#but god this one was so much worse than the one i was at the other night

[kiwriteswords]

And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like, "I love you."

AN: Since you guys seem to like the Shy!Reader drabbles!

Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader!

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: Everyone

TW: shy!reader, alcohol mention

Five times you were shy around Aaron Hotchner because of your underlying feelings for him + one time, Aaron Hotchner was shy around you because of his underlying feelings for you.

one.

The office was unusually quiet, save for the occasional rustle of papers and the soft hum of computers. The rest of the team was out in the field, leaving just you and Aaron Hotchner behind to finish reviewing the case files for the next briefing.

You glanced at the clock. It was just after 6 p.m. Most people would be winding down their day, but for the BAU, the hours always seemed to blend together. Of course, you didn’t mind—working with the best agents in the FBI was an honor, but working directly under Aaron Hotchner, your team leader and a respected figure in the bureau? That was something else entirely.

And today, you were supposed to help him with the case files for the recent kidnapping case. Alone.

“Ready?” His deep voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you nearly jumped. You didn’t have the time to dissect why this man--your boss, made you feel this way. As if every time he looked at you, it felt like he could see things differently--more than anyone else. You felt a level of exposure you were not quite used to. It wasn’t bad, no. Just made you feel sort of funny inside. 

“Uh, yes, yes, sir. Just—just a second.” You scrambled to gather your papers, your hands suddenly clammy as you fumbled with the file in front of you. Great start, you mentally scolded yourself.

You could feel his eyes on you, calm and patient, as you tried to compose yourself. Hotch, with his sharp features and intense gaze, sat down beside you at the long conference table, his presence commanding even though he said nothing. As usual, he was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, tie still impeccably knotted despite the long day.

He always looked so put together, so composed, and here you were, barely able to keep from dropping the entire file on the floor.

And that was the thing about Aaron Hotchner’s microscope; it was never him purposefully looking at you--through you with judgment. Just through a different lens, you could feel it. 

“Okay,” you breathed out, finally opening the folder and staring at the first page, willing yourself to focus. But of course, all you could focus on was him sitting beside you, his arm brushing ever so slightly against yours as he leaned in to review the documents.

Hotch’s voice broke the silence again. “I noticed some inconsistencies in the witness statements,” he said, pointing at a section in the report. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the proximity making your heartbeat quicken.

“Right, um, inconsistencies. Yes, I—I saw those too,” you stammered, your voice just a little higher than usual. You could feel your cheeks burning. Pull it together.

As you reached to turn the page, your fingers trembled slightly, and the edges of the papers crinkled under your grip. You cursed yourself internally. He’s going to think I don’t know what I’m doing.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hotch glance at you. His brow furrowed, not in frustration, but in something softer—concern, maybe? Before you could stop yourself, you began speaking too fast, trying to fill the silence.

“I mean, the statements are definitely off, like you said. I was just thinking, you know, we could um, cross-check them against the surveillance footage from the convenience store and maybe, uh, match the timestamps, because—well, um, obviously, you’ve probably already thought of that, but I just thought…”

You trailed off when you realized Hotch wasn’t looking at the file anymore. He was looking at you. And oh god, that made things so much worse. You felt the tips of your ears burning now, and you quickly looked down at the paper in front of you, pretending to reread the same line over and over just to avoid his gaze.

“You’re doing fine,” Hotch said softly, his voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts.

You looked up, blinking in surprise. His expression was calm, reassuring even, as though he could sense how flustered you were. For a moment, you thought you saw the tiniest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I—thanks,” you managed to say, your voice barely a whisper. You bit your lip, cursing yourself for sounding so meek. This was Aaron Hotchner—your boss, your colleague. And yet, here you were, acting like a nervous schoolgirl with a crush.

Well, because you did have a crush. A big one. A ridiculous, all-consuming crush that you had been battling for months now. And being this close to him, feeling his presence so close—it was like your brain short-circuited every time. His cologne, his energy--everything that surrounded your senses was just like a drug making your brain work in ways it really shouldn’t be when you have a job to do.

Hotch nodded, his attention returning to the file in front of you, but the moment didn’t pass unnoticed. The air between you felt different now--lighter. As if he understood, on some level, that your nerves weren’t because of the case, but because of him. 

You worked in silence after that, the tension slowly ebbing away. But every now and then, you caught him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, as if he was still watching, still noticing.

And for the first time, you let yourself wonder if maybe, just maybe, Aaron Hotchner noticed you too.

two.

It had already been a morning and a half. The team had gathered for a debrief, with everyone scattered around their desks reviewing the latest case notes. You felt the weight of exhaustion after the last long night, and from the looks of it, so did everyone else. It was natural for these long hours to catch up to you all eventually. 

“Coffee run?” you asked, glancing around at the others. JJ and Spencer immediately nodded, followed by Morgan flashing you a grateful smile.

“I could use about three cups,” Emily quipped, massaging her temples.

You smiled back and quickly made your way to the break room. As you stood by the machine, the familiar hum of it brewing filled the room. You glanced at the lineup of mugs in your arms, including the one you had specifically set aside for Hotch. His was easy to pick out—simple, just like the man himself.

For some reason, even the simple act of grabbing coffee for him made you feel jittery. Maybe it was because of the way he always carried himself—calm, collected, completely in control. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you, like he was always assessing, always paying attention.

Or maybe it was because you had the world’s most inconvenient crush on your boss.

You sighed and shook your head. It's just coffee. Be normal.

When the machine finally finished, you loaded the cups and returned to the bullpen. As you handed the team their drinks, your nerves started to build as you approached Hotch’s office. His door was slightly ajar, and through the gap, you could see him typing away on his computer, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You knocked softly, pushing the door open a little wider. “Coffee?”

Hotch glanced up, his eyes softening for a brief moment as he saw you standing there, juggling the last two mugs. “Thank you,” he said, his voice warm but as professional as always.

You stepped forward, holding out his cup. “Uh, here,” you said, your voice coming out a little I quickly. As he reached for it, your fingers accidentally brushed against his.

The contact was fleeting but sent a jolt through your whole body. Your breath hitched, and suddenly, you were hyper-aware of how close he was. Your heart thudded against your ribcage, and you swore he must have heard it. You tried to ignore how your hand trembled slightly, but it was impossible with Hotch standing right there.

For a second, he didn’t move. His gaze flickered down to your hand, then back up to meet your eyes, and you could have sworn there was a flicker of amusement in his expression as if he was beginning to catch on to the hold he had over you. He took the cup from you carefully, his touch deliberate and slow. 

“Thank you,” he repeated, but this time, there was something softer in his tone. His lips curved ever so slightly—a small smile, barely noticeable if you weren’t paying attention, but you were. You always were.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. Why am I such a mess around him?

“Oh—uh, no problem,” you managed to stammer, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. You took a step back, desperate to escape before you embarrassed yourself further. “Enjoy your coffee, Hotch.”

You turned to leave, feeling your face burn with embarrassment. Behind you, you heard him chuckle softly—a rare sound, one that sent another rush of heat through you. You could only hope he didn’t notice how flustered you were. But then again, judging by that tiny smile, he already had.

three.

A grueling case with long hours and high tension called for alcohol and camaraderie. When Rossi suggested they all unwind at a nearby bar after wrapping things up, no one argued. The idea of a drink and a few hours of normalcy was too tempting to pass up--and much needed.

You found yourself sitting at a long table with the rest of the team, squeezed between JJ and Hotch. Normally, that would have sent your nerves into overdrive, but after the first glass of wine—and then the second—you felt your anxiety loosen just a bit. Just enough to breathe without overthinking every little move you made next to him.

The conversation flowed easily around you, with Morgan and Garcia trading playful banter while Spencer tried to argue some statistic about criminal behavior. You laughed along, but every time Hotch spoke, your focus snapped to him. You couldn’t help it. It was like your mind was on high alert every time he addressed the group, or worse—you directly.

“Good work on the case,” he said at one point, turning to you with that intense gaze of his. “You managed the witness interviews really well. I think it made a difference.”

Your heart lurched. He was complimenting you—praising your work in front of the whole team. The sudden attention made your pulse quicken, and you could feel your face heating up despite the buzz from the drinks.

Before you could stop yourself, the words just spilled out.

With a slightly bolder tone than you usually used around him, you turned to face him fully, giving him a playful smile. “Well, maybe I just wanted to impress you, Hotch.”

The second the words left your mouth, you realized how bold they sounded. You raised your glass slightly, locking eyes with him for a moment longer than necessary. You’d just flirted with your boss. There was no going back now.

Hotch blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but then a slow smile—rare but devastating—appeared on his face. “Is that right?” he replied, his voice low and most definitely amused. 

Your heart practically stopped, but before you could spiral too much, JJ leaned over with a laugh. “Well, someone’s confident tonight.” 

You hadn’t even realized that not only did you flirt with Hotch, but you happened to do it in front of your coworkers--your profiling coworkers. Ones that were well-trained and versed in all sorts of fucked up psychology that “having an apparent crush on your older boss” would fall under. 

The moment passed quickly, and the conversation shifted again, but your head was spinning. The buzz from the drinks had officially worn off, leaving you hyper-aware of everything. You spent the rest of the night trying to avoid looking directly at Hotch, hoping that maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t taken your words too seriously.

By the time you walked into work the next morning, the weight of what happened at the dinner hit you full force. I flirted with Hotch. The realization felt like a brick sinking in your stomach.

You avoided his office all morning, burying yourself in paperwork and case files. Every time someone walked past your desk, you jumped, paranoid that it would be him coming to say something—anything—about last night.

Why did I have to say that? What was I thinking?

By midday, you were a ball of nerves. Every interaction with Hotch now felt loaded, as if you were walking on a tightrope. When he passed by your desk and gave you a small nod of acknowledgment, you nearly knocked your coffee over, your hands trembling as you tried to act casual.

You could still feel the burn of embarrassment every time you remembered how easy the words had slipped out. And the worst part? He hadn’t seemed uncomfortable at all. If anything, he had smiled. That tiny, knowing smile that you couldn’t get out of your head.

Later, when you were both in the conference room, going over case files, the tension felt unbearable. You barely managed to string together coherent answers every time he asked you a question, your brain too busy screaming Don’t be awkward.

But even in your shyness, you couldn’t help but wonder if he remembered what you said. If maybe, somewhere behind that calm, professional exterior, Aaron Hotchner had actually been flustered, too?

four. 

Everyone else had left hours ago, but you were still there, finishing up some paperwork that seemed never-ending. The only sound was the soft clicking of your keyboard and the occasional creak of your chair as you shifted positions. Being the newest member on the team, you often double- or even triple-check everything, afraid it would be wrong. This cost you a lot of your spare time, but in fairness, what else did you have going on? 

You weren’t surprised that Aaron Hotchner was still there, too. He was always the last to leave, always pushing himself past his limits. It was one of the things you admired about him—and maybe one of the reasons you found it so hard to concentrate whenever you were alone with him.

You glanced at the clock. It was well past 9 p.m., and the fatigue from the long day was starting to settle into your bones. You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your eyes when you heard footsteps approaching. Before you could turn around, Hotch’s calm, steady voice cut through the silence.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” he said softly, standing just behind your desk. “Maybe it’s time for a break.”

Your breath caught in your throat for a moment. You hadn’t realized how quiet it was until his voice filled the space. His tone almost vibrating against your ears. 

You quickly straightened up, trying to act casual, though you could already feel your pulse quickening.

“Oh, uh, yeah… probably a good idea,” you said, a bit too quickly. You glanced up at him, and for a split second, you wished you hadn’t. He was standing close—too close—and the sight of him with his tie slightly loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, sent a fresh wave of nervousness through you. Why did he always have to look so effortlessly composed?

Hotch tilted his head slightly, as if considering something. “I was about to make some tea,” he said, his voice low and calming. “Would you like some?”

Tea. Something about the simplicity of the offer made your heart flutter. “Sure,” you replied, smiling faintly. “Tea sounds nice.”

A few minutes later, Hotch returned with two steaming mugs. He set one down beside your stack of papers and took a seat in the chair next to yours. 

You quickly pulled your hand back, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way your breath caught in your throat. But of course, he noticed everything. That’s who he was.

“Long day,” he said quietly, sipping his tea and glancing over at you.

You nodded, trying to keep your thoughts from spiraling. “Yeah. Feels like the days are getting longer.”

Hotch smiled softly, a rare but welcome sight. “I’d say you handled it well.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Compliments from Aaron Hotchner were few and far between, and when they came, they always seemed to hit harder than you expected. You swallowed nervously, feeling the familiar heat rising to your cheeks.

