tongue everywhere and bob up and down with vigor. Salty and vaguely sweet, precome teases your palette. You want more. The best you can do to express that is swallow around him and suck until he’s moaning and cursing above you. 

You let your saliva pool and spill from your lips so you can slide your hand down the rest of his length while you revel at the weight of him on your tongue. You find the moves that have his fists clenching and thighs straining and repeat them. You hum around him as pride blooms in your chest over how his composure cracks. 

You wonder if Joel has smashed through the bar with his fists yet. At least he didn’t break down the bathroom door before you could get on your knees. Would he strangle Dave first if he saw the two of you? Or would he drag you home and gag you on his angry cock instead? You moan obscenely as your imagination runs wild. You look up at Dave. He watches you with fierce eyes. You wouldn’t mind if they shared you, you consider, but that would take a miracle. 

You continue messily and enthusiastically until your knees ache, and you decide he has to come for you. You try to beg for it while he’s still in your mouth before you have the brains to pull off of him and tell him what you want. He’s endeared by your unrefined hedonism.

He grips your jaw in his palm when you get the words out. 

“You want to swallow my come?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you plead impatiently on your knees with a hoarse voice. You’re a pornographic sight on the tile floor with your wet lashes, swollen lips, and saliva glistening on your chin. You open your mouth for him and hold out your tongue. 

“Oh,” he strokes his thumb along your cheek, smiling down at you, “that’s a good girl.” 

Your eyes close at that, feeling the praise warm your skin before he slides back into your wet mouth. 

Guiding you faster and a little rougher, Dave doesn’t take long to come. Spilling onto your tongue as you groan around him until he stops pulsing in your mouth. You swallow, glowing for him with glassy eyes. He helps you to stand before tucking his softening cock back into his jeans and fastening his belt. You’re adjusting your dress and reaching for your bag on the counter. 

“What do you need?” He asks a little softer than you expected, causing you to pause. 

“Take me home,” you smile at him dopily before pausing and wincing at yourself in the mirror. You look like a freshly face-fucked mess. 

“Uh, actually, give me a few minutes to freshen up first, and I’ll meet you out front?” 

He nods, “I’ll pull the car up.”

“I’d like that.” You reply and lock the door behind him after he slips out. 

Once you feel more presentable, you pull your phone from your bag and tap the screen to check the time before opening the door. 

Seeing Joel’s name makes your stomach flip. You open the text. 

Joel: Miss me? 

It snaps something in you. Something that enrages you. He has to be certifiably insane, you think. It came through a little while ago, but you aren’t sure how long you’ve been in the bathroom. You begin to spiral, debating if you should march to the bar and throw a drink in his face or pretend like he doesn’t even exist. You feel your face burning hot, and the bathroom is suddenly suffocating. You need some air before you get into the car with Dave. Just long enough to breathe normally and look less like you want to break something. 

Leaving the bathroom you find an employee exit further down the hall. A faded sign on the door warns that an alarm will sound, but the rock wedged in the door jam holding it open a crack begs to differ, and you slip into the dark. 

A lanky, pale kid in a black apron sits atop a picnic table in the alley. 

“Oh, sorry,” you feel a little guilty interrupting his break, “just wanted some air.” 

“All good,” he responds before sliding off the makeshift seating. “Last call for the kitchen anyway. Have my seat,” he waves at the table like he’s offering a throne. You accept. Exceedingly grateful to have the air and the privacy to regulate. Just some slow, deep breaths. Then, you can walk out the front door and let Dave take you home. 

The door swings open again, and you tense, ready to hop off the table and find another space. 

“Sorry,” you start your apology, but it’s cut off. 

“You should be,” Joel accuses harshly. He’s in your space with two of his long strides. Rushing at you like you’re caught in a snare trap, and he’s starving. You briefly look the part with your eyes wide in the moonlight, shocked by his sudden appearance, until your barely dampened rage rips from your throat.

“Joel, what the fuck?” you spit out in disbelief, but he interrupts you– 

“I thought I already told you what happens if you’re gonna be a filthy tease?” his voice lowers as he ignores your question and paces in front of you with a dark, wicked stare. 

“What are you doing here?” you press, ignoring his threat. 

“What are you doing here?” he demands. Like he has some certificate of entitlement to your whereabouts. He towers over you. Your eyes narrow to slits. If you could shoot lasers out of them, you’d do it now. 

You laugh. Loudly. You’re still laughing when he grabs you and pivots your frame so your legs dangle off of the end of the table towards him. Closer. He gets even closer, standing between your knees. You tilt your face to look up at him. 

“You on a date?” it’s a growl carved from stone. You choose to remain ignorant to the shiver it sends through you that has nothing to do with the temperature. How dare he charge up on you like a territorial werewolf in the night? And how dare he look so fucking good with that snarly expression? No. You laugh again. Wild-eyed. Words start coming up before you even hear yourself.

“What is wrong with you, Joel? Why were you watching me? You looking for a show?” you jab. Gnashing at him with your words. He snorts dismissively at you, and a barbaric smile creeps onto his face. Like he’s in on some joke you don’t know about. He irks you so bad your skin crawls. 

“S’that what you call it?” he asks, “A show?” Continuing to ignore your other questions. He is so close to you that it burns your skin. 

“No, Joel. You were right the first time. I am on a date. A real date. You know what that is, right? Like, he asked me out, picked me up on time, bought me a drink,” you’re tallying on your fingers, “answered my–”

“And then what, you fuck him in the bathroom and hide out here? Alone in the alley?” 

It clicks. He knows exactly why you’re flustered. The asshole must’ve sent his text for his own slimy experiment. Trying to rattle you. What fucking game is he playing? Is he trying to win you? Like you’re Dave’s possession to lose? 

You scoff at his interjection, “No, Joel, I’m not alone. You followed me out here to make sure of it, right?” 

“Right,” he rumbles. His dark eyes glint even in the shadows of the alley. He leans lower and closer to you until you tip back, palms on the table behind you, then elbows. Exposing your cleavage to the moonlight. He pauses, eyes raking down your face, neck, and chest. How does he make you feel raw and vulnerable even when fully dressed? 

“You haven’t answered me,” you huff. Irritated and arched beneath him. 

“I asked you first,” he argues. A childish rebuttal for a grown man. You’re pretty sure you’ve asked why he’s here a hundred times, but of course, that doesn’t matter. He’s insufferable with his attitude and inability to communicate. Everything about you is taut, and you feel frayed. 

Joel dips his head and his lips brush your ear, tickling you, before he rasps, “I asked if you miss me, baby, and you haven’t answered.” 

A tremor runs through your body. 

It’s criminal. Your mind converts his voice directly into a hot coil of arousal. The throbbing between your legs causes you to wriggle beneath him.

“I need to know,” he croons, begging you to give in. 

His arm slides under your back, lowering you onto the table. Your restraint collapses terribly quickly for him. His voice. His touch. He knows all of your buttons. 

Laid on your back, your legs instinctively wrap around him as he bends to meet you. 

Soft puffs of air shakily flow between your lips as you struggle to concentrate. On what? You aren’t sure. Not good. You squeeze your eyes shut like maybe he’ll disappear. 

“I mean it, baby,” he continues purring with a sharp edge, “you tell me when you miss me.” 

You know it wouldn’t matter even if you did. If you texted him. If you called. It wouldn’t matter. It would probably make you feel worse. But when he says it, you feel your heart doing flips anyway. 

He slides his hands over your body, and you feel the last of your logic escaping as you tug him towards you. You’re grinding against him stupidly without a single thought. Just having him this close to you had you feeling desperate and needy. You could come again right now just by dry-humping like horny teenagers. 

The craving for him is so intense that you’ll surely die if he doesn’t keep moving. You lose any shred of composure that you were still clinging to and let out a needy whine for him. And when your fingers twist and tug at his shirt, it’s like a green light to Joel. 

He closes any and all gaps between you. His hand skates roughly under your dress, bunching up the fabric. He presses open-mouthed kisses against your neck and grazes his teeth enticingly along your jaw. 

Groping, grinding, grunting. All his movements dance a line between deliberate and frantic. 

You have tunnel vision, lost from time and space. When his low moan vibrates through you, your hand shoots to his belt. He rasps into your ear again, “That’s it, baby, I’m right here if you miss me, don’t need some jerkoff tryin’ to waste your time.” Your fingers fumble. What– “Oh, shit!” a voice yells. You freeze. “Don’t mind me!” The drunk guy slurs as he stumbles out the backdoor and sways down the alley towards the street. 

Your situation hits you like a bucket of cold water. Joel seems unfazed, still curled over you. You push at him and sit up. 

“What did you just say, Joel?” 

“Hmm?” he murmurs at you. 

“Joel, I’m serious. What the fuck?” 

He’s not listening. His hands are still searching your body. The scent of his faded deodorant is so familiar in your nose. The words are coming up again. Before he casts his trance on you. 

“No. I said I’m serious,” you repeat, “I’m not playing your games. Done with your weird shit.” Your body feels rigid, and your mind is clearing through the fog of lust. “Just because I have no self-esteem and I fuck you anytime you show up on my doorstep doesn’t mean you have any claim to me.” 

He blinks at you, finally registering your tone, expression shifting. “I actually tried, you know? I wanted to get to know you. You just bail. I keep suffering for it. Like an idiot. I keep thinking it would show I care.” 

“Baby–” 

“And now what? You see me on a date and decide it would be fun to ruin it? Ruin a chance at something better than waiting around wondering if you’ll show up looking to score?” You’re on your feet now. Livid. Ablaze in the dark. “No, you don’t even care enough to think about that,” you realize aloud. 

His features harden. Your head shakes slowly, exasperated with your burgeoning understanding. All you can hear is the white noise buzzing in your skull. Your next words are quieter and lower, forcing him to pay close attention. 

“You just wanted to prove something, right? Thought you’d fuck me on this table and run like you always do? For what, to prove you could?” 

His nostrils flare, and you don’t miss how he grits his teeth.

You don’t falter; he doesn’t scare you. You press on with your accusations prickly on your tongue. You back him against the wall next to the door as you continue. 

“You don’t like hearing it?” you cock your head at him, amused with his discomfort. “Were you going to leave me here in the alley full of your come like I’m some pathetic whore for you? Would you walk me back to my date after that? Was that your plan?” 

Joel snaps, manhandling you in a split second. Pinned against the brick wall, you can hear your heart pounding. It’s a paper-thin line between anger and lust, and you can’t tell which has your blood pumping. You can’t tell if he’s about to yell at you or fuck you. You hate that you can’t tell which you’d prefer.

His eyes are locked onto yours. Not revealing anything. You shift, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He doesn’t keep you waiting. Joel shoves his hand into your panties, fingers slipping immediately into the fresh pool of arousal between your thighs. A shaky exhale comes out of you, but he doesn’t seem to need to blink or breathe anymore. 

He brings his glossy fingers to your mouth. Silent. He taps at your lip until you open and suck, tasting yourself. His mask slips a little. One brow twitches as he studies the scene of your lips wrapped around both of his fingers. But his eyes flick to yours when he pulls them out of your mouth and drags them down your bottom lip, smearing spit against your chin. 

“Tell me,” he says in a whisper that scrapes across your skin, “does it taste like you miss me?” 

You swallow tightly. A lump forms in your throat now, about as large as a civilization-ending asteroid. 

You can hear your phone buzzing. Forgotten on the table. Panic streaks over your eyes as you wonder how long you’ve been out here. You duck under his arm, dashing for your phone. You don’t look at him. You can’t. As you sprint down the hallway, you swing the door open, kicking the rock in the door jam, hopefully locking Joel outside. Cursing at yourself for almost letting Joel fuck you in the alley across from a dumpster.  

Dave sits in his car, idling along the curb near the front of the club. You’re surprised he didn’t leave. You hope it hasn’t been long. You don’t dare check your phone. Maybe it was only a few minutes, or it could have been an hour. You don’t think time functions normally when you’re around Joel. 

Dave is frighteningly observant, slinking out of his car to open the door for you before you get close enough to reach for the handle. 

“I was just starting to wonder if you’d snuck out the back door,” he chides. 

You feel the blood rushing to the surface of your skin. Hot with embarrassment over your behavior and his on-the-nose word choice. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I did step out for some air. Wanted to cool down.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he assures you, tilting your chin towards his face with his thumb and forefinger. Your eyes dart around his face, wondering what he sees on yours. “Was it too much, dirty girl?” he coos. 

“What, this?” you lilt mockingly as you palm over his bulge, “I don’t think so.” 

“Good,” he snorts softly. “Get in the car.” He adds as he opens the door for you. 

He pauses before pulling away from the curb once seated in the driver’s side. 

“Is your boyfriend going to be following us home?” 

“My what?” you feel the blood drain from your face. 

“The one from the bar,” he continues, measured and eerily calm, “the one who followed us here?” Your head starts spinning at that, but Dave carries on, unbothered. “I assumed he likes to watch. You should’ve told me. It would’ve been easier than wondering if he’s a deranged stalker or–” 

“No.” You cut him off and struggle to continue for multiple reasons. “It’s not like that. I thought it was a coincidence,” you feel a confusing mix of emotions. 

“Followed us?” you’re curious. 

“When I picked you up. In the truck?”

“Oh god. No. He’s,” you pause, searching for the right words. 

“An ex?” 

“Not even that. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe he’d follow me.” 

“So he is dangerous?” 

“No.” Only to my self-respect. 

“You want me to take care of him?” 

“No.” You reply before putting any thought behind what that means. “No. He’s just an asshole with a staring problem.” 

You withdraw. You hadn’t thought about why Joel was here. How ridiculous it sounds to imagine Joel voluntarily sitting at the bar in a club like this alone. You feel the blood rushing to your ears. Stupid little butterflies flap their wings in your stomach before they’re reduced to ashes, and you begin to see red again tonight. How is Joel ruining your night without saying a word this time? 

“Take me home,” you say firmly.

He does. Dave walks you to your door. You invite him in, but he’s observant, noticing the clouds in your expression. He declines your invite but assures you he would be very interested in seeing you again. He gives you a chaste kiss that makes you laugh, considering how bold you both have been tonight. It lightens your mood. 

He lingers for a moment before he pulls out his wallet. 

“It was on the house this time,” you snark. Curious about what he’s doing. 

He hands you a sleek business card. A business card? Is this guy Patrick Bateman? 

Your face wrinkles in confusion. 

“I already have your number,” you flip the card over in case you’re missing something. It doesn’t say anything, just has a phone number. 

“I meant what I said, that I’d be interested in seeing you again for pleasure,” he smirks, “but if you change your mind, at least keep this.” 

You don’t understand why you’d need his work phone number but try to play it cool and nod. 

“If your stalker becomes a problem, you call me.” 

You’re still confused about what that means when he drives away. As you shut your door, you realize you have no idea what he does. 

You’re still in the middle of composing a text to Katie about how her green flag date included a bathroom blowjob and a business card when you hear a knock at your door. You swing it open, assuming foolishly that it would be Dave. 

Before you can blink, Joel kicks the door shut and backs you down the hallway. He looks like a man possessed as he hurtles towards you. It sends a chill down your spine that you think would trigger your fight or flight response, but yours seems to be reprogrammed to fight or fuck. Staggering backward, you yelp when the backs of your knees hit your mattress. 

“Can I fucking help you?” you snap at him as you realign with reality. “Jesus Christ, Joel, were you waiting outside the window or something?” 

You glare into his eyes, but a toxic part of you only wants to focus on his lips. And how close they are to yours. You also can’t deny the even more debauched part of you that flutters at the possessive look in Joel’s eyes. 

He laughs darkly, “Nah baby, I knew you’d send him on his way.” 

You roll your eyes at that. Cocky bastard. 

And he is. He emits a frenzied energy as he takes you in. Looking you up and down like a prize. Like he’s considering where to write his name on your skin. 

You roll your shoulders. Trying to shake off the idea that you’d like to be possessed by him, but it thrums persistently inside of you. 

“You didn’t know shit, Miller,” you accuse sardonically. 

Joel reaches for you. You think he’s going to tell you off. But his hands glide over the tops of your shoulders and up the column of your neck until he’s cupping your jaw in both hands. It feels jarring and vulnerable to be held by him this way. To feel like he just wants to look at you and to know you can’t look away. You wonder what’s going on behind his dark eyes. What he sees when he looks at you What he thinks. 

The longer he looks at you, the more the tension builds (of course, because it’s Joel). You start to itch, fingers twitching with the need to grab him and pull his full weight on top of you. Despite your building desire, he’s still quietly reading your face. Joel Miller, the enigma, you muse. 

Before you can flip him any shit, his mouth is on yours, and his hands drop to your hips to hold you firmly against his body. You want him to keep holding you there, but closer. You need him even closer. 

He groans into your mouth, and you kiss him back hungrily. Your bodies slot together in a twisted fate. You couldn’t care less about the date you just had at this moment. You can hear Joel’s words from previous encounters that have burrowed into your consciousness, and you’re starving for more.  

A selfish and greedy satisfaction warms in your chest at him being in your bedroom. He pulls your lower lip between his teeth before breaking away to tease bites along your neck and shoulder. You shiver. Your fingers dig into his shirt, pulling him closer and closer until your knees buckle, and fall into the bed with him on top of you. He doesn’t stop trying to taste you everywhere, trying to feel every part of you. You breathe out single-syllable praise as your thoughts become hazy.  

You still feel needy. You writhe and strain as you attempt to work his shirt up his broad frame. You’re insistent on feeling the blistering heat of his skin against yours. He leans back up, out of your grip, causing you to sigh in exasperation. Of course, it couldn’t be this easy. What does he have to say now?

“You want me to leave?” 

“What? Why?” you growl out. He is not about to body slam you into a bed and then walk away. 

“Thought you were done with my ‘weird shit’ or whatever you called it,” he taunts. 

“I am,” you huff.

“Tell me to stop.” You can’t. 

“Take your clothes off,” you answer instead. 

He does. Then, he’s pulling your clothes off and climbing over you. You aren’t sure you’ve ever both been fully naked like this. Definitely not while in a bed, at least. It’s more intimate than your relationship calls for. It makes time feel syrupy, but your other senses feel sharply tuned. Joel’s breath fans hot over your ear as he tucks his face into the corner of your neck and shoulder. 

“So,” he sucks at your delicate skin before continuing in his smoky tone, “your date couldn’t satisfy you?” 

“Shut up,” you snarl at him, uninterested in playing games. You’re too lost in the intensity of his physical presence. You need him inside of you, and you tug at his body, trying to pull him closer. It’s useless. His strong arms are braced like two stone pillars on either side of you. 

He’s such a pest. His mouth quirks, and he looks all too pleased with himself. You roll your eyes again. You know what he’s getting at. What he wants to hear you say. But, you’re reluctant to stroke his ego. He’s going to be unbearable if. The thorn of it that hurts the most, though, is that it’s not a lie. It’s an admission. A confirmation. 

He makes you feel so good in ways nobody else ever could, but the pain of knowing he’ll never be yours eats at you. It feels like exposing your beating heart in your chest to confess you want him so badly. You ache to hear him tell you he only wants you again. Even if it’s not real, you lie to yourself, you just need to hear it.  

While you wrestle with finding the words, he begins to torment you. The heat and arousal weigh heavily between your naked bodies. He lowers closer and closer to where you need him most but refuses to alleviate your painful want. Wickedly, he exploits your neediness. Teasing at your skin with his tongue, teeth, and breath. 

“Tell me, baby. Just let me hear it,” he says. But you can’t. 

When he blows air over your strained nipples, and you arch under him seeking contact, he darts down to kiss at your stomach and inner thighs instead. When he gets closer and closer to the apex of your thighs, grazing his nose over your mound, you could snap. 

You reach to dig your fingers into his hair and direct his mouth to your throbbing clit, but he’s stronger than you. Devilish man. He crawls back up to hover over your face. You know he’s enjoying it. Wondering how quickly you’ll break. It makes you want to kick and scream.

“Tell me it’s not true then,” it’s a challenge directed at you, but it feels like he’s also challenging himself. 

He drags the head of his cock over the slick lips of your cunt without precision or direction. You are so convinced he’s torturing you, but he looks like he’s in pain from restraining himself as well. It makes you crazy. You try to reach down to line him up with your entrance yourself, but he’s faster. He grabs your hand and pins it above your head. 

“Fine,” you grit out. Frustrated. You aim to smother your fear with sarcasm and puff your chest, hoping it works. 

“You’re right, Joel. It’s true.” He doesn’t move, waiting to hear more. 

