#if there’s a god they certainly hate me. and that’s fair

[boygirlctommy]

hrrheggrgh anyone else just hate the christian concept of the afterlife with a passion or is it just me

[butifyoujudgeafish]

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[randomdragonfires]

I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife. 

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age. 

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved. 

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love. 

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens. 

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation  clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did. 

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to. 

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. 

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought. 

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband? 

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance… 

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him. 

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them. 

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was. 

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her. 

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get.  Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately. 

How she wished it was her. 

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals.  Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?”  she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?” 

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now. 

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut. 

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger,  it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face. 

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him. 

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these,  he needed a champion too. 

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife. 

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor. 

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit. 

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife. 

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right. 

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron. 

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive. 

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him? 

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there. 

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked. 

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.  

Oh yes, their marriage had grown. 

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either. 

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige. 

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do. 

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own. 

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened. 

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place  a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.” 

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care. 

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears. 

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into. 

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up. 

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?” 

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.” 

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full. 

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind. 

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips. 

“Thank you, for everything.” 

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did. 

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago. 

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria. 

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries. 

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said. 

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored. 

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself. 

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim. 

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such  reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed. 

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally. 

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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MASTERLIST

[bolognamayhem117]

Hot Take: Astarion does NOT hate flowers. You just missed a few subtle hints through Act 1 and early Act 3.

Astarion's negativity is directed toward just about anything remotely pleasant as you move through early act three, starting the moment you leave Wyrm's Rock. First thing after Gortash's coronation he marvels near tears at the colors of the city in daylight. If you ask if he's alright, it pisses him off.

There's other instances I can't quite remember but he's a straight crank throughout early Act 3 and it took me several hours of gameplay to have a lightbulb moment about his newly crappier attitude.

He just spent the last two hundred years seeing everything in the overwhelmingly warm dim tones of indoor lighting via sconces, rushlights, and braziers, or the dingy blue gray of moonlight outside. Daylight colors are something he had more than a lifetime to forget and now that he has a chance to remember that vibrancy in his own home town, he knows he's going to have to forget it all over again either by death or by remaining a vampire spawn forever. The worm isn't going to live rent free in his head forever, and killing Cazador to ascend in his place likely feels like an insurmountable and impossible fight against a literal titan who could stomp him flat without a corm of effort.

He doesn't hate flowers, he hates EVERYTHING right now because it's all going away very soon and if he convinces himself he hates everything then he won't miss it when it's all gone again. He was denied this for two hundred years and he's PISSED at what was stolen from him and PISSED it's all going away again.

He behaved similarly in Act 1 about anyone besides him enjoying physical intimacy. Some of this content was cut, to my best knowledge, but the overwhelming majority of his dialog addressing the PC romancing anyone but him are negative or backhanded. This is for two reasons, I think. A: his Simple Plan just dissolved right before his eyes when you chose someone else which in his mind means he has zero safety net, and EVERYONE gets to enjoy sex (key wording being ENJOY, not simply having) except him... And it pisses him off.

He also gleefully interrupts the bug bear and the ogress, I think for the same reason as the above paragraph, being: If he doesn't get to enjoy intimacy neither do they.

He reacts with anger and disgust at anything he's being unfairly denied. Which... That's fair. His feelings are valid, but his reaction to it is pretty shitty and meanspirited.

The other companions I tend to keep in my party, (that is Lae'zel, Halsin, Karlach, and Wyll) however, are actually appearing to behave pretty patiently with him in Act 3 which I find interesting.

In the instance with the flowers Karlach doesn't bother trying to convince him otherwise of his opinion, she just tells him how they make her feel instead and rather than getting snippy or doubling down he more or less agrees to disagree. I also don't recall anyone disagreeing with Astarion during Gale's last quest tasks when he mentioned that he quit praying to gods who wouldn't hear him a long time ago but to be fair, I think the gods did everybody in this crew dirty and they all know it. It seems like they're consciously giving him the space to be mad about things, is what I'm saying.