“T-Thanks,” you stammered, looking down at your tea and willing yourself not to blush. But it was no use. You were hyper-aware of how close he was, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Every word you could have said stuck in your throat, as if your mind had gone blank.

There was a brief silence, the kind that felt charged with something unspoken. Hotch leaned back in his chair slightly, his gaze steady on you. You could feel it—his calm presence, his quiet strength—and it only made your nerves worse. How did he manage to make small talk feel so intense?

“You don’t have to push yourself so hard, you know,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “You’re already doing more than enough. There’s nothing you need to prove--you deserve to be here.”

Your breath caught again. Was he worried about you? The thought made your heart race even faster. You tried to find the right words, but they felt stuck. All you could manage was a small, awkward laugh. “I guess I’m just trying to keep up with you.”

Hotch’s expression softened further, and for a moment, you swore there was something in his eyes—something warmer, more personal. He didn’t respond right away, just held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire now, and you quickly took a sip of your tea, hoping it would calm your racing heart. But the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like a quiet understanding had passed between the two of you, something unspoken but undeniably there.

Maybe he put together all of the pieces and realized you were hopelessly crushing on him, so he had pity and let you be. Maybe he thought men made you nervous--but then again, he’d seen you all buddy-buddy with Reid or even Morgan.

As the minutes passed, the tension slowly ebbed away, but the closeness remained. Hotch’s presence beside you felt reassuring, yet it kept your pulse thrumming in a way that made you wish you could stay like this just a little longer. Even if it meant fumbling over your words, you wouldn’t mind.

five.

The overhead lights buzzed softly, and the air was thick with the smell of coffee. You were sitting at the round table in the conference room, papers spread out in front of you, piecing together a presentation for the case debrief tomorrow. Your focus was sharp, and for once, you weren’t thinking about how close Hotch was sitting. Well, almost.

Aaron Hotchner was seated at the head of the table, reviewing files and notes from his section of the case, his brow furrowed in concentration. The silence between you felt comfortable—until it wasn’t.

Out of nowhere, Hotch spoke up, breaking the quiet. “Your organizational skills are impressive,” he said, his tone casual but sincere. “I don’t know how you keep all of this together so efficiently.”

You froze, your pen hovering above the notebook in front of you. He complimented you--again. The words sunk in slowly, and you could feel your face start to burn. Why did he always catch you off guard like this?

“I—uh, thanks,” you stammered, suddenly feeling the need to escape. Your heart raced as you realized how flustered you must look, your cheeks burning under his calm gaze. You barely managed to glance up at him, but his expression wasn’t teasing. It was soft, warm even.

“I just try to stay on top of things,” you mumbled, pushing your chair back too quickly. The sound echoed through the room, making you cringe. You could feel your face turning crimson as you gathered up your papers in a rush, trying to hide your embarrassment.

Why did he have to say something so nice? Why did you have to react like this every time?

You gave him a brief, awkward smile and practically bolted for the door. “I-I need to get this to JJ,” you blurted out, even though you had no intention of doing so.

As you reached the doorway, your hand on the handle, you heard him call your name—soft but unmistakable. You froze in place, half-turned, not daring to look back fully.

“By the way,” he said, his voice still calm but a touch more serious. “You don’t need to rush out every time I give you a compliment.”

Your breath caught, and for a split second, you weren’t sure if you could move. There was no teasing in his tone, no sharpness—just a quiet, sincere warmth. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, Hotch noticed more than you thought.

You finally turned slightly toward him, meeting his gaze briefly. “I… I’ll try not to,” you whispered, your voice shaky but honest. Without waiting for a response, you slipped out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest.

And as you left the room, you heard Hotch chuckle softly to himself. It wasn’t cruel; it was amused, affectionate even. That only made things worse.

As you walked down the hall, the sound of his words still echoed in your mind, replaying over and over. You didn’t need to rush out every time he complimented you. And for the first time, you wondered what might happen if you didn’t.

+one

It had been weeks since the last case that left you fleeing the conference room after Aaron Hotchner’s casual compliment about your organizational skills. You’d spent every day since trying to keep your interactions with him as short and as professional as possible, but avoiding him entirely wasn’t exactly an option. You were part of the team, and your role often required working closely with him. That only made your constant nervousness more exhausting.

Every time he passed by your desk, every time he said your name in that calm, authoritative tone, your heart would skip a beat. The nerves were always there, simmering just under the surface. You weren’t sure if he noticed how flustered you got around him or if he simply chalked it up to work stress. Either way, it made every interaction with him feel like walking on a tightrope.

And today was no different after another intense case had finally been closed. You were finishing paperwork at your desk when you saw Hotch step out of his office, his eyes scanning the bullpen. The moment his gaze landed on you, your stomach twisted.

He started walking over, his strides purposeful. You tried to keep your face neutral, even as the heat rushed to your cheeks. Stay calm. It’s just work.

You looked up at him when he stopped before your desk, forcing a smile. “Do you need something?”

Hotch’s expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes seemed different today. Less intense, more… hesitant? “Can I see you in my office for a moment?”

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you quickly nodded, not trusting your voice. You grabbed your notepad, assuming it was something case-related, and followed him back into his office.

As you stepped inside, he closed the door behind you. The click of the latch made the room feel suddenly smaller--more intimate. You turned to face him, clutching your notepad like a shield.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of your voice.

Hotch didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he walked over to his desk, leaning against it, his arms crossed. His posture was relaxed, but there was something in the way he looked at you—something that made your pulse quicken.

“I’ve noticed,” he began, his voice measured but quieter than usual, “that you’ve been avoiding me.”

Your stomach dropped. He noticed. You hadn’t thought it was that obvious, but of course, this was Aaron Hotchner. He noticed everything.

“I… I h-haven’t been avoiding you,” you stammered, though you knew it was a lie. “I’ve just been busy. Lots of cases lately, you know.”

Hotch’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s not what it feels like.”

You swallowed hard, your nerves threatening to overwhelm you. He wasn’t angry; his tone wasn’t harsh or accusatory, but there was a weight to his words that made your throat go dry. He uncrossed his arms and took a small step toward you, closing the gap between you just enough to make your breath hitch.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he continued, his voice softer now. “But I’ve noticed how you’ve been acting around me. And I have to admit, it’s been difficult to ignore.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your mind racing. Was he going to reprimand you for being unprofessional? Did he think you couldn’t handle your job because of the way you acted around him? Would he send you off to report to someone different? You felt the familiar heat rising in your cheeks and wished you could disappear.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been… awkward,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. At this moment, you felt like a small child, “It’s just—”

Before you could finish, Hotch interrupted, his expression softening in a way you hadn’t seen before. “You don’t have to explain. I think I know why.”

His words hung in the air between you, and suddenly, everything felt different. You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “You do?”

Hotch took another small step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. He was so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. For the first time, you noticed the way his usually composed features seemed more vulnerable—like he was grappling with something inside himself.

“I’ve noticed because I’ve been feeling the same way,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart stopped. He feels the same way? Your mind struggled to process what he was saying. Aaron Hotchner, your boss—the man who was always in control, always so composed—was confessing that he had feelings for you?

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Your thoughts were a tangled mess, and all you could do was stare at him in stunned silence.

Hotch ran a hand through his hair, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture that sent a ripple of shock through you. He seemed just as uneasy as you were, as though he wasn’t used to being in this position—being vulnerable. “I’ve been trying to ignore it for a while,” he continued, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reaction. “But…but I can’t anymore.”

The silence between you felt thick with unspoken words, with all the tension and longing that had been building for weeks, maybe even months. And now it was all out in the open.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Hotch smiled—just a small, almost shy smile that you’d never seen from him before. He let out a soft chuckle, “Neither do I. This is… new for me.”

Your mind was still racing, but somewhere amidst the chaos, you realized that he wasn’t just confessing to you. He was just as nervous, just as unsure. For the first time, Aaron Hotchner—the man who always seemed unshakable—was standing in front of you, vulnerable and open.

You felt a surge of courage then, maybe fueled by the realization that this wasn’t one-sided. He was just as affected by you as you were by him. Slowly, you took a step closer, closing the remaining distance between you.

“I didn’t think you’d ever notice,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly, though steadier than before. You took a breath, forcing yourself to keep eye contact, despite the fluttering nerves in your stomach. “I thought I was just… making a fool of myself. That you’d think I was unprofessional.”

Hotch’s expression softened, his gaze never leaving yours. He shook his head gently, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name, something more tender than you’d ever seen from him before. “You haven’t,” he said softly. “Believe me… I’ve noticed everything.”

The weight of his words hit you, and for the first time, you realized how closely he’d been watching, how much attention he’d been paying to all the little moments you thought were only one-sided. A warmth spread through you, melting away some of the nervous tension that had been building for months.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore—it was charged, yes, but it was also full of something else. Understanding. Relief. The unspoken truth you’d both been dancing around finally laid bare.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, just stood there, the distance between you feeling impossibly small. You took a deep breath, your heart still pounding but lighter now, and offered him a small, hesitant smile. “So… what happens now?” you asked, your voice quieter, as if you weren’t sure you wanted the spell to break.

Hotch’s smile was subtle, but it reached his eyes this time, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “But I do know this… whatever we decide, we don’t need to rush.”

His words were steady and reassuring, and for the first time in a long while, you felt like you could breathe. The uncertainty was still there, yes, but so was the certainty that you weren’t alone in this anymore. That the feelings you’d been so afraid of had been mirrored all along.

You nodded slowly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Together, then?”

“Together,” he echoed, his voice quiet but firm.

And just as you turned to leave, feeling the tension melt away, Hotch called your name again. This time, his tone was softer, almost hesitant. You turned back to face him, your breath catching in your throat.

“One more thing,” he said, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ve spent a lot of time noticing you. Maybe now… we don’t have to hide it anymore?”

His words lingered in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You swallowed hard, your heart racing again, but it wasn’t from nerves this time. It was from the hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something real.

You smiled a genuine smile this time. “I’d like that.”

With that, you left his office feeling lighter than you had in months. And for the first time, the uncertainty ahead didn’t feel so daunting.

tag list:

@zaddyhotchzaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

[deansbite]

　　　𝒥𝒞　　｡　　fuzzy dreams

pairings　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　afab!reader x dean winchester

warnings　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　18+ mdni !!　fingering　masturbation　semi-public　sexy hot dean (im sorry i had to)　praise　caught masturbating.. (kinda)　reader has an extremely vivid imagination

summary　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　despite the familiarity of the situation, the thought of sleeping in the same bed as dean riles you up a little more than you wanted it to. it wasn't your fault, he looked too good. with it being your only option, you had to take matters into your own hands—and imagination.

READERS POV

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

You and Dean were in a motel room bed together, sound asleep. Well, you were asleep. Notice how it was in the past form? Yeah, well reason for that was because you stirred awake due to some bullshit dream — which was explicit. Perfect fucking timing because you and your childhood-fucking-bestfriend-Dean-Winchester booked a motel room with a single queen bed. It was the only room left.

See, you had no problem sleeping in the same bed as him. That was no problem because you'd done it since you both were tiny. Because both your dads were connected to the hip — literally whenever they see eachother on a hunt they'd let you two stand there, gun in hand and stare at eachother till they finished. But that was irrelevant when you were currently in bed.. your body heating up more and more by the minute.

Dean was fast asleep, shuffling and moving so that the mattress dipped under his weight — including his legs being tangled up in the covers so he tugged it over to his side — because you two were full grown adults. Boundaries were set and he was on his side, you were on yours.

On any other occasion, you'd freak out and snatch the covers back. But you were relieved — some cool air ran over your incredibly hot skin. You felt like you were set on fire.. inside and out. You let out a sigh of relief — fluttering your eyes shut. You felt in need of some.. blissful relief. Because your core was dripping wet. Which made you pissed because you never had explicit dreams on any other hunt where you didn't share a bed.. but the moment you actually share a bed with Dean, it magically happens?

You fluttered your eyes open. The motel room you were in — was surprisingly quiet. Well, that is if you don't factor in the continous dripping water from the kitchen faucet.. since the kitchen wasn't all too far away. And you also started to hear every tiny obnoxious noise. Which.. being truthful, was better to think about than your current situation. God damnit you just thought of it again.

Could this get any worse? You exhaled, your eyes having long adjusted to the darkness of the room, which helped you be able to get around. And that was exactly what you were going to do. Dean unexpectedly shuffled around in bed. Which made you tense up — realizing you had to be as quiet as you could possibly be if you wanted to go to the bathroom.