“I missed your filthy mouth and your big fat cock.” You mock with an exaggerated whine. You keep going before you lose courage. “And my date couldn’t satisfy me.” You pause, steeling yourself. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Because even when I had his cock down my throat,” you force yourself to look in his eyes, “all I could think about was you.” 

You tried to keep the snarky, biting tone in that last part, but your voice betrayed you when you met his eyes. It came out sounding as vulnerable as it felt to say. His expression flickers. You feel too honest. You should take it back. You want to curl up. He grins above you. 

“I know, baby,” he coos. You hold your breath. Of course he’s going to be a condescending ass about it, you start to bemoan internally–but when he finally sinks into you, it shuts off your inner monologue and slows down time. “All I can fuckin’ think about,” he says as he fills you as deeply as possible, letting a satisfied sigh fall from his lips. 

All I can fuckin’ think about. 

The words rattle around in your mind. Joel begins to rock into you, deliberately grinding his pelvis against you. All he can think about is you, too? Or fucking you? Or how he’s ruined you for other men? 

All I can fuckin’ think about. 

It echoes in your head as he picks up his pace, splitting you open with heavy, mind-altering thrusts. Suffocatingly intimate. Face to face. Skin to skin. Soul to soul. His voice isn’t just echoing in your mind; he’s also running his mouth about something. Muttering about how he knew you’d be waiting for him, how he’s going to fuck you until you forget your date's name, how nobody else can satisfy your needy cunt. 

Oh. 

He’s not wrong. You want to hear more. 

“Yes,” You can stoke this fire. You don’t mind finding out what happens if you rile him up while he’s inside you. “Only you,” you pant, “nobody else fucks me like you do.” 

He makes a throaty noise in agreement and shifts. Large hands wrap around the back of your knees and press them towards your chest, tilting your hips up. You choke and sputter as he slams into you with force. The new angle creates a blissful intensity. 

“That’s right,” he says, “nobody else.” 

He pounds into you like he could fuck you through the mattress, maybe even through the floor. The lewd sound of his thighs slapping against your ass fill the room. You tuck your chin to your chest to watch the way each thrust makes your breasts bounce. You notice that he’s mesmerized by the same sight, and you take the opportunity to shift your gaze, studying the look on his face. 

It’s more sensual than anything you’ve done together before. You can see the sweat beading on his chest from exertion. You’re nearly folded in half and unable to stop your soft cries and moans. It’s raw, sticky, and vulnerable. You feel warmed at the thought but also fragile. Breakable. Hypersensitive emotionally and physically. It’s all too bright and hot. 

You let his voice push you over the edge, and your climax rips fiercely through your body. You faintly hear him groan as your tight walls contract around him, but his voice is drowned out by the pleasure. Your legs tremble, still balanced over his shoulders. 

Your core muscles spasm as he keeps sawing into you until your hips are jerking at the sensitivity of your come down. He slows, breathing heavily over you. You can see the animalistic edge in his eyes. You have to push it. Play it out. 

“Make me yours,” you incite. 

You definitely just meant to imply, ‘fuck me hard and come inside me, please,’ but you worry he’s interpreted it differently when he drops your legs. Wrong. He turns you over, laying you flat on your stomach, pulling your arms behind your back, and pinning you to the bed.  He straddles your closed legs. Your shoulders strain a little as he leans into you. His heavy body compresses your prone form, and his cock weighs heavy against the curve of your ass; it feels right. A perverted comfort blanket, stealing your breath. 

“Repeat it,” he tells the back of your neck. 

“Make me yours.” You turn your head to the side. You can’t see his face, but you can hear the string of curses he chants when he lines up and wedges himself into you. The added constriction of your position unravels you both. 

“Mine,” he grunts. You muffle your own noises into the sheets, along for the ride. He doesn’t last much longer before you feel him still overtop of you. You close your eyes, focusing on the sensation of the pulsing and throbbing of his cock inside you as he fills you up. Breathing deep, your back rises against his chest before he slides off of you.

You roll onto your side. Facing each other, you still at the sight of him. Another breath shared between you, chests expanding towards each other. For the briefest moment, you think he might stay. You can see the soft edge of relaxation in his features. Your hand drifts toward him, an instinct based on nothing rational, just wanting to feel him. You feel the stupid, dreamy expression settling on your face. Before you can speak or figure out what you were reaching for, he’s snapped out of the bubble of tranquility. His walls are up. 

He’s dressed and leaving, walking towards the door as you can only sigh into your dirty sheets. 

He doesn’t even leave with a snide last word. Just the door closing. 

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[moonstruckme]

Can you do poly!marauders where reader has kinda a shitty family? Like, where their family belittles them and insults them and gets mad over them existing so whe reader is back at hogwarts the next year she's as fragile as a china shop uncomfortablely close to a bull farm??

Only do it if your comfortable with it <3

Make sure to take care of yourself and remeber you are loved <3 <3

Thanks for requesting, love you and hope you're taking care of yourself as well <3

cw: hints at emotional abuse

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re quiet, all of a sudden. The distance over the last few months had been rough for all of you, gone to your separate homes for the summer, but Remus is beginning to suspect it was most difficult for you; you can’t seem to find your way back to them. It’s like you’ve constructed a shell around yourself over the short three months you’ve been apart, and none of James’ loving, Sirius’ teasing, or Remus’ offerings of a study companion have proved successful in drawing you back out. 

He’s sure you think you’re being subtle. You certainly haven’t addressed your boyfriends’ worries, either missing or ignoring the looks they send each other when you don’t jump in on a joke they’re doing or answer in a quiet, meek voice when they ask you a question. It’s as if you’re afraid of being heard, of being noticed at all. 

Remus doesn’t like it one bit. 

Neither do the others, of course, and he and James have had to talk Sirius down from confronting you about it multiple times already in the week since you’ve been back. You seem…fragile, somehow, and Remus doesn’t think pushing you will get the results they all want. James seems to think you’ll come back to them on your own if they give you time, and Remus isn’t so sure, but it’s the plan he’s rolling with for now. 

Still, he doesn’t think it’s out of line to intervene when he catches you carrying a stack of books that has to be half your weight. Last year, he’s positive you would have asked for help, but now you only grunt quietly as the stack wobbles above your head. 

“Let me take some of those for you,” Remus offers, already standing, and you flinch as if your distracting him from his homework is a punishable offense. The stack teeters dangerously with your sudden movement. 

“That’s okay,” you squeak, leaning back a bit in an attempt to get your tower of books under control. You look timid, wide-eyed like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, afraid of getting in trouble. “You can sit back down, I’ve—” You don’t even get the chance to finish your excuse before the books topple, scattering about. Remus flinches internally when some fall down on your head, and another sends an empty glass on the edge of the coffee table crashing to the ground. 

You cover your mouth with your hand, staring in silent horror at the mess around you. 

James and Sirius, playing cards on the other side of the coffee table, look up at the commotion. 

“Shit,” Sirius says (a rather eloquent sum-up in Remus’ opinion). “Are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry,” you breathe, crouching and beginning to gather the broken glass in your hands.  “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I did that.” 

“Don’t—be careful,” Remus starts to say, but then you lose your balance, stepping backwards just slightly and letting out a tiny hiss. 

Remus stands, but James gets to you first, careful to keep away from the broken glass himself as he lifts you clear of the debris and deposits you onto the couch. 

“I’m sorry,” you say again, impossibly quiet. You’re looking between your boyfriends as if unsure what they want you to do. 

“Angel, it’s okay,” James insists, coming to sit down in front of you. “We’ll clean it up in a bit, don’t worry. Did you hurt yourself?”

You look down at your foot, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth.

“A little,” you admit. “Sorry.” 

“Stop that,” Remus says sternly. “It was a mistake. We only care that you’re hurt.” 

You look conflicted, and Remus can practically see your next apology forming on your tongue, but before you can utter it, James asks gently, “Can I have a look, sweetheart?”

You blink at him, nodding hesitantly. James is careful as he takes your ankle in his hand, lifting your foot in front of his face. His expression clears a little. “Okay, it’s just a little piece,” he says, adjusting his hold before picking out a tiny bit of glass and flicking it into the pile with the rest. “There you go.” 

You nod your thanks, curling your foot underneath you. You’re being quiet as a rabbit, Remus thinks, all tense and wary but afraid to make a single sound. Whether you notice or not, the unease in the room grows with every second of your silence. 

Finally, it appears Sirius can’t be held at bay any longer. 

“Alright,” he says, more frustration in his tone than Remus thinks is really a good idea, “what’s going on with you?”

You look surprised. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You’ve been acting like someone’s going to shout at you ever since we got back this year.” Sirius lowers his voice, eyebrows scrunching together just slightly. “It was being at home, wasn’t it? Something happened.” 

You flush, and Remus feels suddenly like this is a conversation he has no right to be in. Of course Sirius would be the one to pick up on it if  your family was what was making you act this way. No wonder he’d been so insistent they needed to get to the bottom of it. That’s something he can understand, whereas Remus and James never could. 

“Nothing happened,” you say, and Sirius narrows his eyes like he doesn’t believe you. “I just…okay, don’t be mad.” 

“No one is going to be mad at you, sweetheart,” Remus says, feeling like his heart is working its way up his throat with the words. “We’re just…you’ve seemed so different, and it’s scaring us a little bit. We just want to know what we can do to help.” 

You look hesitant, and James reaches forward, taking your hand in both of his and rubbing at it with his thumbs. You nod, seeming a bit more confident now, and say, “There’s nothing you can really do. I just need some time.” 

James nods back, looking at you with brown eyes big and open and understanding. Remus often wishes he could convey even half James’ earnestness, but he doesn’t know anyone with the same capacity for warmth. “Time for what, darling?”

You nibble on your lower lip, and Remus has to repress the urge to rescue it from between your teeth. “Well, we didn’t really get close until a couple months into fall term last year, right?”

“Right,” James agrees. 

“So…I wouldn’t expect you to know, but it always sort of takes me a bit to…adjust back to school life.” 

Sirius still looks like he wants to fight something, but he’s more careful to keep his anger out of his voice now. “Why’s that?”

You shrug. “You’re not wrong. My family isn’t always as…patient with me as you guys are. They’re not awful, it’s just, I get into a habit of being quieter around them.” Remus’ heart feels like lead in his chest. “It takes me a while to get out of the habit once I get back.” 

“Honey,” James murmurs, not looking much better than Remus feels. “I’m sorry.” 

You give him a little smile, shifting uncomfortably. “You don’t need to act like it’s such a tragedy,” you joke. “I’ll get over it soon.” 

James looks distressed, but Remus cuts in. “I’m sorry you don’t feel like you can be yourself at home, lovely girl,” he says in what he hopes is a light but soothing tone, unsure what you need right now but gathering from your demeanor that it’s not their pity. He slides his arm around your back to tug you closer to him. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

You hum contentedly, leaning against his side. “Not really,” you reply. “You guys are too good to me, it’s hard to be quiet around you for long.” 

“Good,” Sirius says firmly, “because we don’t want you to. Want to go scream off the astronomy tower, sweet thing? Maybe that’ll help loosen you up.” 

“Actually, I’d really like to clean up my mess before someone comes down here and steps on it,” you admit. “But maybe we can try your yelling thing tomorrow.”

[aggiewritess]

The Sweater

-> Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Y/n

-> Summary: Just some wholesome fluff including Cheol, Y/n and her wanting to wear his sweater

-> Word count: 732

-> Author's note: Hey guys, this is the first time I'm posting something for others to read so I'm sorry if it's not that good, I still have a lot to learn when it comes to writing. English is also not my first language so excuse me if there are any grammar errors or mistakes. I hope anyone who reads it likes it and I would appreciate some feedback and/or constructive criticism. Thank you :)

read on ao3

A storm raged outside, the wind howling and the rain harshly lashing against the floor to ceiling windows of Seungcheol's cozy apartment. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting, starkly contrasting the chaos happening beyond the apartment's walls. Seungcheol and Y/n sat on the dark blue couch placed in the centre of the living room, wrapped in a big, knitted blanket, watching a movie. Or at least, trying to — Y/n was finding it hard to focus on what was happening in the tv in front of her, her thoughts drifting to the comforting presence of the person beside her.

Lightning flashed once more, briefly illuminating the room and Y/n shivered, not from the cold but from the intensity of the storm that had already been going on for a few hours. She turned her head towards Seungcheol, who was too engrossed in the film to even pay attention to whatever may be happening outside, his arm lightly but comfortingly resting around her shoulders. Seeing how focused he was, she hesitated for a moment, feeling somewhat shy despite their recent transition from friends to something more romantic.

"Cheollie," she said softly, after taking a deep breath, her voice being almost drowned out by a particularly loud clap of thunder.

He immediately turned to her, concern flashing in his eyes and worry etched on his face. "Yeah? What happened?"

She bit her lip, feeling her cheeks flushing under his gaze. "Can I borrow one of your sweaters? Maybe the one you wore yesterday?"

Her request made Seungcheol blink, slightly puzzled but not unwilling. "Of course you can, love. But why do you want that one? Not that it got dirty yesterday, but would you not rather wear a washed one?"

Y/n shyly ducked her head, feeling a bit silly for a moment before gathering enough courage to explain. "It smells like you. It's...comforting."

Seungcheol's expression finally softened into a tender and loving smile, dimples on full display. "I'd be happy to go get it for you." He said before he stood and walked in the direction of his bedroom, returning just a few moments later with the pink sweater she had asked for. As he handed it to her, their fingers brushed, sending a tingle up her arm.

"Here you go," he uttered, before sitting back down on the couch beside her. "You know, you're welcome to anything of mine, anytime. You don't have to be nervous about asking me for something."

Y/n pulled the sweatshirt over her head, being immediately enveloped in the scent of Seungcheol's cologne mixed with something so uniquely him that it made her feel warm inside and she could swear she felt her heart swell with love and admiration for the man beside her. She sighed contentedly before snuggling back into his side. "Thank you, Cheol. You don't know how much better this makes me feel."

He pulled her close once more, this time wrapping both arms around her to cuddle more comfortably. "I'm glad, love. I kind of like seeing you wearing my clothes you know? They suit you." He told her, admiring the way his sweater fell on her, the hem reaching her thighs that were covered with a pair of thick sweatpants.

His admission made her laugh softly, the sound being once again almost lost in a loud rumble of thunder but still able to reach his ears and making his expression soften even more, a fond look making its way to his eyes. "Do you really?" She asked him quietly.

"Yeah...I really, really do," he affirmed, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. "You can keep it, if you want it."

At this Y/n looked up at him, letting him see how her eyes sparkled even in the dim lighting of the room. "I think I might just do that."

They settled back into a comfortable silence, the movie playing on tv now being mostly ignored, as the two basked in each other's embrace. Wrapped in her lover's sweater, Y/n felt a sense of security and happiness she hadn't felt in a long time and in that moment, she was sure that no matter what, no storm would ever be able to destroy the life they were just starting to build together. And with Seungcheol by her side, she knew that they would be able to overcome whatever challenges may head their way, as long as they have each other.

© aggiewritess , please do not copy my work.

[imaginespazzi]

Part 5: The Answers We Wait For

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

I'd go back in time and change it (but I can't)

(In which a writer's busy schedule somehow still had time for her favorite obsession)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining

Words: 7.0K (it's very on-brand that my busiest week would produce the longest chapter)

TW: Swearing (I think that's it?)

A/N: Happy Monday lovelies :) How I managed to pull this off is between me and God at this point but here we are. I know it's been an interesting day to say the least, so I'm hoping me living up to my promises can be a silver lining. Quick note that I already fucked up the timeline at some point and Paige Olivia have actually been divorced for almost 3 years. I'll change that eventually. I actually didn't even try to really edit this chapter and in the choice between editing tomorrow and giving it to y'all today, I chose the latter. So please help a girl out and point out my typos/mistakes if you spot them and I will also eventually go back and edit. As always, let me know what you liked, what you disliked and anything you'd like to see going forwards. Have a lovely week my loves <3

December 2027

Marriage and weddings had never been at the forefront of Paige’s mind. To be completely honest, for most of her life, there wasn’t much occupying her brain other than the court under her feet and the basketball in her hands. But the couple of times she had let herself picture it, she’d always thought that she’d have a Fall wedding, probably in Minnesota, maybe even on a basketball court. An indoor winter wedding in Texas had never once crossed her mind. She’d imagined vibrant fun bouquets made of pink lilies and purple hydrangeas, not the elegant red and white roses arrangements that were currently being placed along a far too heavily decorated aisle. Instead of vintage wines and carefully constructed fancy cocktails, she’d thought it would be nice to have spiked shirley temples and maybe even blue and white jello shots. She had expected to have a quiet ceremony followed by a vivacious gathering of everyone she loved. It had never even occurred to her that her wedding would become a public spectacle with People's magazine in attendance.  She’d pictured a party, not an event. 

Most of all she’d dreamt of getting married to a girl with dark eyes that could see all of Paige’s flaws and a soft smile that promised she’d love Paige despite them all. 

But the thing about dreams is that they’re fleeting trains that travel through the tracks of your mind when you’re asleep, and when you wake up, reality is nothing but a devastating train crash. 

Paige sighs, forcing herself out of her own head, as she stares at her reflection in the mirror. She looks pretty. Brittany had found her a nice white wedding suit -fitted to perfection- matching it with dainty silver jewelry. Paige normally liked her outfits a little looser but Olivia loved it and Paige likes that Olivia loves it. Her hair is styled in a bun, with two straightened strands to highlight her face. She thinks she might have preferred to have them curled in the front but Olivia had sweetly insisted on them being straight because hers would be curly and they had to complement, not match. Paige doesn’t really understand the difference or the importance but she thinks if Olivia wants it like that then she's fine with it. She thinks the bold red lipstick heavily coating her mouth makes her look a little bit like a vampire out of a badly directed 90’s horror movie but Olivia had said it was necessary so that the lights and cameras didn’t wash her face out. 

Paige looks pretty. She just doesn’t really look like Paige. 

“What do you think Drewski?” she asks, twirling to face her stone-faced brother who’s sitting on the couch, with a bout of enthusiasm that rings hollow to her own ears, “do I look gorgeous or what?”

“You look weird,” Drews says stiffly and Paige sighs. 

“Dr-” Paige is cut off by her younger brother sauntering over. A confused expression spreads over her features as Drew takes her hand and places it on his forehead, “uh- what are you doing?”

“Paigey, doesn't my forehead feel hot? I feel so sick,” the little boy whines, letting out a series of overzealous dramatized coughs. 

“Your forehead feels fine,” Paige says, slowly removing her hand.

“Well of course you’d think that. You’re not a doctor who knows how to feel foreheads correctly. I think we need to go to the hospital to see a real doctor. Like right now,” Drew pulls at Paige’s hand as she begins to catch onto what he’s trying to make happen. 

“You’re fine Drew.”

“I’m NOT. I’m very, very, very sick. So we have to leave right now. I could be contagious. I could be a danger to all these people,” Drew’s animated hands start to fly everywhere, “you can’t get married when your little brother’s sick. It’s- it’s just wrong. Bad juju or something like that. Everybody will understand that you just had to call off the wedding. For family reasons.”

“Drew-” Paige tries again, a hard pit settling in her stomach. 

“Are you worried cause you didn’t bring your car? That’s okay I’m sure Ice or KK will drive us but you can’t get married today Paigey. You just can’t,” his bottom lip trembles as the façade of illness slips and Paige feels her own eyes start to get glossy, “it’s not right Paigey. This is all wrong. She’s all wrong.”

“It’s not like that Drew. You just haven’t gotten to know-”

“I don’t want to know her,” Drew yells, “you don’t even know her. How can you get married to someone you’ve barely dated for a year. How can you do this to Az-”

“That’s enough,” Paige’s voice is eerily calm, as she digs her fingernails into her palm, “watch how you talk to me-”

“You’re being stup-”

“Drew Thomas I am not going to repeat myself again. Behave yourself. You’re not nearly old enough to be questioning what I do with my life,” it takes every inch of self-control Paige has to not let her voice shake. 

Her younger brother’s words feel like acid rain pelting against her already wounded skin. They slip into the gashes, mixing into her bloodstreams to create an army with the battalion of her own thoughts that have been hacking away at her heart for god knows how long. Paige wonders how long it’ll be before she finally bleeds out. 

“Please don’t get married Paigey,” Drew pleads, gripping his sister’s hand, “please.”