Everyone I know including myself who crawled out of a long-term hot garbage situation kinda went wild for a bit with freedom, spoke poorly, behaved strangely, had extreme emotional reactions to things, and made some particularly terrible choices. I think that's just a part of recalibrating yourself, healing and learning how to be okay again.

Point is, I wouldn't conflate too many of the turbo-negative things he says with how he actually feels about anything. We certainly know what he says and what he feels are two very different things.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Ayo! Can I request of TF141 + König x Fem! Reader who sneeze like a kitten and how the mens react when they see her sneeze. Imagine like Y/n was minding her own business and she sneeze, then the men’s watch her awe.

Take all the time no need to rush.

Thank you for this!! Thought this was a cute request. Sorry this is a bit short, but hope you enjoy!🙃🩷

141 Boys + König with a Reader who Sneezes like a Kitten

Warnings: swearing

Simon "Ghost" Riley-

It was awhile into the two of you dating, before he heard you sneeze for the first time.

You were cooking dinner together in your apartment, when you turned your head to the side and squeaked out a sneeze.

"What in the bloody hell was that?" Simon asked, directing his attention to you.

You lifted a finger at him, and turned your head away as you let out another sneeze. "Apologies, must be my allergies."

"That….was a sneeze?" Simon asked incredulously. He'd never in his life heard someone sneeze like that.

"Unfortunately." You chuckled, amused at your boyfriend's reaction.

"It was…kind of cute." Simon's cheeks burned at his admission. "It was like a little kitten."

Soap MacTavish-

Both of you were laying in bed, cuddling before a mission. You were snuggled into Soap's side while he was stroking your arm lightly.

"I love y-." You were cut off mid sentence by an oncoming sneeze, you sat up and quickly turned your head to the side to sneeze. A small squeak came out, and you turned to see Johnny staring at you in awe.

"That was possibly the most adorable noise I've ever heard." He couldn't help but laugh, incredibly amused at your little sneeze.

"Oh hush, I've always hated my sneezes." You pushed him lightly. You felt another one coming and braced yourself.

"Oi yeah, give me another one. Gotta hear this again." Soap bit his lip to prevent himself from laughing further.

You let out another squeaky sneeze, and Soap cackled the rest of the day because of it.

"Hey L.T. You've gotta hear Y/N's sneeze. Sounds like a mouse kitten hybrid. It's bloody adorable." He'd later told Ghost, much to your dismay.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick-

Like you, Gaz also has rather squeaky sneezes. The first time he'd heard you sneeze, you and the 141 were on a mission together.

You and Gaz were camping out in a small hideout when you had the urge to sneeze. You took a deep breath in to try and fight iy, which caused Gaz to look in your direction. "You good, babe?"

You nodded your head, causing you to squeak out a sneeze.

"Oh my God! You sneeze like me!" Gaz cried out, a smile forming on his face.

"I, what?"

"Your sneeze, it's like mine. Got a little squeak to it." Gaz was practically beaming, and you had to bite your lip to prevent yourself from laughing at your boyfriend. This certainly wasn't the reaction you expected.

Later on that night, you awoke to sounds of repeated squeaking coming from beside you. "Gaz?"

"See? Told you my sneezes were like yours!"

John Price-

Price was on a work call at your house when he heard your sneeze for the first time. You were in the other room trying to be as quiet as possible, but you'd looked at the sun through the window a little too long and felt the distinct feeling of a sneeze coming on.

You quickly threw your face into your arm and let out a squeak.

You could hear Price stop talking in the other room. He poked his head out from the doorway and called out to you. "Love? You okay?"

"I'm fine! Just a sneeze!"

"That was the weakest sneeze I've ever heard in my life." John had a shit eating grin on his face as he addressed you.

"Would you rather me sneeze like you? Loud enough to shake the whole house?" You quipped with a smile.

"Fair enough, love. I'll take the squeaky sneezes."

König-

The two of you were cleaning your weapons together, when a bit of dust came off the weapon, directly into your nose.

You blinked back slight tears, and turned your head to the side letting out a sneeze.