In a swift movement, you sat up. The mattress dipping even further now that you were sat on your ass and all the weight wasn't spread out, but more so pressed down in one single place. And that made you panic — snapping your head to look behind you at Dean. Who was very much still asleep, facing you. In his black tee, black boxers and messy hair.. with covers spread out on and.. around him? Because some of the covers were shoved between his legs — some of it on the ground and some just.. covering parts of him.

You furrowed a brow — about to forget what you were even planning on doing and just giggling at him. But.. you noticed his plump lips pressed together, he was laying on his chest, which shouldn't have upset you as much as it did. But it did. Because his shirt was rolled up just a little — which would've been able to give you a glimpse of his abdomen — and abs. God what the fuck?! He's your bestfriend. You didn't hit puberty or someshit like a twelve year old boy.

Pull it together, and just finger fuck yourself so your absurd thoughts won't be able to drive a wedge between your friendship just because you were horny for one day. Okay, breathe in. You rose to your feet, the floorboards groaning under your weight. That noise — whilst for Dean nonexistent.. for you that was like a rocket taking off. Fear shot up your spine and you froze every muscle in your body. Unable to move any further. Your eyes focused on Dean, watching him closely.

You weren't even sure why you tried so incredibly hard to be quiet.. if you woke him up, you'd just be going to the bathroom. No biggie.. except you were going to literally finger yourself. And you probably don't look the best.. and like you just had to pee. Your skin felt like it was on fire, your hair was probably messy and your pajamas were probably disheveled. After finally feeling like you were good to go, you head for the bathroom.

You needed to get this done and over with, even if Dean woke up. You'll find some excuse to tell him if he hears you shuffle in the bathroom. But you still hoped he slept through everything. Fucking finally you reached the bathroom door. Everything else in the motel room wasn't important, except the bed and bathroom. You looked over your shoulder to see Dean fast asleep.

You were put at ease with that fact, your head turned forward and you focused back on what you were planning on doing. Your hand reached out and your fingers wrapped around the cool.. rusty and metal doorknob, which was a contrast to your warm hands. You twisted it and pushed the door open. The door creaked for a moment, but you were quick to grab it to halt the noise just in time.

Eventually, after literally dealing with this whole situation as if it were a parkour and dodging the most unnecessary things, such as Dean waking up or finding another solution, such as sleeping it off.. but you were stubborn. And, you finally got to shut the bathroom door, gently to make sure it wouldn't slam, just a simple click. Before you got to suck in a deep breath.

Your fingers travelled up to the lightswitch, your index finger flipped up and the lights flickered to life, lighting up the entire room. You glared at yourself in the mirror.. jesus, you seriously looked like you just got into a fight with a Chimera. Your lips were parted and you looked flustered as fuck. You just bent over slightly, turning on the tap, cupping your hands under the cold running water before your hands were filled to the brim with cold water.

You splashed the water on your face, before running your wet hand through your hair and shut your eyes, your left hand gripping on the edge of the sink to balance yourself, the water was still running as background noise, which wasn't on purpose, you simply forgot. Now your heavy breathing and pants won't be the only thing bouncing off the walls.

Your hand travelled down your body, some remaining water droplets dribbling down your skin. To help you get off without feeling like you were a total freak, you started imagining Dean. Imagining his raspy and crackly — his sleepy voice as he praised you. "Doin' so good f'me, sweetheart, just a bit longer. Gotta get you ready for me." Dean's emerald green eyes focused on yours. He was ontop of you, his hand along with his body travelling down your body. His right hand ran all the way down your abdomen, stopping right at the waistband of your pants.

His fingers teased you by fiddling with it. Your eyes were locked on his. He had that dumb cocky grin on his face. "Should I eat this pussy or fuck it w'my fingers?" He whispered, as if he was asking himself. But he was loud enough for you to hear. His words meshed in with one another due to him having just woken up. Your hands went down and grasped onto his messy, dirty blonde locks.. you let out a pathetic whine.

"I hear ya, baby. Just be patient." He reassured, lips pressed together and his right hand, which was initally teasing you, now hovering a little above your pants, before it slipped beneath the fabric. His emerald green eyes travelling down your body, which paused at your bundle of nerves. Despite two pieces of material covering it, he observed the outline of his fingers, a smirk displayed on his lips.

"Oh?" He exclaimed, an eyebrow raising and his smirk a tad bit more visible now. His fingers were now directly pressing against your entrance — with your underwear between his fingers and your core. You clenched around nothing. He felt how dripping wet you were, which caused him to chuckle. "So needy." He commented, eyes darting from your mound to your face. "Look so pretty." He praised, humming and getting back to work, his fingers going to the side of your panties, before tugging them to the side to have better access to your aching core.

"Gonna show you what you've been missin' out on." He whispered. His ring finger was finding your clit, before he pressed on it in the lightest way, moving his ring finger in tiny circles, causing you to moan his name. He chuckled, "Has nobody given you a good handjob, baby? Already so greedy f'more 'n I haven't even started." He prompted. You shook your head in response. He clicked his tongue. "Well, m'glad t'be able t'change that."

Without much of a warning, Dean plunged his index finger into your pussy. A gasp escaped your lips. Dean didn't react, just slowly pushing his index deeper and deeper, you let out a whimper. "Shh, calm down, sweetheart." He mumbled, his left hand, which was just resting on your lower thigh eventually came to use. His thumb caressed your skin. You lightly tugged on his messy locks, causing him to groan. "Come on, baby, ease up."

You were tense, your walls squeezing around his fingers, he sighed and his ring finger sped up the pace for a bit, adding into the mix of pleasure. Now he slowly retreated his index, just so his index was still in your pussy and then he immediately slammed it back in, grunting. "Gotta stretch you out if I wanna fuck this pretty little cunt." He explained, but you were a writhing mess.

He kept fucking you harsh and fast with his index, the squelching and whining coming from you was so explicit your cheeks heated up. "So wet, easier t'fuck ya." He mumbled, his left cheek eventually resting on the inner thigh of your right leg. Eyes still so damn focused on your mound. His plump lips parted. You wondered how they'd feel around your clit and how he'd be eating you out. You let out a much louder moan when Dean started up the scissoring motion, which you already had the pleasuring of your clit with his ring finger and the fingering.

You were close, Dean could tell by the way your breathing became irregular, you began fumbling with your words when you tried to tell Dean that you were about to fall over the edge. But he knew. Your walls were clenching and unclenching around his fingers and he began thrusting his fingers in and out of you faster. And stimulating your clit more. "What was that?" He asked, raising a brow.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you clenched around his fingers and saw literal stars. Your juices covering his hand —

"Hey, sweetheart." A hoarse and concerned voice called out from behind the door. "You okay in there?" It was Dean.. your fucking childhood bestfriend. The guy who you imagined finger-fucking you. Oh fucking christ. This wasn't normal if you saw him as nothing more than a friend. Friends don't exactly fuck themselves with their fingers whilst imagining their friend doing it.

"You kept moaning my name." He added, "Did y'slip 'n fall?" A moment passed with no answer. Jesus christ you were completely fucked.

Your face was so completely obvious that you didn't fall. You removed your hand from underneath your pants and quickly washed it off under the tap. He cleared his throat. "I swear m'comin' in.. if y'don't answer in the next few seconds." His voice was filled with worry. "No, no! I'm fine! I'm just.." What the fuck do you say now?

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

cliffhanger cause this is testing the waters 😞 + this was a bit proofread by @pearlzier so... mistakes / grammar errors may be found plus english isnt my first language gang..

tags: @luvr4miya @upsidedean @angelblqde @fallbhind @beausling @pearlzier @fourkilljoys

amab vers: coming soon (im tired and wanna watch gilmore girls ill do it soon)

[pretentious-blonde]

meet the parents

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve didn't expect things to go smoothly when he introduced you to his parents, but nothing could have prepared him for the rage he felt when they turned their comments towards you

warnings: family drama, alcohol, steve feeling inadequate, steve's father sucks here

a/n: idk if i like how this turned out, but I tried my best

You tugged at the hem of your dress, giving your outfit a once over in the mirror for the last time. You had spent ages rummaging through your wardrobe before you found this one, it’s simple but elegant—enough to make a good impression on Steve’s parents. Whom you were meeting for the first time, tonight. 

They had been nagging him since they returned from their trip, one of many, wanting to meet the girl who he had been seeing in their absence. They insisted on inviting you over for dinner, and based on Steve’s reaction, you knew how much this meant to him. You wanted to look your best. 

The knock on your front door pulls you away from your thoughts. You quickly grab your jacket and scurry down the stairs, slipping your feet into a pair of shoes as you go to greet him. 

He is standing on your front porch, hands buried deep in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels. He reverts his attention to the sound of the door opening. His breath catches in his throat as he drinks in the sight of you, his previous nerves are momentarily replaced with awe at your appearance. God, you looked angelic. 

The world seems to still as he unapologetically stares. The gentle curve of a nervous smile on your lips, the dress hugging your figure just right—it takes a great deal of strength on his behalf not to call the whole thing off. To whisk you away for the evening all to himself, leaving his parents to dine alone. He swallows hard as he composes himself, running a hand through his hair as a lopsided grin graces his features. 

“Honey, you…wow.” He begins, any words that entered his mind seemed unable to articulate how beautiful you looked tonight. “You look amazing.”

A blush creeps up your neck at the compliment, it’s endearing how he still gets tongue-tied around you. “Thanks. Thought I should put in a little effort.”

His fingers twitch at his sides as he faces another dilemma. Wanting to reach out and pull you close, push you back inside and be selfish, but he shoves them deeper into his pockets instead. The anxiety he was feeling about the night ahead was overwhelming, he was dreading it—dreading the way his father would most likely find something to dig at, something to put him down. 

But looking at you now, all dolled up for his sake, he hates it even more. 

He hates that you put effort in for this, when it could have gone to something so much more worthwhile. It was the story of his life, trying so hard time and time again to get their approval, only to be shot down over and over again. He didn’t want to subject you to that. 

The drive there is strangely quiet, except for the faint hum of the radio station that fills the car. His grip on the steering wheel is tighter than it usually was, his eyes trained on the road ahead. His thoughts, however, were miles away. Questions filled his mind about what could happen. What they could say to you. If they made you uncomfortable. Each one was worse than the last, the stress made his chest tighten. 

He brushes them off. How could they not love you like he did? When you’re sitting all pretty beside him, looking so damn perfect. In every way that he is not. 

“You seem quiet,” you say, trying to break the silence. “So, are your parents like, super strict or something?”

He chuckles, but it’s nervous. He has told you bits and pieces about what his family is like. Constant business trips that his mother insisted on tagging along to, holidays without him, calling a few times throughout the week. He had failed to mention how much of a dick his dad could be, especially after a couple drinks. 

“Nah, I mean, they’re not…strict.” His fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel. “They’re old-fashioned. Like, ‘everything has to be perfect’ kind of way, you know?”

You nod along slowly, mood still playful, not quite picking up on the nerves flowing through the boy next to you. “Damn, I should have brought something, or even baked, huh?”

He laughs now, but the tension still remains in his shoulders. “Honestly, you might be their favourite person after tonight if you did that. I’m pretty sure they like you more than me.”

Your expression falters slightly at that, smile dropping as you reach over to squeeze his hand. “Steve, come on. There is no way that’s true.”

He doesn’t respond, keeping his eyes forward. 

She has no idea.

“Well, if they don’t like me, I’ll get them with my dazzling personality. You fell for it, right?”

That earns you a genuine smile. Yes, he fell for it. He fell damn hard and welcomed it fully. That is why he loathed the idea of bringing you home. Of subjecting you to this dinner. 

“Yeah, you got me good, angel.” He squeezes your hand back. “Hook, line, and sinker.”

His raw honesty renders you silent for a few moments, turning your face to the view outside to hide the flush in your cheeks. He always knew how to do that. Say something so nonchalant that made your knees weak. 

“Just a heads up,” he glances over to you briefly, hand still resting in his as you pull into the driveway of his home. “Just if they say anything…weird, don’t take it seriously.”

“Steve,” you pull your hand away to cup his face, big, brown eyes staring back at you as you reassure him. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

He wants to believe you. He wants to believe you so badly, but the feeling in his stomach only tightens more. In truth, he has no idea how this evening will go. And that terrifies him. 

Steve rounds the car to open your door, holding onto your waist as you head up the stairs to the entrance. He opened the door quietly, stepping aside to let you in. He pauses to take a look at you one last time, almost melting at how the entryway light falls over your face, illuminating your tender smile. He quickly moves to help you with your coat, sliding it off your figure with gentle movements and hanging it on the rack. 