There’s nothing but silence as Paige opens and closes her mouth. And she doesn’t know if she’s trying to get words out or breathe air in; all she knows is that Drew might be squeezing her hands, but it feels like someone is strangling her lungs. 

She’s saved from having to say anything by a hesitant knock on the door. As Drew begrudgingly goes to open it, Paige scrambles to put herself back together. She closes her eyes, taking in three deep breaths before-

Drew gasps and Paige’s eyes fly open. With her back turned to the door, she can’t see who it is and something like hope starts to bloom in her chest, vines of maybe it’s her weaving through her ribcage. And as she turns around, they turn to dust; dust that floats up to her eyes and makes them tear up again as she stares dumbfoundedly at the two people standing somewhat awkwardly in her doorway. 

Paige had grown up an independent child. It wasn’t that her parents were neglectful or that they hadn’t loved her enough because they had. But at first it was the constant fighting and then it was the nurturing of a brand new family with new children and Paige had slipped through the cracks of oh she’s so mature we don’t need to worry about her. She had always had her parents as cheerleaders in the stands; no one was prouder of Paige than they were. But no one had bothered to force her to drink terrible tasting immunity boosters. No had patiently dyed her hair purple and pinky promised to like it even if it turned out terrible. No one had yelled at her for being in the gym till one a.m or woken her up at an ungodly hour to run drills. Not until she’d met a girl at 15 and that girl’s parents had decided that Paige was just as much theirs as their own daughter. 

And suddenly there were more people added to her cheering squad for her wins. But that’s not when Paige fell in love with Tim and Katie Fudd. It was when she lost and there was a nagging finger followed by a full breakdown of what she could do better next time and finally, a bear hug promising they’d help her do it. They’d been there every step and she’d sent the invitation, scared they wouldn’t show up, that they wouldn’t be there for this step, a step that inadvertently took her further away from them. But here they are anyway. 

“Hi sweetheart,” Katie says softly, her own eyes moist as she takes in the sight of the bride, “you look- you look absolutely stunning Paige.”

“You came,” Paige whispers, “I didn’t- I didn’t know if you would.”

“Of course we came,” Tim exclaims but his normal boisterous voice doesn’t feel nearly as enthusiastic, “always told you we’d be front and center at your wedding.”

Because I was supposed to marry your daughter; I was supposed to become your daughter, officially. 

“I’m really glad you guys came,” Paige says, letting Katie wrap her into a warm hug. She only gets a second to let herself enjoy it before Drew’s asking a question that makes her stiffen. 

“Where’s Azzi?” 

It’s like there’s lightning wrapped in that one syllable and it strikes right through Paige’s heart, setting every inch of it ablaze with the flames of a name that used to feel like cotton candy on her tongue; now it feels like lava. 

“She couldn’t make it,” Tim says slowly and Paige knows she shouldn’t be surprised, let along disappointed that her ex wasn’t coming but there’s a string that snaps anyways. 

“Why not?” Drew asks petulantly. 

“The baby’s due next month,” Tim tells him gently, “she can’t fly.”

The air feels suffocating at the mention of the baby. She’d been scrolling mindlessly through her tiktok feed when the announcement had popped up. She still has it memorized. 

Golden State Valkyries superstar shooting guard Azzi Fudd announces pregnancy on Instagram; she’ll miss the upcoming WNBA season. 

For a moment the world had stopped as Paige had hurriedly switched apps to instagram. And there it was. A smiling picture of Azzi holding a sonogram. Paige doesn’t know how long she’d stared at the picture but she remembers that it was set against a white background and she remembers that Azzi was wearing a green top. And as she’d typed out a congrats! that blended in seamlessly with all the other felicitating comments on the post, Paige had wondered if Azzi had felt it too. She’d wondered if, when Azzi had left a similar congratulations <3 post on Paige’s engagement announcement, she’d felt something unravel too. She’d wondered if Azzi had felt this hollowness of and i guess this is us signing off on never getting forever with each other. 

“So Azzi’s not going to stop this wedding?” Drew’s voice is dangerously even as he rounds on Paige, “and you’re really going through with this?”

“Drew please” Paige says tiredly as Katie runs a soothing hand down her back. 

“You’re stupid. And she’s stupid. You’re all so freaking stupid,” Drew bursts out, stomping past the adults in the doorway, his anger palpable in every single word. 

“I got it,” Tim says, wrapping a wrist around Paige’s hand as she moves to follow her younger brother. He squeezes gently, a half-hearted smile on his face, “it’s gonna be okay kid. It always is.”

Paige wishes she could just believe him, turn off the voices in her head and just be a kid who could take an adult’s word as gospel. But Paige is the adult now and believing no longer comes so naturally. 

“Hey,” Katie says after Tim runs after Drew, pulling Paige to sit with her on the couch, “I have a little wedding gift for you.

“Katie you don’t have-” Paige begins, watching as the older woman pulls out a velvet box from her bag, placing her phone on the table next to her. 

“Oh hush. I told you I’d give this to you,” Katie chides as she hands the velvet box. Paige’s eyes glisten as she opens it to find a familiar purple amethyst necklace. She’s flooded with the vivid image of her and Azzi on a random day in lockdown helping Katie organize her minimal jewelry. Paige had fallen in love with this necklace and Azzi had her eyes set on a pink topaz. It was fitting to say the least and Katie had promised them, with a glint in her eyes, that she’d give it to them as their something old on their wedding day. They’d been in between something and everything but Paige and Azzi had shared a shy smile over it anyways. 

“I can’t accept this,” Paige shakes her head trying to hand the box back but Katie dodges it expertly. 

“Yes you can. It’s basically a family heirloom and you, Paige Bueckers, are family,” Katie says firmly. 

“Katie-”

The older woman presses a kiss to Paige’s forehead as she starts to head out, “you’re always gonna be family Paige. Always.”

Katie’s words act like a band-aid but they’re not enough- maybe nothing will be enough- to fully heal the wound of today i was supposed to officially become a Fudd. 

A ringing noise interrupts Paige’s pity party and she starts half-heartedly digging around for her phone. She’s confused when she finds it because no one’s calling her and the room is still vibrating with noise. Crinkling her eyebrows, Paige’s eyes finally land on the couch side table, where Katie’s phone, clearly forgotten, is buzzing. 

Azzi’s CallerID flashes on the screen. 

Paige stares at the phone, rooted in place. She knows she shouldn’t pick it up, knows she should go return it. Still without a decision, Paige slowly starts to reach for it. And then it stops ringing and Paige goes still again, unsure if she’s relieved or disappointed. Swallowing, she takes another step. The phone rings again. A myriad of thoughts dance through Paige’s mind, opposing thoughts clashing with each other and making her head hurt. She lies to herself that it’s out of concern; that Azzi’s pregnant and this could be important. She lies to herself as she hits the green answer button that it’s not because she’s desperate to hear Azzi’s voice. 

“Mom?” Azzi sounds distraught when she picks up but Paige thinks it’s still her favorite sound any way, “Mom? I think I did something wrong. I can’t do this Mom. You’ve been gone a day and I’ve already fucked up. I don’t know what and I don’t know when but I think I fucked up. Maybe I ate something I wasn’t supposed to. Maybe it’s because I lay on my back instead of my side but Mom she hasn’t kicked all day and I can’t get Dr. Myers on the phone and I-”

“It’s a girl?” Paige breathes out. And suddenly she’s 22, sitting in a UConn apartment living room, grinning foolishly as Jana points out an AI picture that looks like the perfect mixture of her and Azzi. Azzi, who’s having a daughter. 

The woman in question is quiet and for a second Paige thinks that Azzi might hang up. 

“It’s a girl Paige,” Azzi says finally. 

“Are you- are you okay?” Paige asks slowly, trying not to dwell on how much she’s missed the way Azzi says her name. It’s been Bueckers every time they’ve seen each other this year and she’s never hated the sound of her last name more. 

“Yeah, I just-” Azzi sighs, her voice still a little frazzled, “I’m just being paranoid cause my Mom’s not here and my doctor’s not answering and the stupid baby hasn’t kicked all day,” she pauses, “sorry. I-I don’t mean to dump on you. Not today at least.”

“Az-”

“Where’s my Mom?”

“She- she’s probably outside. Think she left her phone here by accident. I can go find her but can I-” Paige hesitates, chewing at her lips in a way she knows Olivia hates, “can I help?”

“I don’t think-”

Paige shocks herself with her next words, “put the phone to your stomach.”

“What? Paige, did you hit your head in the last two seconds or something?”

“Just- just trust me,” she’s not really sure what she’s saying but now that she’s said, might as well commit to the bit, “I’mma talk sense into her. I saw it in a movie.”

“You saw it in a-” Azzi sighs and Paige can practically picture her rolling her eyes.  “I don’t know who’s more insane. You for coming up with the idea or me because I’mma follow through it,” there’s a bunch of static noise on the other side as Azzi adjusts herself, putting the phone on speaker and pressing it to her belly, “alright Dr. Bueckers work your magic.”

Paige is nervous as she speaks, “hey there little bean. I’m your-” she stops because what is she, “I’m your Paige,” she decides softly, “and I think- I think you should stop stressing your Mama out. She’s a bit of an overthinker so if you could just help her out, I think she’d really appreciate it. Because if- if you don’t she isn’t gonna be able to sleep tonight and you don’t know this yet but when your Mama doesn’t get sleep, she’s kind of a bi-”

“Paige,” Azzi hisses.

“Big baby,” Paige corrects, “she’s a big baby. And then she cries and it’s not a pretty sight-”

“Hey!”

“Sshhh Azzi I’m working my magic,” Paige scolds, “where was I? Oh yeah. She cries and it’s not a pretty sight because,’ her voice softens, “seeing your Mama cry is the worst thing in the world. I hate it and I know- I know you’re gonna hate it too because when you finally come out little bean, the first thing you’re gonna see is your Mama’s smile. And you’re gonna think it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. Just like I do,” a sob escapes on the other end of the line and Paige feels tears start to cascade down her own cheeks, “come on little bean, give us a little kick. Make your Mama smile.”

Time ticks by slowly and Paige closes her eyes, thinking maybe her desperate attempt to keep Azzi on the line had failed miserably. And then Azzi gasps, “she kicked. Oh my god Paige she kicked.”

Paige’s grin stretches her whole face and for a second it almost feels like she’s right there with Azzi, that instead of her ear being pressed to a phone, it’s pressed to Azzi’s belly. For a second she almost feels like she can feel the baby kicking. And then she opens her eyes. 

“Did it make you smile?” 

“Yeah, yeah it did,” Azzi admits and Paige can hear the relief in her voice. 

“I’m glad- I’m glad you have something that makes you smile.”

“Do you?” Azzi sucks in a sharp breath, “do you have someone that makes you smile?”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” and it’s not a complete lie. Olivia does make Paige smile. And maybe it’s not quite as big or bright or real but at least Olivia’s here to try. 

“Good. I-I’m also really glad you have that.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am Paige,” Azzi says quietly, “I want you to smile. I just- I just want you to be happy. Are you happy Paige?”

“I’m getting married today,” Paige says in lieu of an answer and she can hear Azzi’s breath hitch. 

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is. It’s a yes or no question,” Azzi presses.

“Then you answer it Azzi,” Paige bites out, “are you happy?”

“I”m-,” the younger girl lets out a sigh, “I’m content.”

Her answer makes Paige’s skin itch with irritation and she can’t stop it from seeping into her next question, “so you have no regrets then?”

“I didn’t say that,” there’s a warning edge to Azzi’s voice. 

“Do you or do you not regret saying no to marrying me Azzi?” Paige asks, unable to hold it in any longer. 

“Paige-”

“What? You gonna say it’s not that simple? It’s a yes or no question Azzi,” Paige mocks. 

“That’s not it-”

“Then what is?”

“You’re getting married Paige,” Azzi yells, “you’re getting married,” she repeats again, softer this time, “to someone else. And so it doesn’t matter how I feel. It isn’t fair of you to ask and it wouldn’t- it wouldn’t be fair of me to answer. Not today. Maybe one day- one day it'll be the right time but not today.”

“And what if it’s never the right time?” 

“Then maybe it’s a question you were never meant to know the answer to.”

There’s something final in the quietness that follows, like they’re having a moment of silence at a funeral for what never even got to be. 

It’s Azzi who speaks first. 

“You’re gonna be a wonderful wife P.”

“You’re gonna be an amazing mom Az.”

They let it left unsaid that they were supposed to be wives to each other, that they were supposed to be moms together. 

***

March 2033 

Paige doesn’t know how long she stands outside, staring down the winding road that had taken Stephie and Azzi away from her. The neighborhood is slowly waking up and if the woman across the street opens her curtains and thinks it’s a little strange that her new neighbor is standing like a statue on her front porch, she only raises a slight eyebrow before going back to her day. It takes almost twenty minutes before her head finally convinces her heart that no matter how much she stands outside, they’re not coming back. 

There’s a part of her that can admit that maybe Azzi had a point and maybe she shouldn’t have asked her to stay over last night. But Paige has never been known for her common sense, especially not when it comes to Azzi. Because truth be told, asking Azzi to stay the night was perhaps the least ridiculous of the thoughts that had invaded her mind last night. It was easy- too easy- to fall right back into whatever with Azzi. She’d done a good job pretending that the nightly facetime calls had been for Stephie’s benefit but the truth is that they had become just as much a necessity for Paige. She’d fallen asleep with a smile on her face every night and the temptation to have that in person last night had been too hard to resist. And so she hadn’t. 

She makes it about three steps up the stairs, when the fort still set up in the living room catches her eye. And that’s when the first tear falls, and then the second and then the third until she thinks if she tried to swim in them, she’d probably drown. Paige abandons the idea of going up to her room and crawls back into the tent made of blankets. And she must be going insane because she swears she can still smell the faint scent of a toddler and Azzi’s lavender perfume on the pillow she cradles to her chest. It’s ridiculous to be so attached already. She knows that. Stephie isn’t hers but it feels like the little girl has crept underneath her skin, burrowing herself in a part of Paige’s heart that the blond didn’t even know was there. And Azzi- well no matter how long it’s been, no matter how much resentment Paige has held, the truth is that there’s a little patch of Paige’s soul  that will always belong to the younger woman. 

Paige barely registers herself falling asleep until there’s abrupt knocking on her door and she realizes she’s been cocooned in the fort for almost three hours. She hesitantly lets go of the pillow, groggily walking towards the door. It’s useless to pretend that she isn’t hoping it’s Azzi and Stephie on the other side, isn’t hoping that Azzi had realized her mistake, isn’t hoping to scoop both of them into her arms and fill the hollowness that’s been thrumming against her ribcage. God Paige has barely survived a month -a day if she’s completely honest- she doesn’t know how she’s going to survive this whole season. 

She crosses her fingers behind her back as she opens the door. 

“Hey,” Katie’s smiling face looks back at her, holding up a tray of coffee and a bag of something, “figured you haven’t eaten breakfast yet?”

Paige blinks stupidly as Katie lets herself in, moving through Paige’s house with ease and immediately locating the kitchen. She hands Paige a cup of coffee before ransacking through the bag and pulling out a glazed donut, “eat. I know you haven’t.”

“Does Azzi know you’re here?” Paige asks slowly before taking a bite out of her donut. 

Katie gives her pointed look, “who do you think gave me your address?”

“Is she- is she okay?” 

“You two are something you know,” Katie shakes her head, “you’re asking me if she’s okay and she sent me over here to make sure that you were okay.”

Paige feels her heart swell with after all this time, “she sent you?”

“I have breakfast with Azzi and Stephie every Sunday morning. Now imagine my surprise when I get there today and my oh so sweet and wonderful granddaughter isn’t talking to her mother. And so I forced the story out of Azzi and I barely understood a word she was saying through her tears-”

“She was crying?” Paige feels her lungs constrict. 

Katie shoots her an unimpressed look, “can I finish the story?”

“I don’t like this story. It has Azzi crying.”

“Yeah well the two of you seem to enjoy doing that to each other,” Katie cocks an unamused eyebrow and Paige flinches at the truth of it, “anyways I didn’t understand much of it but she was clear by the end. Seemed to think you needed someone, needed me and so here I am Paige.”

“Why is your daughter like this?” Paige demands, “how is she gonna make me cry and then send somebody else to wipe my tears.”

“Well I can leave-”

“Why couldn’t she just have stayed?” the blonde questions, “why does she always have to overthink things and make it more complicated? Why can’t she just listen to her heart once in her fucking life? Why can’t she just let herself live? Why is it always no with her and never just yes?”

Katie gives Paige a sad smile, reaching for her hand, “that’s why.”

“Please don’t speak in riddles. It’s 10 a.m and I’m sad,” Paige whines. She might be in her early thirties but there’s something about Katie Fudd that makes Paige feel like it’s okay to be a bit of a child.

“Why is it always no with her and never yes?” Katie repeats, “c’mon Paige you know that’s not about last night.”

“It is,” Paige argues stubbornly. 

“It’s not,” Katie says, gently squeezing Paige’s hand, “it’s about her saying no 8 years ago.”

“I’m ov-” Paige stops, withering under Katie’s glare, “okay maybe it’s a little bit about her saying no 8 years ago. But I’m allowed to still be upset about it. She broke my heart. I wanted forever and she walked away. I’m allowed to be mad about that.”

“Of course you’re allowed to be mad Paige but that’s exactly why Azzi had to go this morning. And it’s exactly why you shouldn’t have asked her to stay last night. You guys can’t just pretend none of it happened because it did. You’re still hurt Paige and ignoring that is gonna get you guys nowhere. Especially with Stephie involved.”

“So what are you saying? You’re saying me and Azzi should just be teammates? You’re saying I should just never see Stephie again,” even the thought of it makes Paige feel like she is laying down on a bed of thorns. 

“You’re so goddamn dramatic Bueckers,” Katie rolls her eyes, “I’m not saying any of that. I’m saying maybe you just need to take it slower, with both of them, instead of having a goddamn sleepover the literal first night you’re in the same city. Besides,” Katie gives her a knowing smirk, “my granddaughter is obsessed with her Miss Buecks. Pretty sure she’d find a way to see you again no matter what.”

“Good,” Paige lets out her first smile of the day, “because I’d find a way to see her again too. She just- she’s kinda great isn’t she? Azzi did a good job with that one. She’s- she’s perfect,” she looks at Katie who’s regarding Paige with a thoughtful expression, “what? Do I have donut glaze on my face?”

“No, no it just- I’ve seen that expression before.”

“What expression?”

“The one you just had on your face while talking about Stephie,” Katie laughs to herself, “it’s the same one Tim had when he first met Azzi.”

***

“Oh my god. It’s Paige Bueckers. Can I have your autograph?” Steph Curry winks at Paige as she walks into his office. The Golden State legend had started an after-school basketball camp for kids in the Bay Area and as soon as he’d heard the news of Paige coming over to the Valkyries, he’d messaged her if she’d be interested in helping him out in the off-season. Paige had been more than willing to be a part of it, always invested in giving back to her community. If she’d been excited by the idea before though, today, after the worst sleep of her night as she tossed and turned to the hopeless depression of not having spoken to Stephie and Azzi for far too long, Paige really needed this distraction. 

“Don’t think you can afford my autograph,” Paige smirks lazily as she basically droops into the seat opposite him. 

Steph laughs goodnaturedly, “welcome to the Bay Area kid.”

“I’m a little old to be called a kid don’t you think? I’m nearly 25,” Paige grins, wiggling her eyebrows.. 

Steph shakes his head, “nah you’re always gonna be a kid to me. You and Azzi both,” he chuckles to himself, “even though Azzi’s got her own kid now. Have you met her?”

Well that distraction lasted 30 seconds, Paige thinks to herself as she forces a smile onto her face, “yeah. I’ve seen her around.”

“She’s cute as hell right? And she knows it. Little miss bossy pants has everyone wrapped around her fingers. Kinda reminds me of Riley,” there’s a goofy expression as Steph thinks of his daughter and Paige wonders if the same one is reflected on her face as she thinks about Stephie, “and she’s a natural at basketball. Only five and her shot’s already pretty good. You’ll see it today when she comes to camp. And she’s pretty good at defense-”

“I’m sorry what?” Paige blinks rapidly. 

“I know. What defense can a 5 year old play but it’s just the way she moves you know?” Steph tries to explain and Paige shakes her head. 

“Not that. Stephie- Stephie’s coming to camp?”

Steph grins large and proud, “of course she is. She was the first camper I signed.”

“Right,” Paige nods, giving the man in front of her a tight smile, “can you- can you excuse me for one second.”