König whipped his head around the room, looking for the source of the noise. "Y/N. Is there a cat in here?"

The fact that he was deadly serious had you in a fit of giggles. He was walking around the room, inspecting each corner intently.

"What? What's so funny?" Konig asked bemused, stopping his search to look at you.

"I sneezed, love. There's no kitten."

König's eyes widened as he let out a chuckle. From then on, you'd lovingly earned the nickname "Kätzchen" from him.

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

A/N: I hope you enjoyed!! :) working on some requests now, but am always open for new ones🙃

Also Kätzchen is German for kitten😊

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"THE FIRST DATE"

EXTRA CONTENT - "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 7k+ → a/n: the very long awaited first date. this was requested by several people. wahoo! also, fair warning for second-hand embarrassment. i think eddie munson is the only person who drag me dancing around a bowling alley and i wouldn't smite them on the spot.

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

EDDIE: What about a fancy dinner date?

YOU: boring.

YOU: and too traditional. when were you even born, Munson? the 60s???

EDDIE: Ha. Ha. I don’t see you making any worthwhile suggestions, sweetheart. 

YOU: i don’t have to make any suggestions, old man. YOU’RE supposed to be wooing ME 

God forbid anyone walked in on you at this moment. 

You were like a high schooler, lying on your stomach with your feet kicking up into the air as you stared at the screen, happily bantering with Eddie over text. All the butterflies, all the blissful jitters, all that dopamine rush that comes with school girl crushes – every single cliche was present and was in full force as you discussed the details of your first date with him. You used to scoff (albeit with hidden longing) at all the romance movies that you truly believed had overplayed all the giddiness, but now you got it. It was disgusting, the way he had you wrapped around his finger so easily, the way he had turned you into a heart-eyed shell of the woman you once were in the matter of a week. 

EDDIE: So you have a thing for older men is what you’re telling me.

YOU: i NEVER said that.

EDDIE: Didn’t have to, sweetheart. I can read between the lines. 

Over the last week, since the two of you had won the bet and you had won over with insistence on him properly asking you out, Eddie had been tossing around date ideas as he tried to plan this very first occasion. The only time you had even seen him was when your entire group met up, the latest outing having been for brunch on Saturday under the guise celebrating the one week anniversary of you and Eddie surviving twenty four hours together without killing each other. 

Didn’t stop him from calling and texting you. And it clearly hadn’t deterred him from losing his mind over doing right by you with this entire first date ordeal. 

YOU: i don’t even have the energy to explain to you how many times you have proven to not do that in the past. 

EDDIE: I’ve read between the lines in the past! 

YOU: you most certainly have NOT

EDDIE: I was able to read when you wanted to kiss me that night. That’s reading between the lines.

And so the giddiness rears its head, full fledged as heat swarms your body and your cheeks ache from your smile. 

YOU: i hate you 

EDDIE: No, you don’t

YOU: i do. i really do. 

EDDIE: You’re such a shit liar

You nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock on your dorm’s door, annoying and persistent as it taps out some random rhythm that must be a song of some sort. But whatever song it is, you can’t recognize it as you stand, walking over to answer. 

“Did you forget your key aga-” you begin, assuming it was just your roommate. You’re shocked to see Robin and Steve standing there, “What are you guys doing here?” 

“We had a study date, in case you had forgotten and not seen our hundreds of texts,” Steve huffs, quickly crossing his arms. 

You hadn’t seen their texts. Most of your screen time had been a bit preoccupied with a certain metalhead. 

“Oh, shit,” your face falls as you open the door wider, side-stepping and motioning for them to come in. 

“Yeah,” Steve snarks as he comes right in, Robin hot on his trails and seeming in a far more pleasant mood as the boy mocks you, “Oh, shit.” 

Robin stops beside you as Steve helps himself to a seat in your desk chair, “Don’t mind him. He’s just cranky because he has to get A’s on all his mid-terms to keep his 3.0.” 

“I am not cranky-”

“You are!” 

“Am not!” 