“Shoes too,” he whispers, almost apologetic, his hand gently guiding your gaze toward the carpeted floor.

He had never asked you that before. You raise a brow, amused but willing to comply. “I didn’t realize there was a dress code,” you tease lightly, holding his shoulder and slipping out of your shoes.

He chuckles nervously. “Yeah, just… don’t want you getting into trouble.”

You scrunch your nose at him and smile, but there is something else brewing behind those eyes of his—worry perhaps? You just chalk it up to innocent nerves. I mean, who wouldn’t be slightly anxious to introduce their partner to their parents?

Leading you down the hall, you are greeted with the smell of roast chicken wafting from the kitchen. It’s surprisingly homey, comforting. Tonight might not be so bad after all. 

You step into the dining room, just opposite the open plan kitchen, first locking eyes with Steve’s mother. She gives you a warm smile, which you return. She looks just like him, same eyes, same smile, same kind expression that he always gives you. Her hands are busy on the stove but still when you enter. 

“Oh, you must be Steve’s girlfriend!” She says, her voice cheerful as she wipes her hands on a rogue teatowel. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you.”

“Thank you so much for having me,” beaming as you step forward, leaving Steve’s side for a second. “Everything smells amazing.”

Steve’s dad makes himself known, giving you a curt nod. He sits at the head of the table, relaxed with a beer in his hand which Steve spots immediately. “Glad you could make it,” he tells you, his voice low, but not unkind—for now at least. 

Steve returns to your side once more, a hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you to a seat at the table. This is good, he thinks, allowing a small flicker of hope to spark in his chest. You’re being your usual polite self, and so far, his parents seem…normal. He feels relaxed as his mother places the perfectly roast chicken at the centre of the table, letting out a small breath as he sits down. 

“Oh my gosh,” you exclaim, your face lighting up at the spread. “I love a roast! It’s been so long since I’ve had one.”

His mother blushes, clearly pleased by your praise. “Well, I’m glad to hear it! There is plenty here so please, help yourself.” 

You nod as you pick up the plate of potatoes, Steve picking up the greens, locking eyes as you swap them over. You are pleasantly surprised to see his expression, no longer sour with anxiety. 

“Bet it’s nice to have a home-cooked meal, huh?” Steve’s father takes a swig from his drink before gesturing to the boy at your side. “Kid barely knows how to boil water.”

He lets out a large laugh at his joke, oblivious to the way Steve pauses as he sets down the plate. He forces out a laugh as well, trying to shake it off, but he can’t deny how the joke stings. Especially when it was made in front of you. 

“I mean, I can handle the basics,” he chimes in, trying to defend himself as much as he can without insulting his father. “Eggs, pasta…” He trails off. 

You allow your gaze to wander over to him, your smile faltering as you catch the hurt look in his eyes. His father doesn’t seem to notice—or care at all, really. 

He can cook, he thinks as his eyes are trained on his father. He has cooked for you so many times, and you always said how good it was. The first moment you complimented his food he made it his mission to do it more often. It was something he took pride in. He had to teach himself after all, it’s not like they were ever around to do it, and he couldn’t just live off takeaway pizzas every night. 

He never was in the kitchen when they returned home, his mother always took the reigns there. His jaw tightens as he recalls the countless dinners made alone in his house, too used to the silence that always followed his parents’ absence. 

You set the fork down to the side of your place and turn to him, giving him a look of reassurance that does little to help him. You don’t speak up, but the mix of emotions in your expression makes Steve’s heart lurch. He should have said something, warned you more. Or better yet, come up with an excuse as to why you couldn’t make it tonight. 

His mother was equally as oblivious to the exchange as she carved off another piece of chicken. He doesn’t really care about what his family says about him, he has dealt with much much worse. But it still stings. It stings because it is in front of you. 

The conversation flows well as you all settle into the meal. The chicken was undeniably delicious, the familiar setting of the Harrington house helped soothe you as you chatted politely with is mother. 

“So, what is it you do?” She asks you, tone genuinely curious. 

You finish chewing, wiping your mouth with a napkin before you respond. “I just finished college actually. And I recently got an editing job at the local newspaper. It’s helped me get my first apartment too, so it’s a pretty exciting time.”

Steve can’t help but sit up a little straighter as you speak, his chest filling with a sense of pride that this is the woman he is introducing his folks to. 

That’s my girl, my smart girl.

“Well, isn’t that wonderful!” His mother says, clearly impressed. “You must be so proud of yourself.”

Steve smiled at the knowledge that they approved of you. They might not have approved of him, they made that clearly known whenever they had the chance, but seeing how impressed they were with you—that was enough. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his own and admiring how they looked intertwined in the glow of the dining room. His thumb strokes your knuckles, feeling a smug satisfaction rise up inside of him. You’re smart, capable independent. Everything Steve’s parents valued in a person. He might not be what they wanted him to be but he somehow had you to show for it. He was damn lucky to have you here with him. 

A voice cuts through the warmth he was feeling, a sharp edge bringing him down from his high. “Well, good for you,” his father said, his eyes drifting to your hands. His gaze was cold, calculating. “You know, I’ve always said people with drive go far. Funny how some manage to make it whilst others…don’t.” He gasts a glance at Steve, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm, the same voice that had followed him his whole life. “Guess you lucked out, huh, son? Dating someone with actual ambition.”

The comment hit Steve harder than he cared to admit, the jovial tone from his father did little to soften the blow. His chest tightens as he feels the sting of disappointment, but he can’t help but take the words on board. You are ambitious, you have the whole world at your fingertips. You could do anything you set your mind to and he knew that. He just hoped that when that time came, he would be lucky enough to be cheering you on from the sidelines. 

“Yeah, well,” he begins with a crooked grin. “Guess I’ve got the charm at least.”

The shift in his mood is noticeable to you, you can read him like the back of your hand, the way his smile remains on his face for just a second too long. His father's words were not just a joke, not to Steve. He always doubted himself and his abilities, worried about where he would go in his life. But at the end of the day you were there to support him, whatever decisions he made were his and his alone. 

He tells himself that it’s fine, that he can handle it. Just as long as they don’t go after you, he can take it. He has no problem being the martyr, he has been the punching bag for years and has no problem taking a few more hits.

The way he looks down at his plate makes your chest ache, the way that he acts like this isn’t a big deal. It’s obvious how much it bothers him, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. It hurts you to see him like this—reduced to a quiet, tense version of himself, happy to just keep the peace. 

The clink of silverware continued against the plates as the conversation flowed, finishing up the remainder of dinner, the beer in Steve’s father's glass also gone. He leaned back in his chair, the same look in his eyes that Steve was familiar with, inhibitions mellowed and ready to bite. His eyes narrowed as he observed the both of you, amusement dancing in his gaze like he found the perfect moment to strike. 

“Let me guess,” he began, wiping the edge of his mouth with a napkin before tossing it carelessly onto the table in front. “You’re with Steve because you think you can change him, right? Girls like you always think they can fix a guy like him.”

Steve stiffened beside you, his stomach twisting into a tight knot. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in his throat. For a moment, he felt like a kid again, being told off for something he had no control over. Something he couldn’t change. 

Before he even had time to fully process the insult, you were there. Your tone fast, steady, unfazed. There was no way you would sit there and let that comment go. Not when it was the furthest thing from the truth. 

“I’m not here to change Steve,” you said, your tone calm but resolute. “I’m with him because I love who he already is.”

His heart fluttered in his chest at your words—the way you spoke them. With such unwavering conviction that there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that you meant them. 

His father raised a brow, leaning forward in his chair, sizing you up and clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing. The act revolted you. You were done with playing nice, you were not going to let him insult you or the one you love. It didn’t matter if they were family. 

“Love, huh?” He scoffed. “That’s cute. But, sweetheart, love doesn’t pay the bills. Steve is not exactly rolling in success here, is he?”

You don’t flinch, not even a little. “I don’t need him to be rolling in anything. He works hard and is more successful than you give him credit for.”

His father barked out a humourous laugh, nowhere near close to finished. “Kind? I’ll give you that. But I’m just saying, girls like you—smart, career-driven, their own place—usually go for someone with a little more ambition.”

You narrowed your eyes at the older man, keeping your voice collected. “Ambition isn’t about titles or money. Steve has plenty of it. He has been through things you couldn’t even understand.”

The tension that settled over the room was tense as you locked eyes. Steve’s mother stared at her husband, you wonder if she wished to say something, or if she also was too scared to challenge the older gentleman. You felt no fear, not when it came to conflict over those you care for. You wouldn’t back down. The more you spoke, the more Steve felt that old, crushing weight of his father’s judgement start to lift from his shoulders. 

“Look,” his father said, not enjoying the pushback. “I’m just telling you what I know. Guys like Steve—they’re nice, sure—but they don’t get you very far. Eventually, you’ll want more, and you’ll leave him just like the last one.’

That one hit hard. Too hard. Steve’s hand clenched under the table, unwanted memories of his past relationship springing to the surface, reopening old wounds. He wanted to make a joke. Wanted to say anything that would get away from this topic. His father noticed how withdrawn he got after Nancy, and now he was throwing it back in his face. He didn’t like weakness, and Steve had never felt more inadequate when that happened. 

“Actually, I’m more than happy with Steve,” you say effortlessly, voice low and confident. “He is one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met. I don’t need to ‘want more’ when I already have everything I could ask for.”

His father’s eyes flickered with something—surprise perhaps? He certainly wasn’t used to being challenged like this, feeling at a loss that his tactics weren’t working. He took it as a sign to cut deeper, harsher. He needed to get the upper hand once more. 

His lips curled into a smirk, one that Steve had seen a thousand times before, the one that always made him feel like he was on the losing end of an argument before it even began.

“Are you really gonna let your woman talk to me like this?” His voice heavy and patronising as he stared Steve down. “That’s what you’re doing now? Letting a girl fight your battles?”

Absolutely not. No fucking way. 

Everything was still, you could hear a pin drop in the room. Steve’s anxiety turned to full-on rage, seeping through every vein in his body as he looked at his father. He didn’t care what he said to him, but the vile way he spoke of you was unacceptable. Something in him snapped at that moment. 

“No,” he said, voice holding unwavering clarity. His father looked shocked, not expecting such a firm response from his son.

“No?” His father echoed, leaning forward slightly, trying to intimidate him. “Finally found your voice huh? Took you long enough.”

“No,” Steve repeated with finality. You glanced over and saw the muscles in his jaw tightening as he met his father’s gaze. “What I’m not gonna do is let you disrespect her like that.”

“Disrespect?” His father scoffed, shaking his head, acting as though he knew better. Like he was better. “I’m just telling it like it is. Someone has to, or you’ll go on thinking you’ve actually done something with your life.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how much of a fuckup I am, okay?” Steve shot back, heart pounding in his chest. “I got the message.”

He looks in your direction, eyes softening slightly as he takes in your expression. It held something his father had never directed at him. Pride. You looked proud of him. And that thought alone stirred him on. 

“What I’m not gonna do is allow you to talk to her like that,” He returns his attention to his father, his finger pointing in your direction. “Not when you don’t know a damn thing about her.”

His father bristled at the insubordination, the condescension in his voice was thick. “I know enough,” he said matter-of-factly. “I know she’s playing house with a guy who peaked in high school. How long till she figures that one out, hm?”

Steve’s blood spiked, now more willing than ever to fight back against his father. He had been pushed around for years, if there was any time to rebel, it would be now. “You don’t know anything about us! You’re hardly here!”

His father leaned back, smug. “I know enough about you, Steve. I know you’ve been coasting. First, it was basketball, then this lousy job at the video store—hell—you’re lucky someone even gave you the time of day. A girl like her? She’s going to wake up and realise you’ve got nothing to offer.”

Steve swallowed hard at that moment, his father’s words were getting to him, digging into his skin and refusing to let go. It was beginning to break him, like so many times previously. He was ready to back down, let him say his piece and be done with it. 

That was until he felt a gentle hand on his leg. One that softly ran its fingers against the denim of his jeans. He stared at it. As its presence. He felt the warmth within your touch, reigniting the fire he never thought lit. 

“You’re wrong,” he said quietly, voice cracking slightly but he pushed on. “She is not like that. You say she’s smart? You have no idea. I trust there is a reason she is with me. She sees who I am, something you have never been able to do.”

His father’s eyes flickered with something that resembled surprise, but he quickly masked it with a cold look. “So, what? You think this tantrum is going to change anything? These are facts.  You’ve always been weak, Steve. That’s why you’ll never—”

“No,” Steve cut him off, using the same word he had been repeating for this conversation, filled with a conviction that startled even himself. “I’m not weak. I’m done letting you make me feel like I am.”