As soon as Paige is outside of Steph’s earshot, she’s calling Katie; Katie who had sat at her kitchen counter yesterday and listened with a smile as Paige told her all about Steph’s camp. Katie who hadn’t said one word about Stephie being a part of said camp. Katie who was maybe grinning just a little too hard at the idea. 

“Did you know Stephie goes to Curry Camp?” Paige asks as soon as the line connects. 

“Hi Katie. Hi Paige. How was your day? Oh mine was good Paige, thanks for asking, how was yours?” Katie replies sarcastically. 

“Katie,” Paige groans. 

“Did I know that my granddaughter goes to her godfather’s special camp for the sport that her mother plays and she’s obsessed with?” Katie says slowly and Paige can tell she’s holding back a laugh, “nope, didn’t have a clue. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“And ruin the surprise?”

“What happened to telling me to take things slow?” Paige hisses. 

“Well if I left the two of you two to your own devices y’all wouldn’t go slow, you wouldn’t even move at all,” Katie defends. 

“So you’re meddling?”

“I am not,” Katie protests, “you were always gonna help with the camp and Stephie’s already been going to the camp. I just didn’t let you stress out about it. Really you should be thanking me.”

“Thank you Katie,” Paige bites out mockingly. 

“You’re so very welcome Paige,” Katie sing-songs, “by the way, come over for dinner soon okay sweetheart. Love you honey. See you later darling.”

She hangs up before Paige can say anything and the blonde saunters back into Steph’s office, trying to corral her facial expression into something more neutral. 

“All good?” Steph asks. 

“Just peachy,” Paige hums in response, “we gonna head over to the court soon? It’s almost 4.”

Steph nods, “yeah they’ll be done setting up for us. Azzi usually brings Stephie to say hi to me right before cause no favoritism in front of the other kids you know? But maybe she’s running la- oh no wait there they are!”

Paige freezes, heartbeat erratic, as Steph walks to the door in anticipation. 

“UNCLE TWIN,” Stephie screams and something in Paige’s heart starts to fix itself at the sound of the younger girl’s voice. She’s scared to turn around, unsure if she’s more scared to realize it’s a dream or find out that it’s reality. 

“TWIN NIECE,” Steph yells back with equal vigor and Paige can hear Azzi’s laugh now too, each giggle acting like a needle, stitching up the parts of Paige that had felt broken since yesterday morning. She turns around deliberately slowly. Stephie is cradled in Steph’s arms and Azzi’s watching them with a fond smile. And it’s ridiculous to be jealous of a happily married man who’s practically Azzi’s brother if not her uncle, but the sense of that should be me, weighs heavily on Paige’s lungs anyways. 

It’s Azzi who sees her first, smile slowly fading as dark brown eyes clash with light blue ones. 

“Paige,” she whispers softly and there’s a multitude of undecipherable emotions wrapped in that one syllable and Paige thinks she could spend forever just trying to uncover them. 

Stephie’s ear perks up at the mention of Paige’s name as her own little eyes finally land on the blonde, shuffling her feet nervously in the corner. Her bottom lip trembles, eyes watering as she forces herself down from Steph’s lap, racing to Paige. It’s instinct the way Paige falls to her knees, ready to catch the bundle of limps that practically falls into her waiting arms. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie whimpers, “I missed you so much.”

Paige’s own eyes water as she buries her face in Stephie’s hair, “me too sweetheart. I missed you so, so, so much.”

In front of them, Steph looks beyond confused as to what's happening and Azzi’s determinedly looking away, even if there’s a lone tear waterfalling down her left cheek. 

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Stephie confesses, voice choked up as she tightens her grip on Paige’s neck, “and I begged and I begged Mama to let me call you but she said you were busy. And then I yelled at Mama and it made Mama cry too and I hate making Mama cry.”

“I know. I know sweetheart,” Paige soothes softly, running her hands down Stephie’s back as the little girl continues to babble. They stay like that for a long time and Paige thinks if she could ask the world for one thing that doesn’t belong to her, she’d ask for Stephie. 

Finally Steph coughs, looking apprehensively between the three girls in the room, “so um- I take it you’ve more than just seen Stephie around then Paige?”

Paige lets out a watery laugh, finally letting Stephie go and turning around but still keeping a hand on Stephie’s shoulder, “yeah I guess that’s true.”

“What are you doing here Miss Buecks,” Stephie asks, looking up at Paige. 

“I’m uh- well Mr. Steph-”

“Uncle Twin,” Stephie corrects immediately and Paige can’t help but grin at the nickname. 

“Right. Uncle Twin asked me to be a coach at his camp and I agreed,” Paige explains, trying to catch Azzi’s eyes but the shooting guard seems determined to focus on a picture of Steph and Ayesha on the wall instead. 

“You’re gonna be my coach,” Stephie squeals, turning around to hug Paige’s knees, “this is the best news of my life.”

Paige feels her heart soar into a sky of you’re the best new of my life Stephie as she bends down to kiss Stephie forehead, “let’s see if you say that when I make you run laps after you miss a shot.”

“You wouldn’t?” Stephie says, looking horrified at the idea. 

“I totally would,” Paige teases. 

Stephie is quiet for a second before a proud smirk blooms on her lips, “that’s okay ‘cause I don’t miss. I’m Azzi Fudd’s daughter. Right Mama?”

“Right baby,” Azzi says, finally letting herself meet Paige’s gaze. 

“Well Miss-I-Don’t-Miss, how about you walk over to the court and show us how you don’t miss,” Steph teases. 

Stephie waddles out of Paige’s grip and holds her arms up at Steph, a saccharine smile on her face,“I can’t be tired if I don’t wanna miss Uncle Twin, so can you please carry me over there?”

Steph rolls his eyes but it doesn’t stop him from hoisting Stephie onto his shoulders, “alright your highness, let’s go.”

Stephie’s giggles echoe down the hall as Steph runs towards the courts and Paige can’t help the fond laugh that escapes her. 

“She gets that from you, you know,” Paige says softly to Azzi. 

“Gets what?”

“Being a princess who gets everything she wants.”

“Not everything,” Azzi says wistfully, “not everything I want.”

She moves to start following but Paige wraps a hand around her wrist, “I didn’t know Stephie was a part of Curry Camp. I swear I- I didn’t do this on purpose.”

Azzi sighs, “I know. I know you wouldn’t Paige.”

“And I- I wanted to thank you for sending your Mom yesterday. I really- I really did need it even if I didn’t know it,” Paige’s thumb subconsciously rubs against Azzi’s skin, “but you- you always seem to know what I need.”

Azzi rips her hand out from Paige's grip, “you’re doing it again.”

“I’m not-”

“Yes you are. You keep saying things like that- things you shouldn’t say- things I can’t just listen to and be okay,” Azzi brushes her hand against her face, “I know the way I left yesterday was wrong and maybe I was projecting,” she admits in a whisper, “but you just- you make me feel too fucking much. And it's too quick and it’s scares me.”

“Scares you?” Paige scoffs, “I’m not the one who broke your heart Azzi.”

“You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I’ve lived with that guilt for the last 8 years? Jesus fucking christ Paige. I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of me,” tears stream down Azzi’s face as she paces the room, “I have never heard Stephie cry so fucking much in my life Paige. And you know who did that to her? Me, I did that. Apparently I’m really fucking good at making people cry but I don’t want to. I don’t want to break her heart, I don’t want to break your heart and I don’t want to break my own heart. Not again.”

“Azzi-”

“And so I’m stopping it before it happens. Before I ruin it again.”

Azzi tries to leave again but Paige is faster, wrapping her arms around the younger woman’s waist and pulling her flush against her chest so she can’t escape. It’s a terrible idea because now all of her senses are consumed by Azzi as they both become acutely aware of how close they are now. 

“Paige,” Azzi whispers weakly, one hand pressed right against Paige’s heart, “let me go.”

“I think today’s the right time,” Paige says softly, hands grazing Azzi’s waist, “I asked you a question once and you said one day, when the time was right, you’d give me an answer. It’s the right time.”

“I don’t think so-”

“Azzi please,” Paige begs, “do you regret saying no?”

“Paige let me go,” Azzi wriggles against her grip but it only makes Paige tighten her hold. 

“It’s a simple yes or no question.’

“Stephie’s probably wondering where we are-”

“Then answer the damn question and we can go to her-”

“Paige please.”

“Answer the fucking question Azzi.”

“What do you want me to say?” Azzi bursts out finally, “you want me to say that I’ve never regretted anything more in my life? You want me to say the minute I said no, I wanted to rip out my tongue? You want me to say that I almost called you several times in the last decade to tell you how stupid I was? You want me to say that I flew to Dallas once to tell you that I fucked up but then I saw you with Olivia and decided you deserved better than me-”

“What?”  Paige feels the air being snatched from her lungs. 

“The answer to your stupid fucking question,” Azzi’s voice breaks, “is yes. Yes I regret saying no to you Paige. But it doesn’t matter. Because I said no and you found someone else who’d say yes and now it’s too late.”

And Paige thinks that Katie was probably right, that she should probably take things slow. But when it comes to Azzi Fudd, Paige Bueckers has never been one to do what she should. 

“It’s never too late for us,” Paige whispers before crashing her lips against the woman, who’s always been the reason for her biggest, brightest, most real smile.

[samthestrangerthingsfan]

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: frienemies-to-lovers, kinda mean!Eddie? shy!reader, swearing, a lil smoochin', mentions of lack of confidence and poor self image, cute nicknames

a/n: hi bb, will you be my valentine? I don't love writing mean!eddie but its okay because we can always fix him :)

Valentine’s Day.

A day which the Hawkins High elite are positively buzzing over the plethora of cheap red and pink decorations.

Cheerleaders swoon over poorly constructed cards from their popular boyfriends, while dozens of obnoxious mylar balloons take up way too much space in the already crowded hallways.

Beyond the 14th of February, the reason for all the excitement was the annual Hawkins High Valentine’s Day dance—of which you were head of the committee.

Was it because you were the only Senior to volunteer their time to coordinating it instead of attending it? Maybe, but at least it gave you a reason to show up to the dance without a date.

...and avoid looking like the pitiful wallflower you are.

You also knew you’d have no time to rush home and get ready after your last class, so here you are. Standing outside of the AV Club door, decked out in your new crushed-velvet dress. It's ruby red and dangerously short.

This was definitely out of your comfort zone. You typically preferred to be invisible. It’s easier that way; no one can hurt what they can’t see. Right?

But when this dress caught your eye in the mall shop window, it was the first time you could ever remember wanting to be seen. Wanting to try to look like the pretty girls who walk the halls everyday vying for the attention of others.

The dance gave you the perfect excuse. Sure, it’s not like you had a date or anyone asking you to go, but you felt so beautiful. The way the dress hugged your body made all the staring and whispering as you walked down the hallway so, so worth it.

“Hey—whoa…” Dustin’s voice dropped when he walked around the corner, arms full of equipment. “Y-you look fantastic!” He said proudly.

Dustin was your favorite Freshmen, always kind and happy to see you.

“Aw, thanks Dusty! You don’t think it’s too much?” You lifted your boot, inspecting it falsely.

Dustin smiled, “It’s too much for 6th period Spanish, but not for Valentine’s Day that’s for sure.”

He unlocked the door, and held it for you.

Dusting grabbed a pen and paper to write down what you’d need the AV Club’s help with after school.

With hands on your hips, you looked around the room. “Okay, so I definitely need the projector, and if you could set it up before—“

An annoying, loud, cocky voice cut you off. “Henderson! What the hell is takin’ you so long?”

Eddie fucking Munson.

You watched as he sauntered into the room, DIO jacket and all. He clapped Dustin on the shoulders before turning his gaze to you.

“Holy shit. That you, Mouse?”

Mouse. A nickname you loathed.

You’d made the mistake of sitting at the Hellfire table your Freshman year, and he’s never let let you live it down. Once Eddie saw just how shy you were, he made it his mission to get under your skin.

He'd plopped down into the seat next to you, assuming you were there to cause him and the guys trouble. “New girl’s trying to get in good with the freaks, hm?”

You jumped and began to frantically pack your belongings, “I-I…I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I’ll just go—"

When he realized you were nervous, he changed his tone. No longer was he on edge, but rather trying to make you laugh. Show you it's okay to give him a taste of his own medicine. “No no, little mouse. You’re not scurrying away that easily.”

Four years later, you’re both still here and Eddie’s been a thorn in your side ever since. You thought you'd be rid of him once he graduated, but he flunked--twice. Condemning you to another year full of his nonsense.

His obnoxious, overly-confident, doe-eyed nonsense.

“Munson.” You couldn’t help the eye roll. “Dustin and I are working on something so,” you flicked your hand toward the door. “Skedaddle.”

“Oof,” he teased. “You kiss your mother with that potty mouth?”

Eddie walked past Dustin, hands on his hips as he took you in. “Why, may I ask, are you dressed so fancy, princess? Hot date with a frog?”

Okay, guess we’re playing this game.

“The only frog I know is you, Munson.”

His hand flew to his heart. “You hear this, Henderson? Who knew Mouse could be such a brat?”

“If you’ll excuse me,” you attempt to sidestep him, but he blocks your path. Big brown eyes watching your every move. “Don’t you have anything better to do than push my buttons?” It’s a pitiful gripe. You know he enjoys this far too much.

“C’mon, sweetheart. If I didn’t talk to you, who the hell would?”

Ouch.

Something no doubt said in jest, but it hurt to realize just how right he was. You had tons of acquaintances, and you got along great with the teachers. As for friends, the well's a bit dry in that department.

You cleared away the tightness in you throat. “Yeah, I don’t have time for this. I’m actually contributing to society. How about you?” Your face was twisted into a sarcastic smile, attempting to hide the hurt.

Eddie on the other hand thought the two of you were simply playing your favorite game. Seeing just how flustered he could make you before you gave him a taste of his own medicine.

“Yeah, you’re a real Nancy Reagan.” He laughed, gesturing to your dress.

Your eyes honed in on him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” he reached out, sweeping a piece of hair off of your cheek. “If you wanted a little attention, you didn’t have to do all this.”

This.

Said as if the word tasted rotten. Disgusted by what you’d considered to be you at your most beautiful.

I must look like a fucking fool.

The stinging in your eyes got stronger every second you stood in his presence. Your gaze locked onto the floor, following your feet as you left. “Bye, Dustin. I’ll see you later.”

Dustin protested, calling you back before turning his disappointed glare to Eddie.

“Dude…” he chided.

Eddie scoffed, “What? Henderson I was joking—she knows that, okay? That’s our whole thing.”

"Eddie, she was crying!"

Were you? No, no way. This is what the two of you do.

"No, she wasn't." He said unconvincingly. "You don't know her like I do, little buddy. She's a good girl, loves the cat-and-mouse of it all." Eddie wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or Dustin.

Eddie had a fuck of a time in O'Donnell's class, and now on top of all of that, he's late to set up Hellfire.

He moved a bit quicker down the hall, easy enough since most of the school left to get ready for the Desperate Dance. He intentionally always schedules DND on nights like this, that way he'd never have to be caught dead--

Eddie's stopped in his tracks at the sight of the trashcan at the end of the hall. He spots a familiar piece of red fabric hanging out of the bin.

He pulled it like a magician, revealing more and more of the velvet clothing until its fully removed,

A dress.

Your dress.

Why the fuck did you throw it in the trash? You we're the most confident Eddie had ever seen you while you wore this thing.

...and you looked drop dead gorgeous, but that's beside the point.

He heard your voice coming from the gym, and abandoned all thoughts of DND.

Eddie burst through the double doors, ignoring the frilly pink and red decorations for the dance. He weaved between the underclassmen carefully setting up the tables and backdrops to make his way over to you.

You, who now instead of being in your beautiful fucking dress, are in you school-supplied gym uniform. Your hair was pulled back, no longer falling in the perfectly natural way you had it earlier. Your makeup was gone--Eddie didn't mind that, he didn't think you needed it anyway.

But you'd never looked so small to him.

He called your name more gently than you've ever heard him speak. When you turned and saw your dress in his grip, you wanted to disappear.

Had he come to gloat?

"Why the hell was this in the trash?" he's not smirking, or sarcastic when he says it.

"Didn't like it." It's all the pain in your throat will let you get out.

You walk away from him, hurrying to find something else to do beside stand there and be made fun of by Eddie Munson.

"Bullshit," he calls after you, quick on your heels. "You don't wear a dress like this and look the way you look in it and just decide you don't like it."

You could feel the tears returning as soon as you stopped walking. "I don't know what you wanna hear," your back was to Eddie, but you felt his gaze regardless. "I just didn't like it...anymore, okay?"

The fake organization of the ribbons in front of you didn't deter him, he remained behind you in silence until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Did...did I say something? Earlier, in the AV Club." He spoke so softly, and with such sincerity, you'd never know it was Eddie talking to you.

You sniffled, angry at yourself for letting him hear how upset you were. "I don't know what you mean."

"Henderson," He's quick on your heels. "Henderson said you were crying when you left."

You don't--can't say anything. Trying desperately to will the tightness in your throat to go away and the tears to dry before they fall from your eyes. A small, shaking breath passes your lips.

"Please look at me, Mouse." His voice is hushed when he calls out to you.

You turn to him begrudgingly. Hoping if he saw the mess he made he'd leave well enough alone.

But when he sees your face, with red eyes and damp tear-stained cheeks, his heart falls into his stomach.

"Oh, oh sweetheart--"

You beat him to it. "I'm fine, Munson. Just...just give me the stupid thing, okay? I'm better off invisible, anyway."

"You've never been invisible to me." Eddie hands you the dress, and watches as you wring it between your hands. "I'm sorry, Mouse."

You scoff, "You didn't--"

"Yes I did," He says firmly. Eddie steps into you, closer than he's been before. "I made an asinine comment thinking we were playing our little game, but it's not a game if someone gets hurt, especially you."

Eddie swipes away the tear on your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You looked beautiful. You're always beautiful, but that dress? Honey, I couldn't think straight. I'm a dumbass half the time, but I turned into a god damned Neanderthal when I saw you in that."

Your brain couldn't process what was happening. It almost sounded like Eddie...liked you?

"I thought," You looked down, embarrassed to even say it out loud. "I finally felt pretty, pretty enough to be seen and not just in the background."

Eddie's brow softens at your words, "Mouse, I see you. You're one of the only things I look for throughout the day. Always lookin' out for the pretty shy girl with the smile that makes me go weak in the knees."

You laugh at that. "I guess I always look for the obnoxious metal head that's way too good at getting under my skin."

Eddie chest rumbles with a laugh, too. "You're too good at calling me on my crap, what do you expect me to do?"

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you, and it has Eddie clearing his throat. "Can--can I give you a hug? Hate that I made my favorite girl cry."

The smile on your face speaks volumes, but you nod anyway.

When you're wrapped in Eddie's arms, his warmth seeps through your bones, relieving any tension or nerves. His scent invades your senses, warming your belly and heart. You melt into him completely.

Eddie can't believe how well you fit in his arms, like a damn puzzle piece if you asked him. He smells you shampoo, and memorizes the fragrance, filing it away in his mind as his new favorite smell.

When you pull back, he leans his forehead on yours. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I really am."

You nod, moving his head a bit as it rests on yours. "I know."

Eddie steps away, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Ya know, uh, if you're not busy, I'm running a DND campaign tonight. I'd love it if you sat in and maybe after...I don't know, maybe I could take you to Benny's?"

You smirked, eyes narrowing at him. "You asking me out, Munson?"

His eyes widened in sheer panic, "Oh--oh my God, I read this all wrong, huh? Please just forget--"

You're quick to ease his worry. "I'd love too."

Putting the dress on the table, you offer Eddie your hand. "Show me the way, Dungeon Master."

He takes it eagerly, but doesn't walk anywhere yet.

"Eddie?" You giggle.

"One second, princess. Damn knees turned to jelly again."

[uno-san]

Oohhhh I can totally see Bill threatening to hurt or even off you after Ford broke things off with him.

Perhaps he wanted to reach out to you for help because he had a small sliver of hope that you, with your heart which was a size too big for your own good, might just come to his aid if he asked, even if you were upset with him. But then he was afraid of letting Bill get anywhere near you, so he endured all of the torture and abuse, just so long as he didn’t touch you.

Do what you will with this idea.

OOOHHH GOOOD this ask sent me in a spiral as I immediately had ideas for italsdfjlsaflfj Thank you so much for sending in an ask, especially since I love seeing your posts!