“You so are,” Robin continues to egg him on, choosing your bed as her resting place. 

Your phone bounces a bit from the way she throws herself down on the sorry excuse for a mattress, and you recall how you had yet to reply to Eddie. Fuck.

“When did we even make these plans?” you ask, genuinely confused as you shut the door. You already miss the peace and quiet of being alone, free to preen at your phone and giggle to your heart’s content at the world’s worst flirt over text.

“Saturday,” Steve groans, throwing his head back. 

“It was after brunch,” Robin clarifies, lifting herself up from how she was lounging amongst your blankets, “I mean, you seemed a bit distracted when you agreed, but… We did text you about it.” 

You had been distracted. Eddie had managed to quietly ask the waitress to include your tab with his so he could pay for it without your knowledge, and you’d spent the entire time torn between being upset with the boy and absolutely fawning. It was a bit pathetic, looking back at it – the fact that those were the only two options your mind had presented you with. You’d scorned him over the phone later that night, and he had only laughed. You swear you can still hear it now, having heard it several times since – a low chuckle that rattled into the caverns of your chest, that bounced amongst vines of affection and willed open blooms of adoration just a little bit wider. 

Part of you was still waiting for the wilting. For the other shoe to drop, for all of what had been exposed and had been planted to vanish from your grasps. That first Monday morning, you’d even woken up worried it had all been a dream. 

“I’ve been busy,” you lamely try to excuse your radio silence. 

“Busier than normal?” Steve’s brows quirk up, leaning back in your chair that emits a squeak of protest, “Or have you just been busy with new friends?” 

Your lips twist and your nose twitches in confusion, “New friends? What the Hell are you going on about, Harrington?” 

Robin fully sits up now, watching with piqued interest.

“Eddie,” Steve gets straight to the point, his previous sour mood finally melting slightly, “You can’t honestly tell me that nothing changed after that night.” 

It was something neither of you had really discussed. Steve had seen you two, knew that a lot had truly changed based off of the way you’d tossed him right into the middle of the mess there at the end, but you and Eddie had never said anything about being together. Not to your friends, and not even to each other. 

“Just because I don’t want to tear his head off his shoulders anymore doesn’t mean we’re spending every waking moment together,” you force your best scowl, as if that wasn’t exactly what you had yearned for all week. 

Eventually, it had to wear off. That’s what you told yourself – at some point the initial rose tones would fade less vibrant, and Eddie’s intense occupation of your mind would lessen with the hues. 

“I can’t believe it, but I am siding with Stevie on this one,” Robin finally contributes, “I mean, you guys won’t even tell us what happened that night.” 

“Nothing exciting,” you’re quick to lie, “Just… I don’t know. Boring stuff. Getting on each other’s nerves, sitting around on his couch,” that gets a bitter scoff from Steve that almost makes you freeze up. Damn Eddie for teasing him with the truth about the couch, “Nothing worth making a big deal over. Like I said, we just learned to… to… tolerate each other.”

Tolerate was an interesting way to put spending hours on the phone together each night, sometimes falling asleep while still on the line. 

Steve still looks as though he’s recalling all of Eddie’s annoying taunts from that night while Robin only grins salaciously. 

“Tolerate each other?” she mimics you, leaning forward and pressing her palms into the edge of the mattress beside her knees, “Babe, have you two even said a single mean thing to each other since that night? I think he even smiled at you on Saturday. You’re practically married with two and a half kids already.”

He had smiled at you – multiple times. And each one had struck the most delicate of daggers right into your chest, lighting you aflame under his attempted clandestine attention. Every time those big, brown eyes had met yours from across the table, the ache you’d started to hold for him had only doubled in size. By the end of that morning, when the day had technically started to bleed out into the afternoon, you were nothing more than a vessel of pining for the boy that you hadn’t even gotten the chance to brush against amongst your friends. 

“Whatever,” you murmur as you reach out to snatch up your phone, “I never even understood the whole half kid thing. Like, how the fuck do you have two and a half kids?” 

“I’m sure Eddie would be more than happy to show you,” Steve teases despite his still half-traumatized look.