The room went still, the sharpness in Steve’s voice hanging in the air that nobody was accustomed to. His father opened his mouth to respond, but Steve didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m not you. If I was she never would have looked at me twice, and I’m damn proud of that.”

Your exit was swift. Steve grabbed your hand and dragged you to the front door, leaving both of his parents in a state of shock. You just about managed to slip your feet into your shoes as he grabbed your coat to the side of your head. Slamming the door loudly as you left. 

The night air was cold, helping in soothing his raging anger, letting a breath out before he turned to you, stare softening with affection. He turned to face you, touching your cheek with such tenderness as he searched your eyes, trying to figure out how you were feeling. 

“Are you alright?” He asked softly, running his thumb along your cheekbone. 

“I’m alright,” you assured him, leaning into his touch. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I—wow,” he was still jittery, letting out a shaky laugh and running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I said all that.”

“I can,” you said as you gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m really proud of you.”

His expression was gentle, grateful to actually hear the words that had been denied for so many years. There was another emotion within him as well, a sense of awe. The way you handled yourself with grace, not bending under pressure. He swore he was already head over heels for you, but after tonight? He fell for you a just little bit harder. He shakes his head at your previous compliment. 

“You were amazing in there, sweetheart,” a crooked smile forming. “God, you’re something you know that?”

You smiled as you allowed him to lead you to his car, arm resting on your back as he opened the door for you. He slipped into the driver's seat and started the ignition, fingers drumming on the steerwheel as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I don’t think I can go back there. Like, ever.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that,” you say as you nudge him playfully. “Guess I’m gonna have to move you in, huh?”

He glanced at you as he pulled away from his childhood home, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Is that so?”

You laughed and rolled your eyes, pleased that he was making jokes instead of spiralling. The comfortable silence that filled the car was peaceful, but his expression shifted, something tentative, serious settled over him. 

“We could, you know.”

You blinked at his proposition. “What?”

He cleared his throat and immediately regretted saying anything. His nerves now spiking at his confession. It was too late to back out now, the words that spilt from his mouth flowed without thought. 

“I mean,” he started, knuckles turning white as his grip tightened. “I may work retail, but I definitely make enough to rent an apartment. I could contribute, really. I could…”

He trailed off, watching your reaction carefully. There was a sincerity in his words that made your heart melt.

“I mean, I’m not gonna be mad about halving the rent,” you said with a blush forming on your face at the thought of living with him. Of waking up with him, coming home to him. For all of your belongings being mingled together. For everywhere you look his presence is there with you. 

His face broke out into the softest, most boyish smile you had ever seen on him. “You mean it?” He uttered, voice quiet, as if he may have misheard you. 

“Yes, Steve,” you brush a hand through his hair, so in love with the sweet boy next to you. “I mean it.”

[wonjns]

a dip — l.cy

⌗ pairing. . . anton lee x male reader

⌗ genre. . . smut

⌗ summary. . . you went with your fuck buddy to the pool… that was your first mistake.

⌗ includes. . . sub!reader, fwb!swimmer!anton, public sex (pls don't esp not this one), unprotected sex (also don't),

⌗ wc. 2.5k

°A/N. . . sorta requested but also not really,, also not proofread nor very pretty or as descriptive as i like to be im so sorry this is just what you get when im horny bc these pictures ruined my life

you knew much better than to agree to joining anton lee at the pool of all places.

being a lifetime friend (occasionally with benefits) of his, you knew the swimmer could spend hours upon hours at the pool and not feel an ounce of exhaustion. he'd often convince you to stay long after you finished swimming yourself, just to wait for him to complete his cool down routine before driving you home.

the worst thing of all, though, was that you were constantly reminded just how much he had hidden underneath those oversized sweaters and jeans that he always wore. behind that whole shy boy aesthetic he had going on, was the physique of what you could only compare to a greek god, and even he knew it.

you never got used to it - seeing anton's chiseled body exposed in the aquatic habitat that felt like a second home to him. no matter how sweet his smile or how loud his laugh, nothing could distract you from drooling over a body like that cutting through the water with such ease. it was even worse because the sweet boy knew exactly what he did to you.

he tried to cut you some slack, though, respecting your effort to seem unbothered every time he'd peel his layers of clothing off before jumping into the pool, wearing nothing but his tight blue swim trunks that suffocated his muscular thighs.

one time he even pretended not to notice how you were so worked up after a race with him that you had to go not-so-subtly get yourself off in the community bathroom.

in your defense, it was a heated indoor pool, and he had completely annihilated you in the race. that proud smirk paired with the steam rising from his rippling back muscles had you biting back moans from the sight alone. so naturally, it was to no one's surprise once things turned physical between you both.

the adrenaline that swimming gave anton put him on cloud nine, and being the stubborn ass that you were, you were determined to somehow beat this pro swimmer in a race - only for it to end with you losing miserably and somehow hornier than when you started. one thing would always lead to another, a taunting comment thrown your way turning into his bare back pressed against the cool tiles of the changing room while you yanked his swim shorts down low enough to take his throbbing cock into your mouth.

but today you were going to be good.

you hadn't hooked up with anton for a while, and were truly only tagging along because he needed a friend to time his laps for the upcoming season.

however, it'd be a lie to say you didn't have to give yourself a prep talk as you set your things down on the pool chairs, noticing nobody was there tonight. it was business as usual, though. anton always convinced the coach to let him have later access while the rest of the team went home so he could focus. you just found it harder to control yourself around him when left alone like this, but tonight you had a new type of dedication to simply swim, help your friend, and go home.

besides, why would it be so difficult for you to keep it in your pants for just one night?

‘oh, thats why.’ you groaned internally as you watched anton strip his shirt from over his head.

fuck, had he been bulking up?

you pretend not to notice how his biceps flex as he runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair while you stripped down to your swim trunks as well. god, his skin was practically glowing even from the dingy indoor lighting.

your head whipped around back towards his direction when you heard a low hiss, watching his face scrunch slightly as he stepped down the pool's ladder. your dick twitched a bit at the sight of his furrowing brows and low groan as he sunk deeper into the water, but you mentally slapped yourself back to reality.

"what's with you?" you questioned approaching the steps, getting ready to enter as well.

"shit, i forgot to remind coach to turn the heaters on tonight," he responded. "its freezing."

you thought he was being dramatic, but the chilly water indeed bit back when you lowered your ankles in. you decided against submerging for now, simply swirling your legs in circles while you spun anton's stopwatch in your hand.

anton began a quick warm up, stretching and dunking himself udner water several times and adjusting quickly to the temperature. his wet hair splaying out around his face made him even more gorgeous than he already was, and you felt your cheeks gain a sickening warmth.

"alright bro, let's get started." you cleared your throat, speaking up to hurry the process along before your resolve crumbled.

"sure, bro." he mocked before sending a wink your way. shit, he was already on to you.

anton held eye contact with you as he hoisted himself out of the water to walk over to the swim lanes, causing your breath to silently falter. your instincts made you the first to break contact though, as your eyes followed the droplets that slid down his broad chest, past his perked nipples, over his abs and eventually disappear into his waistband.

god, you were such a pervert. and he loved it so much.

only 30 minutes into his laps you found yourself desperately missing the shy boy act that he would put on for every body else. once he was in athlete mode, the confidence in his demeanor made your self control fly out the window. it didn't make sense how someone as massive as him could practically fly through the water, flexing every inch of his muscle like it was nothing.

it forced you to reminisce on how he was in bed, constantly taking you with his immense stamina. he could toss and turn you in any way at any given pace, constantly making you see stars like it was nothing — even when you were the one to start things, he made sure to finish them. you remembered the way his lean muscle would tighten and ripple in your grasp, holding on for dear life as you begged for him to thrust into you harder or squeeze you tighter.

get it together, y/n.

if you had a dollar for every time you'd had to yank yourself out of the gutter in just the span of one hour, you'd be rich enough to drop out of school.

you had allowed yourself to sit calf deep in the water at the end of the racing lane, but it wasn't until he reached you after knocking out 3 laps in a row that you regretted your decision. he emerged from the water with a big splash, throwing his head back and letting out the most erotic sigh you could imagine as he finally let air reach his lungs.

a lump formed in your throat, watching anton's buff chest rise and fall in tune with his breaths while both long arms gripped the edge of the pool on either side of your legs.

"what was my time for those?" the swimmer finally asked you once he had stabilized his breathing.

"oh! right, uhm...." you snap out of your chance, gut dropping when you looked down to the stop watching still ticking in your hand.

"you forgot to stop it, didn't you?" anton asked, a tone of more amusement rather than annoyance seeping through his smirk. "don't tell me you got distracted?"

"shit, i'm sorry." you groaned, annoyed with your own sexual frustration overtaking your ability to play it cool.

"it's fine." anton shrugged, pulling his body out of the water and plotting on to the ledge next you, making you flinched as copious amounts of water splashed around the concrete. "just let me fuck you."

your eyes widened, looking up to his mischievous eyes, and you swear you felt him leaning closer.

"what the fuck, ton?" you gasped, slightly punching his arm, savoring the split second of contact you made with his warm skin.

"god, its been like a month, y/n. i can't focus on conditioning and you can't even click a button for me, clearly." he chuckled. "lets just do it so i can have a good season."

you couldn't believe the causality he was saying all of this with. he did always call you his good luck charm, somehow managing to break his own personal record anytime you'd let him hit the night before or suck you off right before a meet, swallowing your cum like it was his own lewd type of protein shake.

it would also be a lie to an insane degree to say you didn't miss the way his soft skin felt gliding along yours whenever he would grind into you, his huge hands giving you a sense of stability in the way he would hold you down.

anton could tell from the way you were shamelessly biting your lip that you were thinking about it, taking the initiative to push your shoulders down until you were on your back.

he had barely let you utter out a desperate "okay" before he was rolling over on top of you, not hesitating for a second to drop his hips directly over yours so you could feel how hard his bulge had already gotten. you moaned aloud, hips immediately bucking up to meet his as he lowered his head to your neck, feathering wet kisses along your column.

the water dripping from his body was cold, but the warmth of his torso easily overcame it all when you needly reached for his back to pull the entirety of his weight onto you. you didn't realize how much you missed the rippling of his shoulder blades beneath your palms until you felt his body rolling in perfect tune with yours. you ran your hands all over his chiseled torso as you felt his hardened nipples brush against yours, and while you hopelessly wanted more you also didn't want this feeling to stop.

you felt a little pitiful, just sitting there allowing yourself to moan in pure bliss as your wet bodies press into each other, gripping anton's wide shoulders as his kisses picked up in heat. he was sucking hickeys into the sweet spot of your neck while his swim trunks tightened more and more as he humped against you, making you dizzier by the second.

"you sound so fucking hot whimpering for me like that." he moaned, licking a long trail up your neck to your jaw.

you didn't have any time to respond before he was pulling you into a searing kiss, his plump lips sloppily devouring yours while groaning into your mouth. you realized how much you missed the way he tasted, and silently cursed at yourself for going this long without him. you broke the kiss as your lungs began to need air, moaning out his name, just for him to grab your jaw and bring you back in for an overwhelmingly kiss. he was taking over every sense you had, filling your entire consciousness with nothing but thoughts of him. your hips bucked up incessantly, your body begging for him before your mouth could.

the hard concrete beneath you was starting to cause your limbs to ache as anton's mass pressed deeper into you, and he seemed to have read your mind, because before you knew it he was lifting himself off of you and dragging you into the water.

your mind was much too hazy to even register the vast difference in temperature, especially when you were clinging to anton like you needed him to breathe. it was as if something had taken over you and put you in the passenger seat of your own movements - all you could feel yourself doing was mumbling some endless pleas for him to fuck you before pulling him in to reconnect your lips in a hot kiss.

you could feel anton's shit eating grin against your lips as he backed you up against the poolside, slightly lifting his leg against the lower pool wall in order to guide you grinding your cock against his thigh. he took advantage of your loud moan to suck on your tongue, loving the way your fingers curled into his wet hair.

there was only so much you could handle before you were reaching below the water to pull your own swim trunks off, deciding that if anton didn't fuck you right then you might actually explode. anton helped you discard the shorts and send them flying somewhere atop of the water. the second you were free, you felt your cock on his abs, causing your hips to take action and grind against the muscle before you could even think about what you were doing.

some combined variant of a choked laugh and moan left antons mouth as he watched you throw your head back, obsessed with the way you were using his body to chase the pleasure you craved. he decided that he had his fun, slipping free from his trunks as well and lining himself up against you.