Sorry this took so long but please, enjoy the angst~

  Tick

Tick

  Tick

Each tick brought a new needling pain to his already frantic mind. How could such a small, incessant sound be so torturous? For every count that was marked down on the small watch it brought a harsh reminder to the pacing scientist; his eyes were bloodshot, dry, and torn. No matter what he’d do one would even bleed onto whatever project he’s started on to try and save his life. Everyone’s life.

Stanford Pines has been awake for 3 days.

Tick

  Tick

Tick

“Goddammit!”

Research notes and project blueprints were scattered everywhere with one mighty drag of his arm across the once-cluttered desk. Around him loose papers hovered uselessly in the air, as if they were trying to offer him a solution in the now discarded pile. He paid them no mind. They were just another idea down the gutter.

This time, a truly foolish one. He had called it the Bill-Proof Suit (Name Pending) and if he had a proper amount of sleep he would have seen sooner what a joke it truly was. Stanford’s concept was solid, naturally, the issue was the actual construction. That’s where the joke was.

He needed Fiddleford.

Fiddleford was long gone now. If Stanford hadn’t already chased him away the day of the portal incident there was no doubt Bill would have done the job himself. The man’s mechanical knowledge far exceeded Ford’s own. That’s what gained him a spot on this project in the first place. And now, it was laughable to think Ford had a hand in sabotaging such a pivotal partnership. A friendship. God, how that word felt so bitter now.

Bill had been his friend. His muse as well, but more importantly his friend. Fiddleford had been too. Stanford pushed him away, revealing that the one he had left was a guillotine waiting to drop. A conman from the very moment Ford had made the mistake of summoning him, lying the very second he appeared. The best lie Bill ever told was that Stanford was a genius.

In truth, Ford was an idealistic fool too over his head. Hunted in his own home until the day his mind would break and give in to what Bill wanted. But it would be a cold day in hell before Stanford ever gave in without a fight. For if he couldn’t keep the bastard out of his body, there was still one way to thwart him yet.

Scatter his research. Not destroy it, but spread it far so that no other fool under Bill’s thumb could recreate Ford’s work. It shouldn't be difficult. Ford had already sought to hide his other two journals due to previous threats. All that remained of his recorded mistakes were his first journal. This one needed special handling. The other two, while well hidden, still remained in Gravity Falls. Journal 1 would need to see a swift exit out to the world unknown.

But how?

  Tick

Tick

  Tick

With a growl of frustration Ford dropped himself into an aging chair that had been pushed out of the way to make room for his pacings. One arm rested across his knee while the other stayed propped up on his elbow to hold his head up; a dangerous position, considering his exhaustion. Though bleary his eyes focused on a nearby chalkboard with hastily scrawled names on its black surface. He’s been stuck on this awhile.

Fiddleford was out. No doubt about that with how they had departed. Unfortunately that meant that Stanford would have to find help outside of the initial project, which will prove to be risky at best and time-consuming at worst to get them caught up on the stakes of the mission. That left little to consider.

Already that knocked his parents out of the running. They were getting too old to do what was needed to keep his research safe. Not to mention what they’d think of Stanford started going off about demons and otherworldly powers.

You lost them millions, Stanford. Never even impressed your father and now you want them to help you? When was the last time you called?

Stanford’s body froze. Only the slow movement of his eyes showed signs of life as they drifted to each dark corner of the room. Had he said that? He gathered the courage to check over his shoulder. There was no one. His fingers tapped against his knee as the truth of the whispered words began to sink in. Would they even answer his call?

Tick

  Tick

Tick

Focus!

Right…right. Who else?

Nobody in town would be jumping at the chance to help him. Stanford never made the effort. Couldn’t make it, to be more accurate. Never was good at talking to people. Bill had helped with that isolation though Ford couldn’t place as much blame on him as he wanted to.

If he had the money, this would be a far easier task. Thanks, however, to his constantly running lab and testing of the portal during its construction even his generous grant money was dwindling down to pennies. Not even that tie he sold to the government went far. That was spent to get them to turn the other way for Ford’s more questionable purchases (Or thefts).

They wouldn’t have talked to you anyway. Not without a carnival banner to let them know the freakshow was in town.

Stanford’s hand swept up in his hair; his thumb resting outside the greasy mess to instead prop his eyelid open. The air stung. It was manageable compared to the heat of annoyance beginning to rise in his chest. Was this the best he could manage? Stanford Pines, life forever in ruins now just because he didn’t think to make silly small talk over a burnt cup of coffee?! Surely, there had to be somebody else to turn to-

You already know who you want to go crawling back to. To be safe in their arms again. Despite already chasing them off you know you want to drag them back into all of this. You want-

Stanford shot up from his chair. The rapid movement caused it to swivel while Ford’s hand grabbed hold of a long forgotten experiment; he shouted a guttural “NO!” before hurling the hunk of junk at the source of the voice. It shattered against the wall.

Both hands were knotted up into fists while Ford’s shoulders shook with a fury he couldn’t control. His lips were drawn back in a snarl as he continued to face off against nothing. This being the most he’s been awake in days being the only blessing of an already cursed conversation.

“No, I’m not doing this to them again, I’m not!” Stanford’s eyes followed a foe that wasn’t there, now facing a different side of the room, “They’re gone now and there’s nothing I can or will do to ever risk them coming back here. I can handle all this myself!”

Not that you’d get any help after what you did.

Stanford staggered back. Like the flame of his anger had been blown out and he’d been left with the ashes of guilt. He looked so unsure. Different compared to his conviction on stopping Bill once and for all.

“That was Bill, I didn’t want-”

Bill, who can read your mind? Bill, who has known you more intimately than you ever have your ‘partner’ know? Well, now's your chance. You look like shit. Everything around you is falling apart. One look at you and they’d come racing to your side. You want-

“ENOUGH!”

Stanford might have given in if he had heard your name. He now grabbed onto the abandoned chair and threw it against the next wall with all his might, praying that the sound of destruction would tune out that predatory voice poisoning his mind. It was just as awful as that-

  Tick

Tick

  Tick

That-

Tick

  Tick

Tick

THAT GODDAMN TICKING NOISE!

  Tick

Tick

  Tick

The man fell onto his knees in a heap. In spite of the danger of it all his eyes were skewed shut while the flat of his palms covered his ears like a spoiled child. Now on top of all he was trying to shut out he could hear the thunderous pounding of his heartbeat in face of the near mental break. But it was all in vain.

Stanford could hear the ticking of the stopwatch counting down another waking hour. The whispers, Bill, and…and the memories of 3 days ago replaying in his mind, again and again.

___

The day had already begun strangely. Not in the sense that when Stanford arose he didn’t know where he’d wake up, or that he was covered in mysterious injuries that he’s sure he didn’t want to know the origin of. None of that. That was, quite horridly, becoming Ford’s new reality until he gave in to Bill Cipher’s demands. Which would be never.

No, what made this day bizarre was that Stanford had woken up in bed. No ditch or jail cell. His actual bed inside his own home. When he had realized this Stanford had been quick to search the room for any signs of a trap. He didn’t get the chance to look long before he noticed that his hand had been clutched around something. As per usual his hands had been bloodied across the knuckles (which would sting to patch up later), but wrapped around and bundled into his palm was…hair?

The dread in his gut only deepened when he had given the hair a conspiratory sniff and recognized a scent that used to provide him comfort. It was the smell of your shampoo. It was after the horror began to dawn on him that Stanford noticed the corner of a tape poking out from beneath his pillows.

‘Play Me: Part 2’

The scene opened up to a hotel room, identified only by the luggage rack in the corner currently occupied by its namesake. Within the focal point of the shot was an empty bed and a window barely fitting into frame. Both the stillness and odd positioning of the shot suggested that the camera wasn’t being held at all; it was hidden on the tv stand.

Out of frame a door must have shut. Following after were the familiar sounds of ruffling fabric before the main light had been turned off, leaving only the bedside lamp to provide proper lighting. Then you walked onto the screen.

Wearing a pair of familiar pajamas, slippers, and a book in hand, you were yawning as you began to climb and settle into bed. You must have been staying in that room for a long while to be as comfortable as you look. Despite just opening your book you’re interrupted with a yawn, making you huff in frustration and stubbornly set your nightly entertainment down. The pout that Stanford always found cute was displayed prominently on your face. It was almost domestic.

It wasn’t long after until you reached over to turn off the lamp nearby. Immediately the room was shrouded with darkness; save for a sliver of light escaping past the curtains to illuminate your midsection. Not much, but enough to see you.

For several minutes, that’s all there was. In real time your process of sleep was captured. How you’d roll back and forth a few times before adjusting into a comfortable position, your pillow punched just right to cradle your head the way you liked it. With a final wiggle of comfort you fell asleep. Your chest rose and fell in slow, deep motions.

Then a pair of yellow eyes blinked open.

Stanford’s breath had caught in his chest. Nearly choking on it as he rose from his spot on the couch to instead crouch in front of the TV as if he could hop into the scene himself.

Beneath the bed a six-fingered hand crept out to grasp at the shag carpet and use the leverage to pull the rest of the body out with it. Emerging from the abyss was a stranger’s smile on a familiar face. His glasses were askew and the grin contorted his face unnaturally, but there was no doubt who it was.

Bill. Stanford. It hardly mattered when you wouldn’t even know the difference.

The figure moved with precision. His limbs stretched out far and bent at odd angles to distribute weight on the creaky floor; he looked like a spider poised to strike. Bill crept forward at a snail's pace. His stare never wavered from the camera meanwhile, remaining level headed until almost the entirety of Stanford’s- Bill’s yellow eye took the stage. A blink after and it was gone. In frame it captured a closeup of his hand as he grabbed the camera from its hidden position.

The already unnerving video had Stanford on edge and in his paranoia he paused the video. Freezing it right at the moment the knuckles of his hand flashed across the screen where he then held up his current injured one. The hand in the video had matching injuries, however in the past it still sparkled with fresh blood when the light hit it just right.

Stanford let out a sigh of relief. So Bill had tried the door before coming here. The wounds were from the door. The door. A fact that he’d have to remind himself of while he unpaused.

Bill was no longer visible as he became the cameraman. It was with soft footsteps that seemed ill-fitting of the one making them that the TV screen was now filled with your unconscious form. He had stopped just at the edge of the bed, yet the angle the camera shot from suggested that Bill began leaning over you. Miraculously, the frame remained steady in spite of the position.

He then spoke in such a hushed tone that his voice was almost unrecognizable if it hadn’t been the evident grin behind his words, “What. Happens. When they. Wake. Up?”

It felt as if all the blood in Stanford’s body froze at once. Each syllable that passed Bill’s lips sent a new horrific vision of what the fiend could do to your unsuspecting form. Emphasizing your vulnerability. Somehow your breathing already appeared weak as if you’ve been struck already. The thought had Ford’s mouth dry.

A pit was beginning to settle in his stomach. To calm himself down his eyes cast downwards to his bruised knuckles, trying to commit to memory that the wounds had been there since the start of the tape. Stanford didn’t gain comfort, however, as his attention returned to the screen. He couldn’t bear missing even one detail. No matter how much he wanted to.

For a long while, the ‘movie’ remained static. As chaotic as Bill was he could be patient when he wanted to be. Listening closely revealed Bill gasping for breath every so often, having forgotten that air was ‘integral’ to humans living when he had been so focused on you. Or maybe he was holding his breath on purpose. Pain was hilarious, he’d always say.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The tension was suddenly cut through by a burst of noise outside. A familiar and irritating sound of a car alarm began to blast away the quiet night, its rhythm now matching that of a racing heartbeat as it mercilessly shouted. Through the curtains a harsher light broke in. Blinking on and off to cast a harsh silhouette of Bill standing over you against the wall.

“No, no, no, nononono, gods, no!” Stanford cried out while his hands gripped at the TV’s sides to nearly crack the material. “Don’t, please-”

The past remained unchanged in spite of his begging.

You began to stir. With brows furrowed together your eyes squinted tightly together as if to block out the intrusive light, the once calm expression of peace you had now replaced with irritation at the interruption. Under your breath you mumbled something indiscernible.

From above a six-fingered hand began to torturously slide into frame while its fingers were spread and bent as if they were claws. Down and down it went. It was poised to make contact with your neck until the hand paused to hover over your body, the fingers giving a cheeky wiggle towards the camera. The open wounds on the knuckles still bled, allowing trickles of blood to pool at his fingertips until they fell and spilled across your collarbone.

Now your own hand reached up to idly scratch where the blood landed only to inadvertently smear the warm droplets on your skin. Off camera still, the sound of Bill sucking in air through his teeth filled the anticipated silence as he waited eagerly. Even the wet sound of skin stretching was a harsh reminder of how elated he must have looked.

Stanford’s hand reached toward his face where trembling fingers traced the torn corners of his mouth.

With a groan you made a sudden turn in bed that Bill hadn’t expected. He was forced to dodge his hand out of the way. You turned on your side away from the window with the corner of the blanket bunched in your first to fully entrap yourself within the comforting warmth. The car alarm outside had turned off just as you let out an exhausted yawn and snuggled into your pillow.

A moment after the camera slowly adjusted to frame your entirety once more while somehow capturing Bill’s unspoken anticipation. Yet you didn’t stir further. Instead the quiet was cut-through by your growing snores brought on by deepened rest. Off-camera Bill slowly released the air of excitement he had sucked in moments to ago in a disappointed huff.

Stanford wept.

___

Tick

  Tick

Tick

The memory brought a new sheen of tears to his eyes that Stanford cursed. Bitterly he threw off his glasses to wipe them away before they dared to fall and reveal his growing weakness. He didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself.

He had to protect you.

That had been three days ago. Worse yet the tape had actually contained the entirety of your night. From the moment you got into bed right down to your alarm clock going off, Bill stood over you. Stanford knew that for a fact considering he watched the tape all the way through, never daring to speed-forward or skip ahead out of fear of what he’d stumble upon after doing so.

The 6 hours of footage felt like an eternity of limbo compared to the pain of being awake for so long. This was much preferable to ever seeing that again. Even if it killed him Ford made the vow to not rest until he could assure that a ‘Part 3’ could never be made again.

Thus far the only respite he’s allowed himself was a call to your hotel. Thankfully he had recognized the tacky furniture from his own stay many years back when he had to wait for the construction of his home to complete. When you had picked up the phone and said a greeting in your warm voice, it felt as if Stanford had his second wind.

He hadn’t heard you since the day you left. Since he had driven you away in order to fall under more of his ‘muse’s’ lies. But now when Ford heard your voice all he could do was remember all the nights you spent taking care of him after an extensive research expedition. Or all the warm meals you’d prepare for him to fuel up for a dangerous day in the woods. All of that felt like a lifetime ago.

Stanford Pines had thrown you away. Now, his only redemption lied in keeping both you and the world safe, no matter what it took. Your voice was the motivation Ford needed but the reward he hadn’t earned yet. He hung up without ever saying a word to you.

From the floor Stanford used his knee to propel himself back upwards. He remembered to take his discarded glasses with him to wipe off on his button-up shirt and place back on his face. Trying to dust the rest of himself off he glanced around his now ramshackled lab that had once been the prize of all his hard work and efforts, now covered with the scrawlings of a paranoid recluse and damaged experiments from frenzied episodes.

His eyes landed on his remaining journal that had been left abandoned on the ground. Odd. Had he knocked it down at some point during his episode brought on by a lack of sleep? Stanford bent down to pick up the poor book left in disarray. Poking out from the side was a corner of a photo that must have become dislodged from within, serving as a reminder that Ford should take better care of his precious research.

With a huff of annoyance towards himself Stanford flipped open the book only to be met with a photo of his face- Stanley’s face captured from an airing commercial Ford had caught on TV one day. Puzzled by this, Ford pulled the photo from the pages to inspect Stanley’s expression yet the glare of gold from his journal behind kept drawing his gaze as well.

  Tick

Tick

  Tick

For a long time Stanford’s focus flickered between his journal and the photo of his brother. First he stared with irritation. Then as the seed of an idea began to bloom his eyes softened with a regret while seeing Stanley. So many years spent drifted apart, and yet…

Tick

  Tick

Tick

Stanford tucked the photo away with far more care than he realized he had before turning to head back upstairs to his home. There was a determination to the man as his feet picked up speed, now powered by the first actual idea he’s had in days. Whether it would work or not didn’t matter.

He had no one else.

[oleander-nin]

Yan!Rottmnt find you sleeping in their bed

A/N, not important: Told you I'd get out more this week. I figured out a system to (hopefully)stop me from burning out as quick. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

Tw: watching you sleep, implied kidnapping, yandere themes, Raph overthinking and slight babying, unconsentual touching(nonsexual)

Words: 961

Summary: The Yan!ROTTMNT turtles find you sleeping in their bed, and they didn't even have to bribe you for once.

-Ollie

Mikey:

He’s surprised at first.

You’ve been fighting him on this for so long, despite him trying to reason with you. You hadn’t even touched his bed of your own volition so far.

And yet here you were, curled up in between pillows and blankets and the small rabbit stuffie Mikey had given you when he first met you.

He doesn’t touch you at first, opting to silently watch from a distance.

Has the biggest grin on his face as he coos at your sleeping figure, admiring you.

In his mind, this was a step forward to you accepting him, to you loving him.

Depending on the time of day and what Mikey was doing/how important it is, he’ll either get in bed with you and cuddle you while trying not to wake you, or he’ll sit on his desk and watch you as he draws.

Mikey hushes anyone who walks by, making sure his loud brothers don’t disturb you.

Until he wants your attention.

Then you’re getting dragged out of bed, an excited Mikey holding you in his arms.

You can always sleep later, after all, you obviously don’t care about sleeping in his bed anymore.

Don’t fight it, he knows you better than you know yourself.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Donnie:

Knew about it as soon as you fell asleep.

Is a bit miffed, especially if you didn’t wash before getting into his bed. He’s big on cleanliness, and will not stand for you making his bed all gross. He has to sleep there too, you know.

If you didn’t wash up first, he wakes you up and makes you go take a shower/bath first, taking the sheets to be cleaned and replacing them with spares as you do so. Drags you back to bed once you’re done, you don’t get a choice now. Plus, if you're so eager to sleep in his bed dirty, you’d enjoy it even better now that you’re clean.

If you were already clean, he leaves you be for now, having SHELLDON keep an eye on you to make sure nothing goes wrong while you sleep if he’s too busy to do it himself.

If he can spare the time however, he goes into his room and sits at his desk, being able to work while still being near you.

If he’s done with his work and is feeling up to it, he’s crawling in with you, collapsing on top of you and using you as his pillow. You’re soft and warm, you should’ve expected this to happen.

Gets pissy if you fight back, considering you most likely awoke when he flopped on top of you.

You should be grateful he’s showing you such kindness, he can always make you sleep on the floor.

Overall, he is quite indifferent about it. He doesn’t need you to sleep in his bed by your own volition, he can always just make you. Thinks nothing of it as you should be doing so anyway.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Raph:

Very pleased with you.

Seeing you sleeping under the covers of his bed of your own volition, just as he wanted you too was so comforting to him. He almost melted at the sight of you surrounded by his various plushies, one of the bears being held in your arms.

The problem lies with his anxiety, however.

You are currently in his bed, alone. If he leaves, you could get hurt. What if a plush falls on your face and suffocates you in your sleep? What if he leaves and you roll off the bed, breaking your neck? What if you have a nightmare, and he’s not here to comfort you?

Despite what he was doing prior, he drops it to watch over you, not trusting you to be safe on your own as you sleep. There were too many things that could go wrong, too many variables that could lead to your suffering.

No, he had to stay with you, to protect you.

It’s what he’s here for after all.

He tries to stay away for as long as he can hold out, watching you from the opposite end of his room as he sits on the floor, just silently staring.

If it gets too much for him, seeing you there all cozy paired with the worry he has for you, he’d crawl into bed with you. He tries his best to not wake you up, simply depositing your body on his plastron as his arms wrap around you.

Freaks out if he wakes you up by accident, shushing you and trying to coax you back to sleep. You need your sleep after all.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Leo:

This man’s ego raises so high, you have no idea. Is incredibly smug for the rest of the day(unless you do something wrong after you wake up).

See’s this as a win, thinks you’re finally giving in to him. Takes a photo to commemorate the memory before walking over to you.

Depending on his mood, he’ll either slip into bed with you, or sit on the bed next to you and just watch you while you sleep, enjoying this small step towards your reciprocating love.