"deep breaths, baby." anton whispered, trying to sound confident but coming out as shaky neediness as well. you would normally laugh at how it almost sounded as if he were advising himself, but you were too far gone.

when he finally bottomed out in you, his size and the pressure of the water had your mind in a different realm. you clung to anton's round shoulders as he held you securely, giving you time to adjust after not having him in you for a month.

"this little ass still so tight and ready for me, i knew you missed me." he sighed out, giving you small experimenting rolls of his hips.

when you gripped him tighter and started fucking yourself on his cock, he knew he was in the clear to send you to oblivion, and thats exactly what he did.

between anton's desperation and the feeling of your member rubbing along his built torso, it didn't take much for either of you to approach your highs rapidly. you were soon announcing them to each other while you clung your slippery bodies tight together, the once still water around you turning into nothing less of a tsunami.

"'m cumming, ton." you cried out, just for him to hum in agreement.

he held the back of your neck, pushing your head down to make eye contact with him as you both hit your climax at the same time, an oddly intimate feeling settling over you in the moment and making your skin buzz.

panting against each other's faces, anton leaned in to claim your lips once more before you were both giggling like a couple of fools, padding your hands around the water as you brought yourselves down to earth.

it took a couple of moments for you to gasp horrendously at the realization of what you both just did, looking to anton with so much terror etched in your eyebrows that he couldn't help but laugh.

"did we just- the school's pool- we-" you sputtered aimlessly, only stopping once anton's hand emerged from the water to cover your mouth.

"don't worry about it, coach will handle it. he won't mind, because after that i'm about to bring this school three new medals this year."

© 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐧𝐬 — all rights reserved

[vangbelsing]

Just gonna throw out my thoughts on spoilers below the cut in reference to THAT Veilguard news today

I genuinely believe this is actually a good thing. Hot take, I know. But you know what? I don't think Bioware could ever satisfy the desires of every player. I would much rather have my headcanons for my Hero of Fereldan than to watch them appear in another game COMPLETELY different than how they were in DAO. And, I don't mean from how I headcanon them, I mean from the way they were literally portrayed in that game.

Take a look at Hawke. Not how I played them in DA2. Now look and the Inquisitor. Bioware is already forcing them to have a certain outlook that could be completely opposed to how they were played. Again, not how they were headcanoned, but literally portrayed in game. With the choices Bioware gave.

Do y'all genuinely think that "did you vow to save or stop Solas?" is gonna cover the NUMEROUS ways you could build a relationship with him in DAI? Those personal bits that you were given to rp and shape your character, those things that were literally IN THAT GAME, will be treated as if they didn't matter in order for the team to write your character how they think is most interesting. And it might just be me, but having your character the way you want them is one of the most important parts of these games, so watching them be taken and made to be something unrecognizable even from the choices you had them make in the game itself is... Unappealing to me.

Am I happy the reactivity from past games has been chopped down to three choices? No. Do I wish there was more? Yes. But if condensed reactivity to choices made in the other games means there can be more reactivity for the choices I make in this one? Fine. It is 100% a compromise, but it's a compromise I'm personally willing to make.

So yes, ultimately, I can work with this. Baldurs Gate 3 canonized a great deal from the first two games, and for the people that started with BG3, that means nothing. But for me? Someone who played the first two games that spent hours shaping the narrative of the game and building my character? Watching none of that matter as they parade around Abel fucking Adrian as the Bhaalspawn was the single most enraging thing I've experienced in a game. So Dragon Age not referencing stuff out of respect for my choices feels like a win, even if I wish there was more reactivity to old choices. I promise you all, this could be so, so much worse. I've literally seen it happen. Baldurs Gate was the original Dragon Age. I can tell you right now that if you were presented with the options of having Bioware not referencing your choices or a canon white male Cousland hero of Fereldan, you would take the former.

And this definitely is not intended to tell you you can't be upset about this or to act as a shield between you and a corporation. I'll take this because I genuinely do not trust Bioware to handle the Hero of Fereldan. But I got to have the alternative in bg3, and this may not be great, but oh my god it is so much better by comparison. After the way that game handled the Bhaalspawn, Jaheira, Viconia, and God forbid Sarevok... Yah. I'll take this any day. Seriously. Google any of those characters and look what Larian did to them in bg3. I will take this over that any day.

[mermaidsirennikita]

Sadly, the Wuthering Heights furor has also led to people (many of whom, let us be real, simply dislike the book or otherwise only think of it when it's brought up) to discourse about the content of the novel versus the wrongness of Emerald Fennell's choices with regards to the movie, which of course, has opened up the classic "IT'S NOT A ROMANCE! IT'S NOT A LOVE STORY! BAD PEOPLE! HATE STORY!"

... Which is... also a bad take.

First off, to be very clear, "Romance" is not inherently "genre romance", which is the thing I blog a lot about that was solidified in the latter half of the twentieth century (and which, no doubt, was influenced on some level by WH as much as Jane Eyre, Austen novels and so on). Wuthering Heights is a romance, it's just not a genre romance/romance novel. And indisputably, Wuthering Heights is a love story.

It may not be a love story you like. It may not be a love story with a happily ever after (though I will say—this is one of the few books where I think it's pretty debatable, as "wandering the moors as ghosts", if that is what happened, is kind of... what Cathy and Heathcliff would've wanted... and their ultimate desire was to be TOGETHER, regardless of whether or not it damned them, so is it an HEA in their freaky minds? Maybe so lol). It may ALSO be an abuse story in which the lovers act horribly to each other.... though, I gotta say, MUCH WORSE to literally everyone else in their lives than they do to each other...

But it's a love story. That is one of several things it happens to be. The entire novel is driven by this central love story between Heathcliff and Cathy—a love that is, contrary to what a surface-level reading or reading by word of mouth would imply... very much mutual. I've already gone on about how Cathy Earnshaw is not Heathcliff's victim the way Isabella Linton is, and how Cathy is very much as involved in the love affair as he is. But truly, while their individual internal struggles are the framework and what keeps them apart in many ways—Heathcliff being a man of color and subject to racist abuse, Cathy conforming to society and classist pressures when her natural temperament is very much not of society—what propels the story is this romance.

Because they are supposed to be read as extremely similar, and as two people who do not truly identify with anyone but one another. They're supposed to be read as like minds. They're supposed to be read as thwarted. Some of the things those two say about each other and to each other are legitimately some of the most romantic lines I've ever read.

I mean, are they also kind of sick and wrong? Sure! But I do find it kind of rich to see people who are totally fine with reading dark romance wring their hands over the public at large interpreting Heathcliff and Cathy's relationship as an epic romance. I don't have an issue with anyone enjoying either! But. Let us be real. Part of why y'all are even enjoying work like that is the standard that books like WH set, and the fact that WH does speak to the lure of the dark and the tragedy of people who are super imperfect... and also super in love... continuously fucking up their own lives (and the lives of basically everyone around them) in this push-pull of denial and desire.

When people say "HOW COULD ANYONE EVER INTERPRET THIS AS ROMANTIC?" I just have to question... did you read the book? Because even if it's not for YOU, if it's not romantic TO YOU, surely you can see why other people (me and mine lol) read lines like these and go, "Wow, romantic":

“Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living. You said I killed you--haunt me then. The murdered do haunt their murderers. I believe--I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always--take any form--drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!”

(fun fact: I do have a part of the above quote tattooed on my body and I'm very happy about it)

"My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it."

"Hush, my darling! Hush, hush, Catherine! I'll stay. If he shot me so, I'd expire with a blessing on my lips."

[said when her damn husband is almost at the door lol]

"I’m not wishing you greater torment than I have, Heathcliff. I only wish us never to be parted: and should a word of mine distress you hereafter, think I feel the same distress underground, and for my own sake, forgive me!"

"'Heathcliff, dear! you should not be sullen now. Do come to me, Heathcliff.’

In her eagerness she rose and supported herself on the arm of the chair. At that earnest appeal he turned to her, looking absolutely desperate. His eyes, wide and wet, at last flashed fiercely on her; his breast heaved convulsively. An instant they held asunder, and then how they met I hardly saw, but Catherine made a spring, and he caught her, and they were locked in an embrace from which I thought my mistress would never be released alive..."

"Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours! How can I?"

[Read: she is the murderer he is talking about. He's saying she doomed herself to death a long time ago, and he hates her for it. While also crying and kissing her lmao]

They're sickos! Nobody can argue otherwise. But that does not mean they're not in love, and it doesn't mean this isn't a love story, and wagging your fingers at people who read this as the obviously destructive love story this is and find it romantic... doesn't change that.

And the thing is that the book makes it pretttyyyy clear that even if Heathcliff and Cathy has assholery programed into their personalities, WITHOUT the contexts of how they were raised and the society that expects them both to conform to prescribed roles, they would probably just... be together. Like, they victimize people, especially Heathcliff. But they are also victims. The book isn't about a critique of two people Emily Bronte dreamed up; it's a critique of the CIRCUMSTANCES by way of Gothic, subversive melodrama. At the end of the day, their feelings, however passionate they are, are not inherently subversive. Their feelings are NATURAL. But they're twisted and contorted into something ugly through circumstance and the characters' responses to those circumstances.

For Heathcliff, A LOT of those circumstances that did twist him are in fact out of his control. Which is why we hate that casting, right?

But all that said, a love story being dirtybadwrong and about Bad People doesn't mean it isn't a love story, lol. Again—we don't even expect genre romance to be about good people.

Like. Yeah. We know Heathcliff and Cathy are assholes. You're not breaking new ground with that take. The book is still, in many ways, about those assholes being in love.

[biggesthomuradefender]

i rly, rly hate the notion and misconception that homura “never accepted/respected madoka’s wish/madoka becoming a god”, or even worse, “homura just wants to keep madoka weak and helpless !!!” or wtv, bc it’s literally just WRONG. loud and wrong. it’s so irritating.

homura quite literally DID except both at the end of the main series and in rebellion when she began to get her real memories back.

in fact, even during the flower field scene after hearing madoka’s true feelings (again, shinbo, one of the creators of madoka magica and rebellion even said that they ARE madoka’s true feelings, not a lie, not smth fake) and feeling even more responsible for madoka becoming a god in the first place and for lying to herself by telling herself that madoka was really and completely happy and okay w the divine sacrifice she made,

she literally tells madoka to her face right then that she’s WRONG abt herself, that she DOES and WILL have the ability to make impossible decisions when it matters bc of how genuine and kind she truly is, and she’s right.

and she still decides to believe and put her faith in god madoka, even when her god is dying in front of her very eyes (you know why the clara dolls chant “gott ist tot !!” throughout the movie? it means “god is dead” and it’s a metaphorical saying) in that moment because she now knows god is not HAPPY.

that resolve completely breaks apart when the isolation field and incubator’s seal are broken, and she can no longer protect madoka or any of the other girls from the incubator’s plan that only homura is aware of w/o doing smth completely fucking crazy and drastic… which, as u see, she did.

and even then, she doesn’t want madoka to regain her memories and reach her godly status again, bc that would only lead to madoka’s loneliness and suffering again, and homura is NOT about to let that happen.

homura is so, SO much more complex than she gets credit for, and i rly hate it when ppl view her and her character/actions w a black and white lens while literally forgetting several important aspects of the movie.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

(for the request thing) sometimes i wonder how Volo would feel/react if someone (like arceus’s chosen 👀) took a blow for him from a wild Pokemon or another person. From his perspective, Volo doesn’t have anyone in Hisui that cares about his wellbeing, and the game alludes to him having a troubled and lonely past, and with him having planned on erasing all life in Hisui in pursuit of his desires, would he feel guilt if someone showed him a level of care that would make them sacrifice their safety for his, when he was ready to potentially sacrifice them for his own sake when it came to Arceus?

(also wanna say ive loved your fics on Ao3, so talented <3)

(also on ao3)

You really prefer not to die in front of other people.

The edges of your vision darken as you shove Volo aside, taking the full force of the Alpha Vespiqueen’s attack. You manage the subdue your attacker with a well-aimed sticky glob and ultra ball, but not before suffering an undoubtedly fatal blow.

The consummate merchant comes to you at once, leaning over your fallen body with an oddly indecipherable expression. Usually Volo is abundantly obvious with his feelings, whether he’s passionately rambling about ruins or earnestly praising your efforts as the hero of Hisui. But the man you see now, as your vision begins to blur, simply stares.

“Caught it,” you brag.

His grey eyes widen slightly. You haven’t shared this with him, but you’ve always found them rather beautiful.

“You shouldn’t have…”

“Saved you?” you ask with a dry chuckle. “That’s why I’m here, remember?”

Volo furrows his brow. Reaches out to touch you, then pulls his hand back.

“I sincerely apologize,” he tells you, bowing his head. “If you are to perish in these circumstances, you deserve to know—”

You die and can’t hear the rest.

And then you open your eyes.

You stand on your feet now, in the last place you felt safe before the Pokémon’s attack. Volo still kneels in the distance, seemingly unaware that your body has been replaced by a fallen satchel containing your entire supply of ultraballs, a fire stone, and exactly four medicinal leeks.

You frown. This is going to be awkward.

“Hey, buddy,” you say, coming up carefully behind him. Volo’s back goes rigid at the sound of your voice, his head turning around at once.

“You—you!!”

You rub the back of your neck, sheepish. “Surprise?”

“You died!” Volo exclaims with an accusatory finger-point. “I just saw—” His head swivels to the satchel on the ground, then he turns back to you. “How?”

You sigh and sit down beside him. “Chosen One perk. I die, Arceus says my work isn’t finished yet, I get another shot. It happened for the first time when I fought Lord Kleavor. I had no idea what I was doing, and it took like a dozen tries before I got good.”

Volo looks horrified. “You’ve died a dozen times?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why—”

“My death count’s definitely in the triple digits now. Lord Arcanine was ten times worse than Kleavor, because of all the fire and bullshit arena. At least Lady Liligant was a total pushover.”

“Did it not hurt?” demands Volo, his face growing noticeably pale.

“Oh, it totally hurt,” you admit. “But somebody’s got to deal with it, and I’m the only one around here who’s been made invulnerable by God.”

Volo looks as if he’s been slapped. You suppose that’s fair, considering the shock of witnessing your death and resurrection. But to you, this really is just another Tuesday.

“I know it’s disturbing,” you sigh, putting a hand on his shoulder. His muscles are tense. “That’s why I try my best to make sure people aren’t around to see it. Just easier that way, you know?”

Volo wears another unreadable expression.

“Sucks to lose a satchel, though,” you say, lightly. “Thanks for keeping an eye on it. Without witnesses, I usually lose some of my stuff. Never the plates, though, don’t worry.”

He still looks lost in his thoughts, which is no good. You don’t know how to explain that this happens all the time, for much less important reasons than protecting your favorite person on Hisui. The pain is a small price to pay for his safety, and you’d readily pay it again.

“I thought you died,” Volo eventually says. “Saving my life.”

You elbow him playfully. “I guess Arceus is looking out for you too.”

His expression darkens. “No.”

“No?”

He looks you dead in the eyes, with a different sort of intensity than you’ve come to expect from the eccentric wanderer. “Under an unjust god, endless life is endless pain. Do you truly wish that for yourself? For the world?”

Distantly, you wonder what exactly Volo had thought you deserved to know before your presumed demise. You have a feeling he’s not going to tell you now.

You offer him a hand. “Well, unless you’ve got a better god laying around somewhere, I think we’re stuck with what we’ve got.” And I like what I’ve got, you absolutely do not tell the merchant. I like that I’m here with you.

Volo still seems distracted, but he takes your hand anyway. “Right,” he mutters, and then smiles. “We live to fight another day.”

You rub your thumb against the side of his hand. “And maybe someday, we won’t have to fight. We’ll have everything we need.”

You can picture it, with him. You wonder, maybe foolishly, if he might feel the same way.

Supporting you is actually an investment in my own fortunes, Volo had told you once.

You would protect him regardless of your personal relationship, of course. Just as you protect the rest of this world. You want things to be better, for everyone, and intend to use your god-given powers to ensure that your dream becomes reality.

Volo nods, his sharp gaze fixed on your joined hands. A chill runs down your spine as he squeezes.

“Yes,” he agrees. “Someday.”

You smile softly.

“I think I can live with that.”

[incorrectinfinity]

I saw someone say that the Gun Goddess would be akin to this America's 9/11 and I simultaneously do and do not agree with this take.

It isn't 9/11 because it is so much worse.

When the bullet was shot it was not just shot directly to Japan, it was shout through the US.

This means that possible hundreds of thousands to millions of people could've died. It is so much worse than 9/11, it's an international tragedy unlike anything else.

Also I just wanna mention this here but...

This panel.

I presume that this is the, uh, "shell" from the bullet fired from the God Goddess' shot. It's a trigger finger.

Is this her ammunition? How much does one bullet aquate to in fingers? HOW FUCKED IS POCHITA????

[sass-ruby]

Gosh- THIS EPISODE

For me, it felt like there needed to be something more.. I dunno, it just felt empty? And by empty, I mean what nexus said. Like his insults and actions.. it's kinda weird to me. You're telling me this is the SAME person who hijacked moon's head and tortured him, making him relieve his worst memories? He sounds so pathetic, and cringe at the moment, ESPECIALLY with his "I AM GOD!" complex.

Though, the "I'm sorry" from sun was HEARTBREAKING. In my opinion, it isn't sun's fault. He went through so much, and had no time to grieve because the new moon already showed up. Just imagine being in sun's place, a close family member you've known more than 10+ years dies and you get no time to grieve? It'd be fricking difficult. Also, I believe nexus is still a moon. He may claim that he's different but, he's almost the same stubborn, hateful moon. (Not talking about sun's moon, most moons in general). That's why sun said, "you're not worse than moon- hell you're not even better!"

Another thing I noticed, he seemed way more vulnerable with sun. Yelled at him for dealing with him wrongly (him being a replacement) and such. He is definitely hurt. To me, he seemed like a hurt, angry teenager yelling at his parents for doing him wrong and making him hateful, vengeful, a monster. It genuinely felt like a cry for help of some sorts

It's interesting to me that moon was scared of Nexus, and of death. Before his death, he didn't care. But now, he's scared which his reason was that he didn't want to put his family through the same thing. I think it's because of the qna episode.. Sun confirmed that when moon died, he just cried. It probably made him feel guilt of some sorts.

Oh, a thing to mention, I LOVE HOW RUIN TRIED TO KEEP SUN SAFE. In my eyes, ruin being scared is all an act. He has been through SO much worse, as well as destroying 5000+ dimensions so why would this scare him? I think he's trying to help sun and moon, because if he acts scared, no one would suspect him, right? He did leave a hint, which helped sun and moon find sun's² dimension. And he even told them "I'm not scared for me, I'm scared for you."

Ruin is a clever character, who has many tricks up his sleeve. He's great at tricking people, he is the world's greatest actor after all! (Get the reference?)

He surely has some sort of plan, or at least an outline of it.

EEEEEE I LOVE HIM SM, I CAN'T WAIT FOR WHAT HAPPENS IN THE FUTURE

5 more days until october

[trans-pickles]

can't get the thought of a kierthur vdl!kieran au out of my head and i'm burdening you all with the forbidden knowledge now

the teeny-tiny gang, comprised only of dutch, hosea, susan, arthur, john, tilly, and uncle (oh, and copper of course) has no choice but to enter a tenuous but necessary truce with the far larger o'driscolls

the law is on both their tails and they're in for a cold, long winter

dutch used to run with colm when he was younger. he doesn't talk about it beyond strict warnings to tilly and his boys to know what kind of man colm is, truce or no truce

arthur, freshly nineteen, doesn't feel much like socializing with anyone

he thought it would be a grand romantic gesture, giving mary his mother's ring and asking to run away together

in the end it had been pathetic, just like their relationship (at least from his perspective. we up self hating.) him, throwing himself at her feet. her, overwhelmed by the intensity this carefree cowboy is suddenly showing, still bound to her family both by honor and love

he wants to hate her. it would be easy to hate her. but by god he can't, not with the way she pushed the ring back into his hands and wept and embraced him the last time

so without anything to hate but himself and dutch and hosea's bickering he continues through the blizzard to the dilapidated hunting lodge where colm and his boys are holed up

introductions are useless, of course to colm he's a disposable gun for hire. all he does is wave him off to his skittery, good-for-nothing stablehand.

for an o'driscoll, the boy's hands are gentle. he avoids eye contact with arthur but his nerves belie a deep understanding of horses

boadicea, just as headstrong as her rider, somehow allows him to undo her bridle. his actions are soft but firm.

enough tenderness to show he's not a threat, with the sureness to show he's ultimately the one in control

arthur watches him. maybe he isn't blown away, but he's pleasantly surprised not to have to yell at some blockhead o'driscoll for mishandling his horse, or worse yet have to stop boadicea from trampling him

when the boy finishes arthur realizes he wasn't even told a name. he has to pry it out of the boy - it's kieran. kieran duffy.

kieran's fine sleeping in the stables, he says. the horses keep him warm. arthur remembers dutch telling him that the o'driscolls "ain't like us, son" and awkwardly says that he's free to use boadicea's blanket if the cold gets to him

kieran smiles for the first time. he thanks arthur. tells him, a little nervously, that his horse is a "beautiful animal, mister"

arthur laughs, tells him not to call him "mister", why kieran must be barely even younger than he is

"okay then, mister arthur"

"well i guess this is good night, mister kieran"

kieran looks confused before realizing it's a joke. and not even one at his expense! he grins a big dopey sunny grin, arthur thinks of mary, of drunken rendezvous with other farmhands in bars across the states after heartbreaks like this tips his worn-out hat, and starts to make his bed in the hay

arthur's glad to see him grab the blanket before he turns around to leave for his own quarters

he might not be as hard up for company as he thought here

[hashimasims]

Absalom: That's not fair. You don't know what happened then, what it was like. You weren't there. And as far as not knowing now - The Bond didn't go dead til this morning. Something happened yesterday early in the morning she was sleeping then I felt fear and I was going to come then but then she was asleep again. I assumed she had a nightmare. I thought it odd she was sleeping so long but I know I sent her through a mental breakdown by just revealing everything to her and thought she was just avoiding the world. I was trying to give her time to process everything before I took her away. I know that's not going to help anything but what else am I suppose to do, I can't let her go. And what about you?! Why didn't you come to her? Why didn't your Bond tell you anything?

Kanaloa: I already told you, my Bond only tells me she's alive. She has to send anything else she wants me to know down the tether. But I don't need to know her emotions or thoughts through the Bond when I can just observe her. Pay attention to the sound of her voice, the way she gets a little wrinkle between her brows when she's REALLY thinking hard about something, or the way her eyes glaze over and she becomes distant EVERY time she's worrying or thinking about something, or someone, that has hurt her. I know she prefers sunflowers over roses, water to any other beverage but loves a good coffee date, who her favorite authors are and I can tell you when she's reading a particularly good smut scene in public by how stone faced she gets but she can't hide how her pupils dilate or that she's reading faster. I've known just by watching her that she's had emotional scars since childhood that have only gotten worse as she's ignored them and shoved down her own issues to appease others - like you. I just didn't know the extent of it until a few days ago. I know all this because I actually courted her; taking her on dates, constant texts and calls, making dinner for her here, while you pretty much said we're fated to be together you don't have too much say in the matter. I wanted to know WHO she is rather than WHAT she is to me before staking my claim. You moved up that time table on me because I didn't want to complete the binding until I had the chance to tell her everything but I was scared she was going to do something stupid after how I found her and I needed to be sure she had a literal lifeline if she did. I'm quite proud of her for giving you the boot when you pulled that pregnancy stunt but I'm also glad that, though she still feels bruised by it, she's moved on from it and forgiven you though I personally don't understand how. It means she can heal from her trauma and with help can maybe overcome her mental problems and insecurities. You want the truth? All she wants is to be loved and accepted and doesn’t feel she’s worthy of it nevermind being worthy of a couple of GODS! The more information that gets thrown at her the more she pulls into herself. Give her time to process and she starts to accept it. She still doesn’t understand how her family considers her one of them after everything came out but she’s getting better. She just needs time Abs and we need to be patient.

Beginning|Previous|Next

[redfountainpostin]

Fell in love with your blog, went on a rampage to a friend about Riven/Darcy, came up with ideas, bon appetit! (Is that meme giving away my age?)

Riven who had his head so played with that he straight up doesn't trust his senses, anything he sees could be one of Darcy's illusions, someone calls his name and he ignores it cause he's gotten used to Darcy's voice inside his head pushing him to do x or y

He'll ignore his body's signals, hunger? Thirst? Pain? He can't tell if it's him or Darcy's tricks, so he ignores it just to be sure (meanwhile our boy is severely dehydrated and has 20 broken bones), the squad will have to remind him to eat, or drink or get to the infirmary

Darcy implants fake memories in his head, after, he can't tell his real past from the fake memories

Did he always liked X or Y? Or did Darcy influence him?