No matter what, he drops whatever he’s doing to stay near you, not caring how much his brothers fuss at him.

If he slips into bed with you, he’s full on wrapping his arms around you and clinging to you like he’s never felt the touch of a lover before. Absolutely milks it.

If you wake up from his movements, he just shushes your complaints, refusing to let you go now that he’s with you.

You’re the one who was here first, why do you want to leave now?

Is very proud he’s finally making some progress, he knew you’d come around.

[nekovmancer]

overwatch headcanons: how they say "I love you" with Ramattra, Reaper, Reinhardt, Cassidy and Hanzo

a bit angsty and some curse words ahead, but still sfw. don’t blame me, I enjoy the suffering and since you're still reading I bet you also do

also silly little juno was SMASHED by writer’s block again, please help sending a headcanon request, but read rules first

Ramattra

doesn’t say it at all, actually

he was shaped for violence, hands carefully constructed to murder

the sentience came with grief, sorrow, rage… but love? this big fella doesn’t even love himself, to begin with

it’s hard for him to cope with affection, to learn the aspects of it, mostly the very subtle nuances of reciprocation

but it’s you, and since you came along, this foreign feeling haunts him 

and when you say “I love you” first… he’s so silent you’re scared you’ve broken him with this three words alone

“How is it possible for you to love a being as myself?”

he feels the urge to say something back, but simply can’t vocalize the words he’s dying to say

you know he’s overwhelmed already, his pride contrasting his feelings, so you don’t push him too far: Ramattra shows you enough

but your words echoes in his systems for days

in one of these, he’s with you as he always do before you fall asleep, and the words just came out

“I may not have a heart, and even if I did, it wouldn’t be mine: it would be yours. It always has been.”

it’s not an explicit I love you

no, it’s much better

Reaper

you know what happens between you two must stay secretive

it’s… casual, if you can name it such

I mean, he comes to you every damn night, and most of them aren’t for sex, but for company 

and the cuddles, of course

you see him past the scars, the shadows… what lies beneath it as the ghost of a man 

and you love him nonetheless

despite all the danger that comes along with him being one of Talon’s counselors and a declared enemy to Overwatch

until one night, when he doesn’t show up and never let you know why

and this one night turns into tons

you’re broken, to say at least

he avoids you, not even a single stolen glance through briefings, no more missions together

you don’t know where you manage to find the courage to confront him, but somehow you do, so you’re cornering Reaper himself and demanding an answer 

“Isn’t it obvious?”

well, of course: you were dumb enough to get to attached

but he steps closer, so surprisingly close you can hear a shallow breath muffled by his mask

the shadows engulf you both before you can blink, and his ghostly touch stops just inches away from your cheek

“I’ve risked too much so far… but not you, not anymore”

you know what he means, you just wish you didn’t

he departs with a last glance over his shoulder, to never look back again 

if he wasn’t who he was, maybe things would be different

yet if things weren’t the same, you two wouldn’t even met

in the end, you’re left to grief in the graveyard he paths on his way away from you

Reinhardt

he’s a hero and will always be

but that doesn’t mean Reinhardt is invincible

that’s why you’re laying by his side, taking extra care to not accidentally touch the bandages covering his torso

you’re little injured from the last mission, a few scratches maybe

thanks to him, who jumped right into the moment to keep your head glued to your neck

per usual, he would be flourishing the battle tales and his epic acts, his thunderous laugh echoing through the HQ, but now?

the sadness contorting his face breaks your heart 

he stares down at you, one calloused thumb tracing under the thin line of the stitches on your cheekbone

“I’ve let them hurt you”

oh… so that’s it

“If I was a second late… I hate to even think of what could've happened”

he groans, retreating his hand and looking away 

if he could ever be more dearing, you would’ve exploded 

you cup his face and make Reinhardt look at you once again, reassuring him you’re here, safe and sound, thanks to him 

it takes a bit of convincing, but soon enough you hear one of his deep chuckles resonating in his chest and know that you’ll be just fine

“I will always be there to protect you, liebling, no matter what it takes. For I could never live in a world where there is no you by my side.”

Cassidy

he’s always flirting and teasing, so you would assume it’s all a joke

despite him throwing his arm over your shoulder and resting his head on yours every goddamn time he has a chance

and if you’re quiet and close enough, you can hear his fast heartbeats pulsing

maybe… he’s just affectionate, yeah

not that you see Cole like that with anyone else, but

you could never take him seriously, because he can never be serious for once

it’s always a wink here, a smooth darlin’ there

yet he never makes a move on you that gives you the clarity you need

so it’s it, an eternal what if

until one days he comes from a mission, all dirty and hurt

you’re surprised to see he came straightforward to you, still trying to catch his breath while holding to his injured side

but before you can drop any question, Cole smashes his lips against yours

and it feels holy 

he keeps you close when you break the kiss, trying to remind yourself how to breath

his breath is so warm against your face, and that familiar scent of smoke makes your knees weak

“I fucking meant everything I’ve ever said, doll”

for the way he just kissed you, you’re now sure he does 

Hanzo

Hanzo isn’t one to speak about his feelings openly

you’re actually surprised you’re now tiptoeing around some sort of serious relationship

at least, you think it’s serious since you barely leave each other’s side

it’s extremely hard for him to be vocal about his affection, though

sometimes, he would still flinch when you touch him out of blue

but he loves to run his fingers along your hair, your face…

your body is his to worship

and there’s this lazy morning, where he’s kissing your knuckles and embracing your waist…

you just feel you could melt right here, into him

until something cold circles your finger and your eyes snap open

a ring

a FUCKING ring

you stare at him in pure disbelief, eyes so wide they must pop out by any second

Hanzo shows the most loving smile you had ever seen, kissing your ring finger

that now has an actual engagement ring 

“Being with you everyday is still too little time. I wish nothing but foreverness with you”

[aidansloth]

Voice Modulator Shenanigans

Summary: You and Hitoshi find yourselves in his dorm having fun with his voice modulator when you accidentally let some top-secret information slip.

Warnings and A/N: just swearing, this is all fluff don’t worry! Reader is gender neutral and written in the 2nd person. If you think Hitoshi is ooc, no he’s not. He's just happy.. Maybe inaccuracy on how his mask works but listen, I’m not an engineer. Oh, and established relationship. 

Words: 0.6k

I also posted this on AO3! Here's the link!

It takes a good while for your and Hitoshi’s laughter to calm down, maybe too long but in your defense he did just give a flawless Katsuki imitation using his mask. When you finally find it in yourself to speak he’s still wiping tears from his eyes.

“I think you should pursue acting honestly.” 

He grins. “Yeah?”

“As a hobby even. I’d come to see your shows.” His grin becomes a smile and it gets even wider.

“You better bring me flowers for those shows then.”

“Only if you promise that I get a backstage pass.” 

“Deal.” 

There are a few beats of comfortable silence, your heads are laying next to each other on his pillow. Your shoulders are touching and the only thing you can hear is his breathing, gentle and regular. An idea pops into your head. You sit up and turn to look at your boyfriend, hardly containing your excitement; he looks up at you and he can already tell he’ll give you anything you ask for.

“What?”

“Can I try your mask on?” 

He stares blankly for a few seconds. “Sure. Though I’m not sure it’ll stay on your face correctly since it’s meant to fit my face exactly.”

“That’s fine, can you help me though?” Hitoshi had already the intention of helping you but he keeps that to himself, instead he nods and sits up with you, grabbing the device from his nightstand. 

“Who do you want to imitate?”

“Darth Vader.” 

He stares at you.

“What?” You ask.

“I thought you were more creative than this babe.” 

“Oh shut up and help me put on this damn mask.”

“Aye aye captain.”

He places the piece of equipment on your jaw trying to adjust it to your face as well as possible, he then toys with the settings. When he’s done he places a kiss on your forehead before moving away. 

“There, try to speak.” 

You clear your throat. “HELLO- OH GOD, IT WORKS!”

“Of course it works.”

“OH STOP IT WITH THE SASS.” He smiles fondly but doesn’t respond. You straighten your back and clear your throat again as you’ve been waiting for this moment your whole life. 

“HITOSHI, I AM YOUR FATHER.” 

He just stares at you. You stare at him. 

“OH COME ON, THAT WAS FUNNY.”

“No it wasn’t. Here, watch this.” With care he takes the mask off you and adjusts it on himself instead. You watch him change the settings in silence, wondering what character he’s got in mind. Once he’s done he looks at you dead in the eyes and speaks.

Gollum’s fucking voice comes out.

“My precioussss.” 

You cannot contain your laughter for the life of you. You end up falling back on the bed while clutching your stomach. And just like that three little words escape without your knowledge. 

“Oh my god I love you.” 

He freezes and so do you. He rips his mask off carelessly, chucking it on the black sheets under you. You slowly creep up from your position to look at him. 

“You what?”

“I, ehm- I love you?”

“Is that a question?”

“No! I- I love you. I do.” Silence falls again, your gazes never wavering. 

“Do you also or…”

“Oh God, yes, sorry, yes. I do. I love you too.”

A smile forms on your face and he matches it. 

This is a very sweet and romantic moment for the two of you as you can imagine which is why your gremlin ass decides to ruin it.

“You know- I might not mind the Gollum voice again in different circumstances-” You get interrupted by Hitoshi’s cushion being thrown in your face.

Thank you for reading! Constructive criticism/advice is welcomed.

[the-one-who-lambs]

hi hey holy fuck i'm done with this. I tried to render for the first time following a "15 minute" tutorial and my noob ass turned it into a 3 hour learning experience. But now I have Narinder's reference for The Risen Lamb and the Fallen God! Rambles under readmore

SO I BARELY DRAW because I started learning how to draw like... May of last year, and then went bonkers over the summer making lots of progress and once the school year started in august I dropped it to focus on writing... and have drawn basically 1 thing in between then and now. Anyway. Last week I remembered, oh yeah, I used to draw sometimes. And suddenly had an all consuming urge to practice again.

And you know what? I forgot how fucking FUN drawing is. I take it much less seriously than I do my writing so my technique for now is pretty much "go ham and try a bunch of shit because you're getting practice and having fun with it anyway". and it IS fun until I try to do a specific thing and can't figure out how so thanks to those who tuned in to my stream tonight to see me push through the frustrating part of finishing this LMAO. uh according to the krita file this took me 13 and a half hours

If you didn't catch it a while back, the one thing I drew during my kinda-art-hiatus was my Lambert reference! Normal outfit, casual outfit (that they sometimes wear while off-duty, usually when visiting Ratau or just hanging out alone), and wedding outfit ^^

...Which means now that I have my narilamb references I can commission my friends. i have a few people who i already plan to open my wallet for.

"Ive already drawn you fanart for ur fic and now the outfits are very slightly wrong :<" ITS FINE I AM CHERISHING IT FOREVER PLS DONT CHANGE IT ITS PERFECT

"is it okay if i draw your designs" Why do yall think i would be mad about this i will eat that shit UP i would fucking LOVE that and I'm already foaming at the mouth because i'd been asked that a couple times while i was drawing narinder's reference lol

I'm still a beginner and constructive criticism is welcome! Will probably make less intensive references for the OCs in Risen/Fallen or at least draw them, Thenana and Juno for sure

[bunniandhoney]

Angst | He doesn’t realize what he has until it’s gone, fast-forward he sees her back at the premiere

P.s Just for fun , Idk how he is Irl he is a sweetheart tho

Dear Anon,

How did you know I love angst? 😏

xoxo,

Bunni

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

Life’s a Marathon

Jacob takes his best friend for granted.

Y/N found herself in the most awkward predicaments. Never by her own design but certainly by the construction of her best friend Jacob.

“I think i might’ve fucked up” Jacob says looking down at Y/N as she ties her shoes. “I think I’m going to have to agree, neither one of us should be running a marathon this early or really at all.” YN replies with a grim look on her face.

She definitely shouldn’t have agreed to this. She hates sweating and gets her daily exercise from the 25 minute walk from her apartment to her office job. But since she has a burning crush on her best friend she has such a hard time telling Jacob no, actually she’s never fully told Jacob no.

Like that time in Year 10 when he’d ask her to help with his final paper. Even though she was behind on hers and working extra shifts at the cafe she still did his, resulting in her earning a C+ on her paper and an A on his. Or when she told him she just wanted a relaxing night in for her 18th, but Jacob insisted on hitting up every pub in the city. She then spent the last moments of her 18th birthday rubbing Jacob’s back as he emptied his guts in the toilet. This is what best friends do though, they sacrifice, they care, and apparently they run marathons with zero training.

Finally on her feet Jacob pulls her in by her shoulders. “ Quick let’s take a selfie to remember this moment”, with wide grins facing his phone Jacob takes the picture.

“Will all runners please make their way to the starting line” the announcer says.

YN is starting to feel sick. “ You know I can always wait for you at the checkpoints and cheer”

“Yeah but where would the fun be in that? Besides you can’t leave me now, we’re at the starting line.” Dragging her feet YN follows an excited Jacob to the starting line with the rest of the runners.

The sound of the gun signals the runners to start, and they’re off…well Jacob is. YN is already at the back of the pack within 60 seconds of the race starting and her best friend is nowhere to be found.

When she finally finishes the first mile, she’s slightly winded but not awful, the second clearly wears her down though because she’s practically walking. Huffing and puffing she tries to pick her pace back up as she sees the finish line. She sees Jacob at the end cheering for her, or at least that’s what she thinks because her vision seems a little blurry and black dots are spotting her vision. Yn is almost there, almost at the end when everything goes dark.

People are laughing at her. YN can hear it as she comes to; wait is that Jacob laughing at her? Blinking her eyes open she does see him laughing but it’s joined by a woman’s laugh, a very pretty woman now that her vision is clearing up.

“Jac—“ the rasp coming from her voice is unrecognizable, but does the trick because Jacob looks down at her.

“You’re awake!” says the pretty lady on her other side.

“I’m Dr. Sams, I was the medic on the scene when you passed out. Can you tell me your name?”

—

Sitting under a cooling tent with ice packs on most of her body and being forced to chug down gatorade is probably top 5 most embarrassing moments especially since the only other person under there is a 65 year old man who threw out his knee, and said he felt too hot under the medic tent. “It’s alright doll, my first race wasn’t sunshine and rainbows either, " he says with a grin.

“Dr. Sams said you’re clear if you’re ready to go. Should probably take you home to rest.” Jacob says helping YN up. The car ride back to her apartment is dead silent besides the loud tension between Jacob’s guilt and YN's embarrassment. When he pulls into her garage Jacob decides to break the ice. “Look i’m really sorry love, you were right the marathon was not a good idea. I’m sure dehydration was not in your weekend plans.”

A sympathetic smile, the same one she always gives when Jacob screws up, graces her face. “It’s not your fault I’m an adult, and should’ve known that I was feeling way too bad to continue.”

Walking up to YN’s apartment Jacob can’t help but to be apologetic still. Laying YN on the couch and getting her a bottle of water from the fridge Jacob, trying to ease any leftover tension yells, "Well at least something good came from today?”

And honestly nothing is coming to YN’s mind, in fact, today was about as horrible as it could get for her.

She was spontaneously woken up at the crack of dawn.

The “Big Suprise” her best friend/crush for her was a damn marathon

She had to run a marathon

And lastly, she passed out in front of hundreds of people including Jacob. Yeah, there couldn’t possibly be anything good.

“The cute medic that was helping you, well we were chatting so I’m taking her out tonight!”

Mentally adding this to the list of horrible things happening today YN groans, “My head is pounding, what did you say?”

“I’ve got a date with a hot doctor babe!” he yells back gleefully.

YM closes her eyes silently hoping that what’s happening is that she’s in a dream and when she wakes up it’ll be noon, she will just now be getting up, and planning to spend the whole day in a big Tshirt (no pants of course). But when she peeks open one of her eyes she sees her best friend walking back with a glass of orange juice and some painkillers. “ Here you go, Dr. Sams said this might help with any aches or fatigue.”

Nope, not a dream, but a terrible nightmare.

Jacob finally heads out, claiming he needs to prepare for his date, leaving YN alone and feeling incredibly achey. In the 15 years she’s known Jacob he has only had a girlfriend twice.

Once in Year 9, Elizabeth Brown, ended up being on the receiving end of Jacob’s turn of a horrid “Spin the Bottle” game. Elizabeth claimed Jacob was the best kisser in the world and deemed him her boyfriend. Which to her point was very true as YN and Jacob had been practicing for years at that point. Jacob beaming with pride accepted the title for approximately 17 days before he claimed she was way too clingy and broke it off.

The next was years later in university when he dated Sasha Davies for TWO whole years. YN just knew she’d lost him. But Sasha was quite rude and incredibly judgey, so when she found out that Jacob passed up a regular job for acting, she dumped him, leaving YN to pick up the pieces. Since then Jacob had sworn off dating until he was settled in his career as a full time actor, claiming that YN and his mum were the only women he needed in his life.

So why on earth are things changing now! She thought she was all he needed, even if nothing went further than friendship. YN is not near spiteful enough to ruin a relationship, so for now she’ll just sit back and see if anything comes of this one date.

—

Unfortunately, everything comes from one date, because it turns into two and three. Then eventually Yvanne (Dr. Sams) and Jacob are practicing living together in a matter of months. It’s not that Jacob ignores YN, no, he tries to include her in almost everything the couple does. He even tries to do a weekly coffee date with YN just to check in on her, but YN can’t do it. She can’t watch him kiss and hug another woman, buy her odd but sentimental gifts, or even open the bloody car door for someone else. She can’t watch him be in love with anyone else while her heart still craves him.

So she pulls away, just slightly so he doesn’t notice. Her plan is working beautifully since Jacob is enamored with Yvanne. It simply looks as if she wants him to spend more time with his girlfriend. Well, it was working beautifully until Jacob drops an absolute bomb on her during one of their coffee dates.

“You’re going to do what!?!?! “ she screeches in the corner booth, causing too many eyes to look their way.

“Woah calm down. Look I’m going off to shoot the movie and want Yvanne to know I’m serious; that I’m in this for the long haul, for forever.”

“I think there are other ways to show you’re serious than marrying her. For fucks sake J you all haven’t been together a whole year yet!” YN fumes.

“It’ll be a longish engagement, and honestly I thought you’d be happier for me. You’re my best friend in the whole world, I haven’t even told my mum this yet.” He replies diffendently.

Now YN sees it, she sees him slipping away. It’s clear that as always, Jacob has made up his mind and in turn has decided both of their fates for them.

“You’re right, it just caught me by suprise. I’m so happy for you”

“Really”

“Of course, J, you know I just want you to be happy, you’re my best friend.” YN rewards him with a suffering smile.

For three weeks after the news YN goes completely ghost. Every call and text Jacob attempts to make goes unanswered, but she can’t do it. She can’t watch this happen or pretend to be okay, even when she thought she could. Jacob stops by her apartment at the end of week three to check on her since she’d clearly been avoiding him. But when he reaches under the ficus pot outside her apartment door he realizes it’s gone. YN had taken the key and moved it. This officially sends Jacob into a rage because that key was reserved for him, now he’s banging on her door yelling for her to “Let me in because I know you’re in there!”

A puffy-eyed YN opens the door just as Jacob raises his fist again. She’s been crying, she can’t stop, not since the day she left that cafe. “Hey J, what’s going on?”

“You’ve been ignoring me!” he says stepping into her apartment, which is shockingly a mess. She’s always been a bit of a neat freak, cleaning up everyone’s mess all the time. “You’ve been ignoring me, and you’ve been crying.”

“Oh. I’m fin—“

“Please don’t do that shit with me. The pretending, because I know you better than anyone in this world so come off it!”

For some reason this pisses YN off to a degree she’s never known before.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me, Jacob Scipio! How dare you come banging on MY door expecting anything from me, you, you selfish bastard!”

Eyebrows raised in shock Jacob uses his silence as a reply.

With tears starting to roll down her face YN cries, “ I have spent years following behind you, trying to make sure nothing ever inconveniences you. Making sure that Jacob is happy, that he’s in perfect health, that he’s got his lines down packed, and not because I wanted something in return but because I cared for you. Hell, I loved you Jacob. Then you expect me to jump for joy when you want to propose to a girl you’ve known for 9 months! So, no Jacob, you don’t know me!”

“YN, I’m so—“

“Please don’t apologize, just leave, I want to be alone.”

His head hung low Jacob turns to walk back out of her apartment. “Umm, I wanted to give you this. I hope you can make it.” he says sitting an envelope on her coffee table. When Jacob walks out that door YN expects to never see her best friend again and she crumbles to the floor letting the tears wrack through her body.