He loses some of his memories, there are things that no matter how hard he tries he can't recall

Shitty long term memory! If he's actively thinking about it, he doesn't forget, if he gets distracted, boom! It's gone. Post its all over his room and the kitchenette "you're allergic to strawberries", cause if he stops thinking about it he forgets, eats it and could go into anaphylactic shock. "Helia's mom's name is X" (I stole this one straight from Manacled, I'm not apologising).

The boys include this sort of thing in their conversation Hella will be talking about his mom and goes "my mother, X"

It's a PTSD free for all

Sometimes he'll go through his day convinced that he's in an illusion, that nothing he does it's really happening, and it isn't until he (accidentally) hurts someone that he realises "oh shit, it's been real the whole time"

Someone has to get him a night light for kids, cause now he's kinda terrified of the dark, I feel like Darcy could have him in total darkness for a while, he can't tell where he is, what time it is, what's going on. It makes him extra paranoid.

She could take away all his senses at the same time. After, he's extra sensitive and hyperaware, and will alternate between "Sky is breathing too loud" and ignoring the literal Armageddon outside his window cause "it's just another illusion" or because he can't feel it happening, some of his senses will stop working randomly. (Hello S3 blind Aisha parallels!)

Riven is not really a favourite, but his relationship with Darcy has so much potential! Feel free to use this or discard them all 🩷

Oh my god thank you so much for sending this, I love ALL OF THIS (also, I think Manacled is showing your age more than Bon Appetit, but potato potato XD, god bless us) I've been playing around with Riven having memory issues myself!!! I actually hc he already has those issues from his childhood, there was no head injury that caused it, it was just that he went through something so traumatic his brain just locked down an entire year of memories. Like, from age 10 to 11, it's blank, nada, empty, prazno, kaput. So when Darcy fucks with his head, it makes it even worse!!! What if he gets a (bad) habit of carrying a recorder in his pocket at all times?? In the evening he listens through it on sped up version to make sure everything was real. When someone finds out they're furious and he has to stop, bc it IS violating towards others, but it causes him so much stress. I also actually HCed him to feel much SAFER in the dark, because growing up, dark meant a lot more places to hide; Darcy taking that away from him, basically ruining a safe space, especially if he is a night owl, is just *chef's kiss*. And yea, my boy doesn't eat properly!! He will either forget, or refuse, or have a very specific think he'll eat and nothing else. I actually hc him to not eat bread, mostly bc I don't eat bread, so he bastardizes all sandwiches and just eats the filling and none of the bread, leaving his squadmates mildly disturbed XD Helia's mom definitely had to introduce himself like 3 times before he actually remembered her, but she doesn't hold it against him (I hc that Helia has really nice parents and bc I hc that Saladin got him into RF, and Saladin is Helia's fam, the whole fam kinda wants the best for him, except for Helia when he reaches for a sandwich in the fridge only to bite in and see that someone took out all the fillings) Also, to quote Harley Quinn: everyone else can see this trippy magic stuff yea? He literally has to ask at the end of each season during the obligatory final battle lololololol I really like the idea of the guy just being perma damaged and that's how it is and he has to live with it and his friends will be there for him AND HE HAS TO SEE THE PERSON WHO DID THAT TO HIM EVERY YEARS BC TRIX REFUSE TO FUCK OFF-

[beaulesbian]

I was once again thinking about this goofy Luffy moment after his Lucci punch™ and i had to see it frame by frame.

first the force of it throws them both away, and while Lucci is seen on screen tumbling for a long moment, Luffy is just away in a blink of an eye.

and then his funny scene - his legs are like jelly that he tries to get under control,

he stumbles, falls, rolls into a mix of all his limbs and eyes,

and then only the cloud behind him cushions his fall

- which would be interesting if he can subconsciously control that while he tries to regain the control over his movements - that the environment around him still adapts to his awakened Devil Fruit abilities and morphs to help him. Where others would probably fall through that cloud, for Luffy that cloud backs him up like a trampoline.

It's just fascinating!

[nydescynt]

Thematic Analysis of Hades II: Why You Can Never Go Home

(At some point I might make a video on this, but for now sharing my thoughts via textpost. Spoilers ahead!)

So the text of the story of Hades and Hades 2 are Zagreus breaking out of the House, and Melinoë breaking in.

But the wild thing (and the reason Hades 2 is much more interesting to me) is that both games actually have almost inverted themes from that text. Zagreus is intent on uniting a household; Melinoë is discovering the home she's fought to return to is rotten to the core.

Zagreus, despite his entire textual goal being to leave his home and family, is narratively & thematically working to bring the family and household together. His mother comes back and is reunited not just with him but her husband, mother, and entire extended family. Achilles and Patrocles, Orpheus and Eurydice, Asterion and Theseus: Hades is a story of people metaphorically coming home and making peace with where they are (Sisyphus, Thanatos, Orpheus). Everyone basically gets a happy ending, credits roll, problems all resolved or en route to be solved. Everyone is home.

(Important to note: we never see a human in the first game. We see shades, and gods, and monsters, and the closest you get to a mortal living thing is the satyrs. This is a story concerned with the realm of the gods.)

In contrast, Melinoë has no home - besides being estranged from her childhood home, she literally lives in a tent. In case the theme was too subtle, presumably.

Now, she has been fighting her entire life to become powerful enough to return home and reclaim her family - that seems Zagreus-adjacent on its face. However, there isn't a home to return to- Hades is in shackles, the rest of her family trapped in time. At this point in Early Access, on both a metatextual & diegetic level she quite literally can neither make it to Mt Olympus or into Zagreus' room - she cannot go home, she cannot meet her family.

Consider the others: Odysseus' presence seems to tie into the idea of a long journey home, but this is an Odysseus who lived and died and now has other (inhuman) priorities. He loves them, but has no interest in reuniting with Penelope and Telemachus at this point. Nemesis dislikes her siblings, and is more concerned with the equal application of "justice" than whether it has any reforming effect. Narcissus and Echo eventually talk and part more amicably, but that's the best that can be said about their relationship.

Hecate refuses to be called Melinoë's mother: she will not distract from the "true" family that Melinoë has no memory of ever meeting.

Instead of Ares and Dionysus (enjoyers of chaos and least affected by the toxicity of the family in Hades 1) we have Hestia and Hephaestaus- a goddess who helped murder her father and a god constantly belittled by his own family. Their tense and frequently bitter interactions with the other Olympians are evocative of the central theme being explored: what if there isn't a home to go back to? What if your family is unforgivable? (What if you want to forgive them anyways? What if you need to?)

This theme is why Arachne is in the game, and Athena is not: likeable, first-helper-of-Zagreus Athena turned Arachne into a spider out of petty anger. How do you reconcile that?

Moros (lovely, kind Moros, who gushes at Odysseus like a fanboy) and his sisters the Fates did horrible things to mortals out of boredom. The same mortals whose bodies you can see stacked up like cordwood in Ephyra, who you repeatedly claim you are fighting to protect from Chronos. Moros can neither confirm nor deny that the current events could have been set in motion by the Fates. How do you reconcile that?

Polyphemus raises sheep. He genuinely loves and cares for them, is protective of them. He also eats them, and is confused when Melinoë implies a contradiction.

How can you love someone and be willing to kill them? For survival? For fleeting satisfaction? For vengeance?

Is Chronos' willingness to eat his children so morally heinous that it makes him worse than every cruelty the gods have wrought? Worse for who?

[orchid-n-petals]

So I've already shared parts of this on a discord server, but I have to scream about Ketheric Thorm on here as well. Obviously spoilers about the character under the cut! It's a long one.

The entirety of act 2 is about him, right? Jaheira, Shadowheart and numerous other NPCs shit on him for his fickle faith. First Selune, then Shar, then, as we meet him, Myrkul. You hear about his changes of faith on a whim, you hear that he's the person responsible for the shadow curse, he is painted as a villain, plain and simple.

You can figure it out pretty early on that Isobel was resurrected and that she is his daughter; the detail as well that he wants Isobel alive is so on the nose, it gives him away completely but there are still a few questions that remain unanswered, mainly about his faith.

And then you get to the mausoleum and the picture assembles; this entire tragedy, the death of hundreds if not thousands and the complete ruination of a landscape was all, ALL because you had this absolutely wrenched, heartbroken father who had lost everything and nobody answered his grief. He was left woefully alone, the Goddess whose daughter his daughter was involved with did nothing to save Isobel.

Imagine outliving your wife and your daughter. Imagine dedicating your life to fight the Lady of Loss, your Lady of Silver's enemy, and then be left so completely alone and in silence with your grief, with your loss. It's so, so poetic how and why he turned from Selune, and it's so understandable as well; he broke. His spirit completely broke. He couldn't deal with that void of having lost the only two important people in his life, seemingly undeservedly so. He was going mad with this and a lot of his ire was likely targeted at Aylin who, in his eye, represented Selune; she's literally her daughter, after all, and it was implied that even before the deaths of his family, he sort of saw Aylin courting Isobel as Selune taking his daughter from him, despite his service. This relationship was clearly not seen by him as a boon of "giving his daughter to the Moon-maiden".

His ways in the past clearly didn't spare him from tragedy and having to cope with it (which he clearly didn't, he snapped under the weight of his grief). He was clearly angry and unable to do anything, furious and helpless, which is a dangerous combination. A good part of his first change of heart must have been fuelled by a sense of revenge.

But then Shar didn't provide any balm to his aching heart either. If you read his letters in Grymforge and in act 2, he is so focused on enacting the will of Shar because he believes that healing lies in oblivion. Everything would be easier if he could just forget, if the damn world could just forget, if nothing was remembered because without Melodia and Isobel, nothing was worth remembering.

Then came Myrkul. Literally the only god who was not only able, but WILLING to give back his daughter to him. Imagine spending your all, EVERYTHING you have to serve two gods who would not give a single shit about the greatest suffering in your life. You were basically nothing, your loyalty didn't matter for shit, everything that was taken from you amounted to no recognition whatsoever: you should simply cope and seethe. Your grief will not simply go unanswered (which is not inherently antagonising) but ignored.

And then comes this supposedly evil entity who can alleviate your pain just like that, snap of a finger and it's a done deal.

I am so serious when I say that I believe Ketheric's main incentive was to extend Aylin's immortality to Isobel as well. You can read in her diary that she feels a taint after having came back, and there are things not even Selune can cleanse, but at this point, Ketheric doesn't care about Selune, vengeance is secondary if not tertiary, he's done that war during his Shar years and what did it give him? Literally nothing.

He doesn't even care about the fact that Isobel is still her cleric. He cares about the single most important fact: Isobel is back. Life is worth living again, there is something for him, and it was not Selune or Shar who gave it to him but Myrkul, and for this singular gift, he would raze the world for the Lord of Bones. Like people can clown on him for being disloyal but the man has the loyalty of a dog bonded to its owner.

He is powerful and is willing to go to insane lengths for crumbs. What is raising a single life for a god? Nothing. It has happened and it will happen again. But Ketheric will go to the ends of the earth to serve the single god who actually listened to him. The one god who didn't ignore him.

He knows that what he does is not the morally upright thing! He is so insanely self-aware that allying with Orin and Gortash and doing this entire plot with them only to then betray them is morally reprehensible at the best of times, he knows that people hate him, etc-etc. He was a Selunite at one point and he's not stupid. He just doesn't care; it could be literal Asmodeus and he wouldn't care as long as he got what he wanted, no matter the price.

He is probably the only one from the three of the chosen who has complete clarity over his situation, he almost sways (if you pass the check during his confrontation), he is not an inherently evil man blinded by power.

But he is inherently loyal to those deserving, and as of the story's standing, completely broken by his grief. In his eyes, at this point, the only one deserving loyalty is the one who actually listened to him. Isobel lives. It doesn't matter that she hates him, that his entire life has fallen apart, that literally nothing else that is good has come of it, because Isobel lives.

I don't think he regrets a single thing. His consciousness might tear at him at the end, but I believe he would do everything over again, exactly as he did, because in the end, his daughter was brought back. Because what would a grieving, broken parent give to bring back their child? Everything. Absolutely everything. And it's such a simply given answer, no second thoughts, no doubts.

Nobody can tell me that this man is fickle. Nobody. This man was willing to burn the world to the ground, create a Boudica destruction layer all by himself for the one single thing he wanted. For any God that would listen.

I don't know, I just have a lot of thoughts about his character.