1 ½ year later —

Jacob would like to say that he couldn’t be happier. At the premier of one of the biggest movies of his life, he should be overjoyed. And don’t get him wrong, he's extremely happy and grateful. He’s a trending topic, he has his amazing cast mates, and his extremely supportive family here with him. But the one person he’s hoped to see is nowhere to be found.

When he’d left that save the date on her coffee table a year and a half ago he knew that wouldn’t solve whatever issues they had, so he had his mother send her an official invitation through the mail three months ago. Even though YN wanted nothing to do with Jacob, their lives couldn’t help but to be intertwined, they’d known each other for over half their lives.

This separation had been hell for him, as he knew it would be as soon as he left her apartment that day. He cut things off with Yvanne two days later, unable to proceed with the engagement. He spent the rest of the time thinking about how right YN was, he was a selfish bastard. Almost her whole life has been spent accommodating him and so he vowed that if he ever got the chance he would do right by his best friend.

But he couldn’t do that because for the past 550 days he hasn’t so much as heard her voice let alone seen her, and while he hopes she would show up tonight for his premiere, he also knows that it’s a long shot; a consequence of hurting the people who love you.

Jacob takes one last look as he walks into the already packed theater. Sitting next to his mom Jacob relaxes into his seat and just before the lights go down he hears a breathless “Sorry I’m late, this LA traffic is awful!”

There she is, on day 551, the only person he cared to see, his very reason for being and she sits next to him filling his lungs with fresh air and her jasmine scented perfume. “You came.”

“Well of course, I couldn’t miss you on the big screen. Plus both of our mothers threatened me.” YN says with a bright smile.

She’s different, they both are, and they can only hope that fate hasn’t given up on them yet.

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

thanks again for letting me write this for you, i had so much fun!

IDK, I’m kinda feeling a part 2 in my spirit, so lmk if that something y’all would be interested in!

also thanks for all the love on my other posts, i’m still taking requests so let them free!!!

[sapphic-agent]

Let's Talk About the Bakugou Problem

I've been enjoying the Bakugou slander here on Tumblr, but I haven't come across anyone that gets to the root of the problem with Bakugou's character yet. I think it goes further than him having anger issues, being annoying, or even how violent and abusive he is. Why I think Bakugou is a bad character is due to the effect he has on the plot, world-building, and the rest of the characters. There's a lot of layers here, so I'd like to take the time to talk as in-detail as I can while typing on mobile.

*Note: I'll be following the anime as it's easier for me to follow and pick specific examples. Manga readers if you have anything to add I'd love to hear it, even if it's against what I've listed here*

*Note: Bakugou fans you're more than welcome to read, though I warn you might not like what you see. I tried to keep this as constructive as I could without letting my own biases seep in (whether I succeeded is up for debate) so that everyone could read it whether you like Bakugou or not. I'm fine with criticism towards my points, I only ask that you remain respectful. I won't engage with anyone who disrespects me or other users*

1. Consequences

This is a big one among Bakugou critics, so I think it's a pretty good place to start. Bakugou has almost never faced actual consequences to his actions (there's a difference between something bad that happens to happen to him and the world around him not accepting his behavior). There are two instances that I can think of that there was a direct ramification to something Bakugou has done. The first was during the Deku vs Kacchan fight where Bakugou does get suspended for four days while Izuku gets suspended for three days. The other is when he and Todoroki fail the provisional licensing exam. However, there's a problem with these two instances I mentioned.

With the D vs K fight, Bakugou was the one who goaded Izuku out of the dorms and instigated a fight. Izuku was trying to get him to go back to the dorms so they could settle their "issue" under adult supervision. He was trying to do the responsible thing. For Izuku to only receive a day less of punishment seems unfair. Though, you could make the case that he should have ignored Bakugou, it's still very clear that one was way more at fault than the other and there was barely a difference in their punishment.

The provisional licensing exam actually did well with failing Bakugou. It was almost a great lesson; that he can't say and do whatever he wants and expect the world to roll over for him. Unfortunately, it's undermined by Todoroki failing as well. Yes, Todoroki failed because of Inasa. But a) Inasa attacked him first which should have resulted in disqualification (what was Todoroki supposed to do, not fight back when he was being assaulted?) and b) Inasa's entire character seems shoehorned into the story. He doesn't really add anything to Todoroki's character as most of his problems with Todoroki were already resolved back in season 2. He also contributes nothing to the overall story. Shindou, for example, has a hand in testing 1A and forces them to work together congruently. Inasa seems like he was put in the story simply to make Todoroki fail. Why does Todoroki have to fail? Because Bakugou does.

It seems like Horikoshi always softens the blow for Bakugou in a way, if he's dealt any blow at all. By not allowing Bakugou to face consequences on his own, he might as well not be facing them at all.

Why are consequences so important? Because Bakugou's privilege is a problem.

I don't think I've seen anyone address this. The root of Bakugou's behavior comes from the fact that he was allowed to do all those terrible things because the world around him was tolerant of it. Teachers turned a blind eyes when he bullied Izuku because he had a great quirk and Izuku was quirkless. He's allowed to do and say whatever he wants because he has a great quirk. While people seem to be harder on Izuku because of either having no quirk or not being able to fully control his quirk. This is a huge part of the story that was set up in the beginning, but was almost never addressed despite being persistent throughout. And it's the most present with Aizawa.

Bakugou attempts to attack a fellow student the first day of class? Simply restrained, no repercussions. Bakugou uses excessive force against a classmate despite his teacher telling him to stop? Nothing more than a few not-so-nice words. Bakugou assaults his partner and refuses to cooperate? No words at all.

Now look at Izuku. Doesn't have full control of his quirk? His teacher attempts to humiliate and expel him in front of his classmates on the first day of class. Saves a classmate in an admittedly risky rescue mission? Said teacher proclaims he lost his trust and labels him a problem child (despite the orchestrator of said mission- Kirishima- being in the same room and not getting spoken to at all).

(I don't know if Aizawa's projecting, but pandering to the kid with the strong quirk while simultaneously disliking All Might isn't a great look.)

Even before UA, Bakugou is praised by the heroes for his strong quirk against the sludge villain despite the fact that his quirk made everything worse while Izuku is scolded even though they were the ones who did nothing while he did what he could to save someone.

"All men aren't created equal." That's one of Izuku's very first lines and a central point of the story. It's something you expect it to address multiple times, especially in regards to Izuku and Bakugou. But Bakugou being spared from consequences every single time he does something terrible means that the statement is validated, but the problem still persists and is never rectified or solved. Even if you think Bakugou "changed," that doesn't make his privilege go away.

2. Plot Compensation

The story goes out of its way to make Bakugou seem like a better person than he is.

My first example is the Sports Festival, specifically his fight with Uraraka. In this fight, Bakugou is met with booing from the audience for not going easy on her. And right off the bat, this is weird. Because not only have we never seen this attitude toward women heroes before or after this, the show is trying to tell us something when Aizawa tears the crowd down. Almost as if saying, "The crowd is dumb and wrong and if you think like the crowd, you're dumb and wrong." Aizawa claims that Bakugou is treating Uraraka like a real opponent by not going easy on her.

...is he though?

Because we never see Bakugou stand still in a fight like he does with her. Bakugou's fighting style relies a lot on mobility. During his fight with Tokoyami, who he knew he had an advantage over because of the light from his quirk, he isn't standing still. During his fight with Todoroki he isn't standing still. He only does this with Uraraka. Because this isn't Bakugou showing respect, it's him still looking down on her. He doesn't see her as a serious opponent, just an obstacle in his way.

And I know this sounds like a bold claim. But if you recall, Bakugou immediately confronts Izuku after the fight and accuses him of giving Uraraka the idea she used during their match. He assumes it was a ploy from Izuku, implying that he didn't think Uraraka capable of coming up with a plan with the potential to work against him. This isn't respect for an opponent.

(Note: the only thing in Bakugou's favor is it's probably not because she's a girl. He just naturally looks down on everyone who doesn't immediately stand out to him with a show of power like Todoroki)

Then we have the revered scene with the League or Villains.

This scene is praised because it "subverts expectations." That the violent, angry kid doesn't want to be a villain. He wants to be a noble hero. Aizawa- again- silences claims against Bakugou, citing that he wants to win and he knows he can't do that if he's a villain.

My thing is, however, the League targeting him in the first place. Why would they do this? Bakugou clearly has a heroic quirk. He scored first on the entrance exam. If they did any research at all beforehand, they would know that Bakugou was at the top of his class before UA and is in the top five currently. And they'd know he has wealthy parents.

(You would think Dabi especially would draw parallels to Endeavor and would be aware that Bakugou's ambition and heroic quirk don't make him similar to the League who have been discriminated against, shunned, and abused for most of their lives. Even with his behavior at the Sports Festival, Endeavor isn't the noble and kind type like All Might and most other heroes. So I'm not sure why Bakugou's behavior immediately screamed villain potential)

Nothing about him suggests he's had a hard life like most of the League. Nothing about him suggests he'd want to leave his comfortable life and secured future to become a villain.

This scene sets up Bakugou's redemption, right? It leads us to the Deku vs Kacchan fight and All Might's advice is what makes him take on his "save to win" mentality.

But not only does this seem like a convenient plot device, it decidedly ignores the uglier part of Bakugou's decision.

Bakugou rejected the LOV because he saw them as losers. But what if they hadn't been losers? What if they had been doing as well as they were at the end of season 5? Merging and becoming the MLA front, organized teams, wealthy, successfully recruiting members right under the heroes' noses.

Maybe Bakugou wouldn't have outright joined them. But at this point before shifting his perspective, his answer might have been very different.

But the story goes out of its way to hammer in Bakugou's scarce good traits to take your focus away from his overwhelming bad ones.

3. Bakugou's Character Shift "Development"

The way Horikoshi wrote Bakugou in the beginning is very different to how he is portrayed later in the show. No, I don't mean his development. I mean the major shift in his character between seasons 1/2 and season 3/4.

Bakugou in the beginning of the show is cruel, meanspirited, and violent. And he's still all of those things throughout the show. The one difference is that it's played for laughs in later seasons.

Bakugou's actions and words in seasons 1 and 2 are portrayed a lot more serious than in later seasons. He's an antagonistic force, one that Izuku has to strive to overcome not just to be a good hero, but for himself as Bakugou has been one of the most prominent obstacles in his strive to become a hero.

Look at his behavior during the battle trials. It's something serious, something that has even All Might worried. Bakugou knew he could have very well killed Midoriya and didn't care. It's brutal and almost hard to watch because at this point in the show Midoriya is weak and tiny (visually, we know he's never really been weak) compared to Bakugou and can really only outsmart him to win.

We never see Bakugou display anything close to this level of violence in later seasons. Not in the Sports Festival or 1A vs 1B or D vs K or the licensing exam or even against literal villains. Season 1 went out of its way to show Bakugou's cruel behavior even using it as something Izuku has to learn how to overcome even if he has to risk everything.

By season 3, the perspective has changed. Bakugou name calling people, belittling people, yelling, and his acts of violence are now exaggerated for comedy. None of his actions are taken as seriously as they were before, despite some being almost or just as bad.

(It's worth mentioning that this was also around the time Bakugou began to get popular among fans)

A great example of this is in season 5 when he throws his headpiece at Izuku and makes him bleed. His casual act of his aggression towards his lifelong victim is present to make the audience laugh, despite the fact that Izuku was bleeding and the 1A boys are (rightfully) horrified.

(I'd like to add that there was no real reason to do this. Nothing he was saying would have exposed OFA and even if it had, he was done talking by the time Bakugou threw it)

If Bakugou had really changed at this point, this would have never happened in the first place. I can't call this changing or development, I call this his actions shifting into comedic relief and away from the serious connotations they previously held. By taking that away, it allows Bakugou to continue to do the same things he has all his life while under the guise of development. It undermines what's supposed to be his redemption arc.

4. Other Characters

Bakugou isn't the only one who gets a character shift. It's approximately the moment that Bakugou begins to get more attention that the other characters lose the substance they had at the beginning of the show.

The ones hit most notably by this are obviously Uraraka and Iida. They were Izuku's first friends, his original trio. More than that, they are set up as interesting characters with their own arcs and paths for becoming great heroes.

Even though I did have my complaints about her fight with Bakugou in the Sports Festival, it does turn Uraraka onto improving past her goal of becoming a rescue hero. She wants to become better in other aspects of being a hero so that she can succeed and keep up with her stronger classmates. She proved herself capable of this during her fight with Bakugou and it was the catalyst of her character development.

Iida was not only resolving himself with caring for Midoriya as a friend as well as being his rival and wanting to surpass him. There's also this darker side to him that no one expects from goody two shoes, straight-laced Iida that had so much potential for exploration.

Both of them are tossed to the side in favor of Bakugou. I would even go as far as to say that after season 2, they're almost irrelevant until season 6 and even then they're limited (before season 6 Uraraka's only character trait is that she ignores he feelings for Midoriya to become a better hero, which came out of nowhere and does nothing for her character). And they barley ever get moments with Izuku during time despite being his first friends.

Todoroki is a similar yet very different case. At the beginning of the show, he was intense and has strong feelings. (An interesting parallel is that if Iida was his friend becoming his rival, Todoroki was his rival becoming his friend and both relationships speak to Izuku as a character) Even if he didn't express them, we as the audience knew they were there. But as times passes he becomes flat and dull. Even though he's supposed to be part of the new trio, he's barley present (the dynamic between the three of them is uninteresting all around as it's basically Bakugou yelling at Izuku with Todoroki in the background. They never have any deep or heartfelt moments nor do they have good chemistry) and barely gets any one-on-one interaction with Izuku despite them being very good friends.

(I can't blame this all on Bakugou as the show also shifts from focusing to Todoroki to focusing on his own abuser which is part of the issue with his lack of character, but Bakugou's character does contribute to this problem of making the abusers more sympathetic than the victims)

Most if not the rest of 1A fade into the background after this, save for a few who have notable moments sprinkled in throughout the show. You can take this as a Bakugou prevalence problem, or it can be seen as Horikoshi just not knowing how to balance characters.

However, the character that suffers the most because of this is Izuku himself.

I don't think it's a bad thing that Izuku admires or looks up to Bakugou. I don't think it's a problem that he doesn't see anything wrong with Bakugou's behavior against him. Izuku grew up in an environment where that was normalized. That he's worthless because of his lack of quirk and Bakugou deserves to be on top because of his great quirk. Of course he internalized that, even though he knows that a quirk doesn't determine someone's worth. He was never given the tools or the means to beat that mindset.

What I despise is the fact that everyone around him enables it.

As I stated above, Aizawa is definitely the worst when it comes to this. Not only shoving Bakugou and Izuku together and making it Izuku's job to get Bakugou to cooperate, but hardly if ever condemning Bakugou when he lashes out against Izuku. Even without their history, what Bakugou does is wrong and should be treated as such.

Unfortunately and even though I love All Might, he's also guilty of this. It's true that he might not know the full extent of their toxic relationship, but All Might sees Bakugou instigate a fight with Izuku and decides it's okay to tell Bakugou about One For All. Bakugou did nothing to earn this honor: he hasn't shown Izuku support and hasn't been a reliable ally he could depend on. But even disregarding that, Bakugou had just been captured by villains who work for All For One. He was the last person on Earth who should have been entrusted with this secret.

The adults in Izuku's life enable and reward Bakugou's bad behavior and urge them into forming a relationship and partnership that frankly shouldn't exist (and only does to make Bakugou a better person and hero, it does nothing for Izuku). It's to the point where almost Izuku's entire character revolves around his relationship with Bakugou and how he improves because of it and how he helps Bakugou improve. And he further projects this when he "subtly" implies that Todoroki should forgive Endeavor, which feels like a justification towards the audience of his own feelings towards Bakugou.

5. Accountability

I mentioned consequences as my first point. But what many who want this miss, it goes hand-in-hand with accountability.

Unlike consequences, Bakugou more or less does take accountability in the form of his apology. But the apology was lackluster for a couple of reasons. The main thing is that it feels like a list of excuses rather than simply owning up to the fact that he was shitty and there's really no good reason for it. But simply explaining why you hurt the person you hurt isn't giving them the apology they deserve. It's making it about you.

Another thing, though, is that the apology is very scarce. It skips over the worst of Bakugou's actions. Nothing he said was anything 1A didn't already know. They don't know about the s*icide baiting which is one of the worst things he's done to Izuku (and that's only what we saw, who knows what Bakugou's been saying for years?). It also ignores everything he did in UA, which was a very big part of the problem. He treated Izuku poorly months prior to the apology and that shouldn't be ignored.

As far as accountability goes this apology isn't that great. But it's something. No, what's worse is that the other characters don't hold Bakugou accountable.

The other characters more often than not turn a blind eye to Bakugou's behavior. We've already covered Aizawa, but the rest of 1A is guilty of this too. No one says anything about the Battle Trials. Hardly anyone condemns Bakugou when he attacks or insults Izuku. Sometimes they'll chime in like Uraraka or Kirishima, but other than that no one outright tells him off. This is out of character for Iida in particular because he's such a stickler about rules and courtesy for others (he literally told off a six year old when he punched Izuku and tried to stop Mineta from perving on the girls, why wouldn't he do the same when it comes to Bakugou?). It's almost like the characters are blind to Bakugou's behavior.

What's weirder is that Mina and Kirishima- who were both stated to hate bullying- are friends with him. Why would the show go out of its way to tell us this only to saddle them into the "BakuSquad?" It doesn't make sense.

It's hypocritical that everyone in 1A is so tolerant of Bakugou but get annoyed with others; like Monoma for example. Or even Mineta because as much as I dislike him he's constantly being called out by 1A. It means that they know certain behavior is wrong and/or shouldn't be entertained, so we know they aren't completely unaware. But the fact that they largely ignore Bakugou's behavior and condemn Monoma's is so weird. You can't excuse one and not the other.

Conclusion

There's certainly more than this to my dislike of Bakugou. But I think I've mostly covered his negative impact on the story. Doing a deep dive into his awful personality is something I wouldn't wish on anyway. Many others have done that anyway, so I'm content to leave it out. But I hope you liked my little breakdown!

[chaifootsteps]

missing the days when Ozzie was not too subtly shaming Stolas for destroying his family under the guise of 'wow I'm the sin of lust but you really take the cake! kudos!'

like sure he knows Stolas said he has feelings for Blitzo now, but it's annoying how neatly the show just let Stolas sidestep what actually happened when he got the crystal from Ozzie in Oops

knowing that everyone is likely to be on Stolas' side now, Fizz and Ozzie seem guaranteed to do that since Viv has set them up to think so. if it was another show this would be a way to show how people can come to faulty conclusions based on incomplete evidence (Fizz, Ozzie, Verosika) but knowing HB it's just going to be an excuse for them all to gang up on Blitzo for breaking poor Stolas' heart

even the characters who do know what happened probably aren't going to give Blitzo a break or even any sympathy (looking at IMP), which is just ghastly imo.

the Ozzie's fallout was constructed like it was going to address the full moon deal but all that really happened was Stolas handing over the crystal so Viv could fast walk the show to 'OK, he's in the clear now! everything is 100% Blitzo's fault from this point on! forget about the fact a coercive sex deal that was Stolas' idea happened for an idea season - everyone else already has!'

if I was Blitzo, I'd feel seriously let down that no one in his life took a single minute to ask about how he feels, if he needs help, if he's OK. there were any number of red flags in this situation that IMP and Fizz could have noticed, but all of them are asking like they've forgotten or they haven't noticed. the only one I give a tiny pass to on that front is Verosika, since her perspective is obviously clouded by anger and she's projecting onto Stolas (she's still got the wrong idea, but it's not as bad as IMP who know full well what's going on or Fizz and Ozzie who should be able to figure it out)

how is it Striker is the only one who heard about the transactional thing?

Oh lord, those were the days, weren't they? Back when Ozzie and Fizz were as cunty as they were in love, when Ozzie didn't hesitate to tell Stolas "Boy, you fucked up your goddamn entire life", and when Stolas appeared to be sitting on those steps with his delusional bubble well and truly popped. It's like looking back on an entirely different show now.

It's like Striker's the only one who sees the full moon deal for the completely fucked up thing that it is, and Viv is absolutely hellbent on punishing him for that.

[sinsandsweetness]

“craving” - part 3 of PICK YOUR POISON - (a dads best friends love story)

part 1 and 2

pairing- (Daryl x fem!reader)

warnings- 18+ content, oral (r!giving), reader being a sneaky lil slut… (drunk off sangria while posting so might not be proofread hehe) 2.6k wc

“Cute skirt,” you feel Shane’s hand graze your lower back as he squeezes between you and the countertop. Making his way to the fridge for another beer. “You uh, wear that just for us?”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile while peeling what feels like the hundredth carrot of the afternoon.

He glances up, checking to make sure that your father is still deep in conversation with Rick, way over in the living room. And with a brand new, cold beer in his hand, he presses himself behind you, trapping you against the counter. His free hand coming up and brushing your hair out of the way, to leave a sweet kiss on your neck. You can’t help but smile, loving the way his lips feel on your skin. But you gasp when his hand comes down and squeezes your ass, under your skirt. Silently scolding him with your eyes, and stepping away from him. You’d already had a close call with Shane already. You didn’t need to be testing the waters any further.

He only chuckles and makes his way back to the living room, joining in on the conversation between Rick and your father. Something about the job that Deanna has put your dad in charge of. The construction team was doing another expansion, building more and more houses to fit all the newcomers.

Adding all the carrots to a bowl, you look up and notice Daryl making his way to the porch, slipping on his faded, leather jacket. A lighter and a pack of cigarettes in hand. Sweet. Just what you need.

He’s leaned up against the side of the house when you finally get to him. Your bare feet in the cool grass, having only pulled on a cardigan to stay warm in the chilly fall air. He smiles when he sees you, a cheeky, no good, expression splayed on his handsome face.

“Think I could borrow one?” You ask, standing right in front of him, already reaching for the pack in his jacket pocket, before he mumbles a knowing, “Mhm.”

“Light?” You ask, cigarette held to your lips, waiting for him to light it. And he does. Bringing his hand up to block the wind, other one sparking the flame. You take a drag in and lean in as close as you can, letting the smoke tumble out of your soft lips, practically grazing his own. Mindlessly, his hand makes its way to your waist as you lean further into him. One hand on his chest, and the other holding the smoke.

“You can just never behave, can you?” He asks, already knowing what the answer will be.

“Nope.” You smile, tipping your head up and closing the gap between you, pressing your lips against his, hand coming up to the back of his neck to pull him in deeper. The smokes are quickly thrown to the concrete and forgotten. Pulling you against him and tangling his own hands in your hair. Tongues dancing over eachother, him tasting of beer and tobacco. You, of mint and lipgloss. The smell of him, that familiar concoction of smoke and leather, it’s intoxicating. Breathing heavy as you pull at his belt, getting ready to kneel for him, right there in your parents backyard.

“Wait-” his rough hand grabs your own, halting you from taking things any further. He’s breathing heavy too.

“We can’t.”

Immediately you groan. Annoyed and defeated.

Fucking hell. All of them. “we can’t”, “we shouldn’t”, “this is wrong”. It’s all you’d heard from the men for weeks. And while Rick and Shane were a little easier to seduce, breaking down enough to take care of you at least, Daryl had stayed relatively strong. The furthest you’d gotten was a rather heavy make out session in the truck. And he’d halted your hips the second you tried grinding down on him. Searching for any friction between the denim of his jeans and the lace of your panties that you craved so desperately, but he wouldn’t budge.

And now, when all you wanna do is wrap your pretty, glittery lips around his cock, he remains just a strong.

“Daryl, come on,” you whine, stealing another open mouthed kiss. Seemingly the only thing he didn’t feel the need to object. “Don’t you want me?”

“‘Course- fuck- of course I do.” He tugs you by the hair, facing his deep blue eyes. “I do.”

“Then why won’t you fuck me already?”

“We agreed-”

“Screw the agreement. Take me upstairs. Please. After supper, when my dad falls asleep on the couch. Take me upstairs and fuck me so hard I forget my own name.”

He blinks slowly. Keeping his eyes shut for a second to compose himself. Thinking about all the things he’d love to do to you if he did decide to follow you up to your bedroom. White walls and pink sheets. Soft and sweet, just like you.

His tone is firm when he finally speaks.

“We’ve been over this, sweetheart. Not happening.”

Bummer.

You take the rejection with an understanding nod. Being sure to slowly rake your hands down his abdomen, under his jacket, and give him one last peck. Quickly running your thumb over his lips, wiping the evidence of your watermelon lipgloss off his mouth. You give him a coy smile over your shoulder when heading back inside.

Unaware of the way that Daryl wanted to physically kick himself for saying no. Fists clenched by his sides with his eyes closed. Regretting not just taking the opportunity. Regretting not just letting you undo that damn belt and have your way with him, right outside in the backyard of your parents house. Knowing you’d show up for dinner with bruised knees and damp panties. Waiting in anticipation for whatever he might do to you after supper when he’d have you all alone in your bedroom.

Such a damn shame.

Your mother decided to eat on the deck with your aunt and her husband. With their annoying ass kids too. She’d invited you to sit with them, but the open seat next to Rick was way too tempting.

Shane is the weakest, by far. If you were measuring their strength by how likely they were to fuck you, that is. He hadn’t yet, but you’d like to believe that you’re making progress. Rick wants to. You know that. He wants you so bad it actually hurts. And fuck, if he hadn’t felt tempted the other week, upstairs in your bedroom, with his face between your thighs, giving you your second (and most intense) orgasm of the day. The way you begged him to fuck you right then and there had his mind spinning and his dick swelling. But unfortunately, his moral dilemma was saved by the sound of your father calling you downstairs, to introduce you to some new neighbours. And Rick couldn’t help but sigh in relief at the realization that he didn’t have to actually say “no”.

And as always, he’s attempted to claim you as his own. His hand won’t leave your thigh from under the table, as you pick at the turkey and potato’s on your plate. Glancing at him with an innocent smile every now and then. Tingles erupting as he moves his thumb in circles against your skin, all while listening intently to your father go on about all the work around Alexandria that needs to be done before snowfall. Daryl’s sat next to Rick. Replaying the conversation with you from outside, over and over in his head as he shovels the mashed potato’s into his mouth. Thinking about how badly he wanted to give in. To tangle his hands in your hair and guide those rosy lips right on to his dick, fucking your throat and then cumming all over your pretty face. And then Shane, next to your dad, who can’t stop playing footsies with you from under the table. Giving you that fucking smirk that you just wanna kiss right off his face. As if his smile belonged against your lips, and nowhere else.

“Sweetheart, I think me and the boys could use another round. You mind going to the garage and grabbing us some more beers?” Your father gets up, his voice snapping you out of your sinful daydreams.

“Uh- sure.” You smile politely, standing up from the table, and pulling your skirt down in a failed attempt at being modest. You hesitate, heart beating fast while watching your father go up for a second plate of food and then head outside to the deck. Probably just checking in on your mother. Making sure that her and the others were all doing ok and didn’t need another drink themselves.

You don’t even really register what you’re doing until you’re under the table. Moving fast in order to effectively use the moment that your father is finally occupied. Confusion quickly setting on each man’s face until you’re settled between Daryl’s knees. On the floor, completely hidden by the tablecloth. Hands going straight to Daryl’s belt, unclasping it and grabbing the impressively large stiffy he’d been hiding under the table all night.

“Fuck.” You heard him gasp from above. Shane letting out a surprised huff of amusement and Rick whispering something inaudible.

You slip your hand into his boxers and pull him out, licking your lips and then placing a sweet kiss on his tip.

“Oh shit, she’s- fuck.” Daryl’s thighs are tensed as he starts to wrap his mind around what’s actually happening. Around the fact that you’re on your knees in front of him. Glossy lips wrapped around his cock, while your dads right outside, and his best friends are right there.

You take him into your mouth, slowly bobbing up and down, paying close attention to his reactions. To what makes him drop his fork on the table and grunt. Gasping and straining to keep in the sounds you so desperately want to hear come from his throat.

You keep going even when you hear the sliding door to the deck open. Your father returning to the table and continuing his conversation from before. Not that you had been listening. Far too busy thinking about what each man would taste like if they had the decency to put you on your knees, like you’ve asked them to over and over.

“You hear about that run that Deana was planning? She said she’d talk to you about it but I didn’t know if she ever got around to…”

Your father kept talking. Blissfully unaware of the absolutely filthy performance taking place beneath the tablecloth. How on earth Daryl was keeping it together, you had no idea. Holding yourself up with your hands gripping at his thighs, muscles flexed in what you assume is pleasure. But it’s likely that his nerves are playing a roll as well.

Rick makes sure to keep your fathers attention. Asking questions and chatting along. The perfect distraction as you continue the borderline torture on Daryl’s cock. And though you can’t see it, he’s trying his very best to keep it together. Slow blinks, glancing down at his plate of food. Fingers gripping his utensils so hard they could snap. Doing everything in his control to keep breathing like a normal person. To not tip his head back and moan out your name. And Rick and Shane are doing a surprisingly wonderful job at being your accomplices, distracting your father with simple, mundane conversation. Enough to take any focus off the fact that Daryl was a minute away from cumming down your throat. Torn between wanting to last longer and wanting to hurry up so that he didn’t have to hide his reactions any longer.

You assume he’s getting close. His knees becoming all shifty, involuntarily twitching from how good your mouth feels. So warm and wet and taking him all the way down. You feel a hand lace into your hair, though a little confused because you’re pretty sure it isn’t Daryl’s. Coming from beside him, having reached over so nonchalantly, Rick pushes your head down. Clearing his throat at the same time that you inevitably gag on Daryl’s dick. Hiding the noise. And at that, Daryl just about lost it. Every nerve in his body is on fire and you want to taste him so fucking bad. Want to drink down every last drop of whatever he gives you. You reach your own hand down inbetween your legs and press the pads of your fingers to the cotton panties covering your clit. Rubbing little circles to ease your own needs. Dipping lower and realizing that there’s a wet spot from your arousal. Because sucking Daryl off was turning you on. And if he knew that, he wouldn’t have lasted another second.

“Thought your girl was grabbing us another beer?” Shane asks finally bringing attention to the fact that you aren’t sitting at the table. At least not to your dads knowledge.

“Yeah, I thought so. I’ll run to the garage. See if she got distracted with the bar. Gal sure loves her cocktails, I’ll tell you that much.”

Does she ever.

You hear your father walk down the hall, towards the garage. At the same time, Daryl let’s out the breath he’s holding and his hips buck up involuntarily. So fucking close you can tell.

“You got thirty seconds, baby.” Rick warns you. Well, both you and Daryl. That you need to make him come now. Otherwise, daddy’s gonna find out your dirty little secret. And wouldn’t that be such a shame. The fun part’s only just started.

Daryl moans. Louder than you expected but immediately after, you feel him tense up and your mouth fills with his salty fluid. You swallow around him. No hesitation whatsoever. It’s not like you could leave any evidence. And without even helping him get his pants done back up, you crawl past Ricks legs, making sure to use his thigh as a support beam to get back up and slink into your seat. Taking a napkin from the table and wiping your mouth. Giving your best doe eyes to the three men. All of them sporting equally impressed expressions. Not even a hint of jealousy present from Rick, which you found a little odd. Maybe your little show turned them all on. Not just Daryl. And when you look over at the bowman, his face is red. Crimson blush covering his cheeks as he buckles up and straightens himself out. Rick and Shane lightly shaking their heads in disbelief with the sexiest smiles forming on their faces.

“You are somethin’ else, princess. My god.” Shane laughs, kicking your foot under the table. And you can only smile back before you hear the door open and your father come waltzing back into the dining area.

“Where the hell were you? Y’forgot about our beer.” You father says, handing one to each man at the table.

“Sorry - uh- I had to use the washroom. Got distracted.” You smile politely, taking a sip of your own drink as you feel the heat rise to your own cheeks.

“Course you did. Can you grab the pie, pumpkin? Think everyone’s about done eating.”

You nod and get up, sauntering towards the fridge, grabbing the pie along with a can of whipped cream. You make sure to look directly at Rick and Daryl while you shake the can and line your index finger with the sugary fluff. Maintaining eye contact as you lick it up and suck the cream off your finger. Rick rolls his eyes, unable to hide the smirk forming on his face. And Daryl shoots you a warning glare from across the table.

You did warn him you weren’t going to behave. Just decided to prove it too.

part 4

-

(Ricks part is up next bbs<3 )

taglist - @rickswh0r3 @elnyrae @catt-leya @murder-jacket @miinbun @ankhmutes @eternalrose81 @cl0wnb0yyy @grimesthinker @whatthefuuuck @imyourbratzdoll

[physalian]

The Dos and Don’ts of Giving and Receiving Constructive Criticism

Some of these should be painfully obvious and yet. They come from experience.

Receiving feedback:

Do

Understand that a criticism of a character’s thoughts, actions, morality, and choices are likely not a criticism of you as an author, unless the character is an author insert

Understand that they are being paid to critique how successfully you told an entertaining story, not pander to your trauma dumping

Understand that critiquing a book’s success as an entertaining story means that how much you yourself connect with or love a character or scene or plotline is irrelevant if it doesn’t make a compelling narrative

You might have written your book for yourself. Your editor is a different person with their own human biases and perspectives. If you just want to pay someone to stoke your ego, make that 100% clear up front.

Stand up for yourself and clarify where necessary if some details were overlooked or if explaining outside the narrative can better contextualize anything confusing or lacking detail.

Stand up for yourself in what feedback you are expecting, and what degree of criticism you’re willing to endure. An editor can let more or less of their own views show depending on what you ask for.

Stand up for yourself if your editor delivers inadequate or useless feedback. You’re paying them for a job, and you deserve to have it done properly.

Try to separate dislike of a book from dislike of yourself. It’s not easy, but the goal is to fix your book that you’ve already spent a lot of time writing, and they’re only trying to help.

Remember that your author insert is subjected to the same level of criticism as any other character, and that you asked for this.

Keep an open mind and be prepared for feedback that you don’t like, because you can’t please everyone. Your editor should be able to tell you whether or not a scene or character, or plotline works separate from their own personal tastes.

Don’t

Argue with your editor over their religiosity or lack thereof and insist that adhering to genre expectations means they “worship the god of [genre]”. (really, argue with your editor over anything like this, e.g. their own sexuality, religiosity, gender, socioeconomic status).

Argue with your editor while still expecting more work from them as if your aggression will in any way positively impact their perception of your book.

Insult your editor’s intelligence for not understanding your jargon and attempts to sound smarter than you are.

Get mad when your editor sees right through your BS and calls it like they see it, specifically your self-insert Mary Sue protagonist.

Insist that the solution to better understanding your book is for that editor to do extensive homework on your niche topic. If it’s a niche book for niche audiences, hire an editor who’s already knowledgeable about that niche topic.

Equate a bad review and opinion of the book with unprofessionalism. These can overlap, but they are not interchangeable.

Forget that your book is probably meant for leisure and entertainment, and your audience is under no obligation to read “until it gets good,” when they can go do literally anything else. Your first job is to entertain, if you write fiction.

Giving Feedback:

Do

Pay attention to your client’s wants and needs and expectations. If they’re more sensitive to bad feedback, do your best and stay as objective as possible. You can’t please everyone, either.

Helpful feedback includes an explanation of why an element needs work and how it can be improved. Saying “I hate this” with nothing else helps no one and just makes the author feel bad with no direction of how to make it better.

Communicate beforehand how much of your own personality your author wants from you. Do they like personal opinions and your personal reactions to the text, or do they want it as impersonal as possible and solely focused on the structure of the narrative? This might avoid a mess.

Remember to leave notes of where things worked well to balance the criticism. Even a simple “this is good” highlighting a line or a paragraph or two helps keep authors motivated to keep writing. I firmly believe that no book is completely unsalvageable.

Make it painfully clear with no room for debate that criticism of a character is not criticism of the author, unless it's an author insert, in which case the author absolutely asked for it.

Make it clear that you are just one person and these are all suggestions, not laws.

Don’t

Let your own personal opinions cloud your judgment of whether or not someone with different tastes could enjoy the book.

Unless given permission, get too personal with the narrative and reach beyond what’s written on the page.

Do more than what you’re paid for. You’re an editor, not a therapist for the writer’s trauma dumping.

Forget to wrap up all your thoughts in a condensed format that the author can reference, as opposed to endlessly scrolling through the manuscript trying to summarize your points for you.

Walk away with absolutely nothing positive to say about the manuscript. Even if it’s awful on every front, the writer still tried and that deserves merit.

This is from my personal experience beta and sensitivity reading, and dealing with other beta and sensitivity readers. We are all human and these jobs are not one-size-fits-all and there aren’t really hardline rules as every author, editor, and manuscript is different with different needs.

Just some things to keep in mind.

But also, for the authors who do write self-insert Mary Sues: You are in for a very rude awakening if you expect anyone other than yourself to adore your book with zero criticism. If you really just want someone to proofread and look for typos, tell them.

[weirdsht]

For Your Safety - Alberu/Reader

a/n: this is like writing practice. I want to write more soft yandere fics but I can't so I'm trying to get a feel for it. Tips and advice are appreciated hehe, just note that I'm not a fan of overly violent yandere's

tags: male reader, fiance reader, yandere Alberu, hints of isolation, hints of possessiveness, nothing too bad, very self-indulgent

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

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Alberu is kneeling. The future king of the Roan Kingdom, the most promising kingdom right now, is kneeling while hugging someone’s leg.

Your leg

You’re the only one who can bring such a powerful man to his knees. The only one whose ground every step he will worship.

The love of his life.

Everyone knows of this. They know just how much the crown prince treasures you. How he will do anything to make you happy.

However, right now he was trying to appease you. Trying to make you do something something you do not like.

“I can fight too! I can also wield a sword if necessary.”

You tried to argue. Trying to not be swayed by the loving circles your fiance is tracing on your legs. His other hand playing with the ends of your coat.

“I know my love. But it’s better if you stay here. It’s difficult to know what White Star will do once you are out of my sight.”

Alberu argues back and you would have relented by now if he hadn’t been keeping you in his palace for months now.

“But I’m practically on house arrest! I can’t live like this forever!“

You huffed, annoyed at him and his antics.

“It won’t be forever. After everything is settled you’ll be able to go out again.”

‘Under my surveillance of course.’

The crown prince kept the last part to himself. While he understands your need to venture out he honestly thinks that the situation right now is quite fine.

You’re here, under his wing.

Under his watch.

Plus, it’s not as if you need anything or anyone else when you get him. He can provide you with anything you’ll ever want. It’s your right as his fiance.

So stop arguing with him already and stay in his palace like the good boyfriend you are.

“But…”

Your argument did not make it past your lips as he kissed you. Trying to silence you and end this whole argument.

And honestly, it’s working.

You have always been weak when it comes to your fiance. Everyone says that Alberu always adheres to your whims. What they don’t know is that you also always adhere to his.

One kiss and you’re putty in his hands. All of your previous concerns going away.

Just like right now.

Alberu knows this and always uses it to his advantage. 

“Please just stay here? Just for a little while longer?”

The quarter Dark Elf cupped your face with his hands. His previously kneeling figure is now on the bed with you. His legs trapping your own, as if saying that you won’t be able to leave either way.

“...Fine”

You relented and Alberu smiled at you, happy that you now see eye to eye. 

For a moment you think you saw his eyes glimmer with possessiveness. However, it was gone as soon as it arrived, making you think it had been your imagination.

Plus your lover who always has everyone’s best intentions in mind could never look such a way.

…Right?

“Wait does this mean I can’t attend the rewards ceremony?”

You tugged the hem of his coat. Begging for him to say otherwise.

“Don’t worry we’ll attend it together. I’m sure everyone will be even more happy once you grace them with your presence.”

Alberu’s hold moved onto your sides as he kissed your temple and you swear you melted again.

“But do stay by my side love. We suspect White Star will be watching as well.”

To be honest, if it was possible he doesn’t want White Star to even look at you. Even if it’s through a screen. You’re too precious for such a man to lay his vile gaze on.

Alberu’s hold on tightened and you became concerned.

“Love? Are you okay? If you want I won’t attend the rewards ceremony…”

Your fiance loosened his grip on your sides and shook his head. He laid his head on your shoulders, inhaling your scent.

“No no, you must be there. You must stay by my side…”

He reassured you as he continued to hold you in his arms.

“As long as you stay by my side everything would be fine.”

Alberu wasn’t just talking about the upcoming ceremony. It was a vow that he would uphold for as long as you lived.

Aren’t you glad to have such a loving fiance like him?