You’re quick to reach out a hand to whack the back of his head, “Shut up. Are we gonna keep sitting here while you two try to pry something that doesn’t exist out of me, or are we going to go study?” 

Steve’s grumpy mood returns as he rubs the back of his head, him and Robin standing in sync to exit the room.

But before the three of you exit the dorm, you check your phone one last time, having to bite down on that girlish grin when you see two new text message notifications. 

EDDIE: It’s official. I’m a genius. 

EDDIE: Say, are you free tomorrow night? 

—

Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough. A shift at your job, one too many hours spent sitting through lectures, ensuring a night of studying with Steve and Robin — all petty distractions, roadblocks on your path to the most highly anticipated first date of your life. Eddie wouldn’t even entertain you with details, only telling you to dress fairly comfortably and to put on your best game face.

And you did. To some extent, you really did.

But you’d finished getting ready hours in advance, something you blamed on nerves, and having that much time to kill with such nerves was dangerous.

Simple makeup turned a bit more extravagant, you had tried on nearly every outfit in your possession, you’d even eyed your hair curler on more than one occasion.

Comfortable. What the Hell was that even supposed to mean?

Your only solution had been to text the man of the hour himself, something to busy your thumbs instead of twiddling them or involving them in taking your date night look several steps over just comfortable.

YOU: okay, so. can you define ‘dressing comfortably’?

EDDIE: According to Google, “dressing in a way that makes you feel at ease in your body” :)

YOU: fuck off. you know that’s not what i meant.

Still no clues. He wasn’t caving so easily to your pestering. You should have known better, considering he’d been professionally dodging any questions or inquiries you had regarding the date for the last twenty four hours.

EDDIE: Don’t overthink it, sweetheart.

That certainly didn’t help. Not even in the slightest. 

You don’t even reply to his text, already back to pacing your dorm before you finally cave to an impulsive decision you’d been grappling with for hours now. 

There was a newish, sporty skirt in the bottom of your drawers. It was comfortable, it had built-in shorts, and it looked damn good on you. The hem fell right around mid-thigh and always flared in an overly satisfying fashion when you’d spin while wearing it. The material of the pleats was nearly impossible to wrinkle. It wasn’t overly soft against your palms as you still nervously smoothed it down once you’d shimmied it on, but you still repeated the motion in hopes of soothing some of your nerves.

You’re sure it’s the wrong option until Eddie sees you in it.

He texts when he’s on his way and you find yourself bounding outside to wait for him far too early to be reasonable. He hadn’t even arrived until after your back had nearly become one with the brick exterior of the dorm building's front wall, leaning into the scratch of the clay on your shoulder blade a welcome distraction until you heard the roar of a motorcycle engine. 

You nearly grow dizzy from the sudden rush of nerves.

This is really happening. You’re about to go on a date with Eddie, the first time of what you hope will be many to come. 

“Took you long enough, Munson,” you snark loud enough for him to hear as he clicks the Yamaha’s kickstand into place right by the vibrant red curb. There’s a sign not even a full foot away from where he’s standing that clearly spells out NO PARKING. 

Oh.

Oh.

If you hadn’t already been riddled with nerves, your knees would have gone weak at the sight of him. 

Since when is that dressing casual and comfortable? 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” he shoots right back as he lifts the helmet off his head, and something inside of you clenched tightly at the sight with no plans to unwind any time soon.

Dark wash jeans plaster his legs, heavy combat boots smacking against the pavement as he walks to meet you halfway. The black shirt he’s donning isn’t extravagant, but something in the way that t-shirt material stretches across his chest has you burning from the inside out. He’s even gone so far as to tuck the shirt into the jeans, his black leather belt on show as he hugs the helmet below his bicep. And his normal leather jacket — you don’t believe you’ve ever seen it look better, ever seen it fit his shoulders so snugly. He’s dressed to perfectly match the all black bike, the image of a bad boy straight out of every cheesy movie you’d ever seen. 

The only thing that breaks the illusion is the boyish grin pulling the arrival of his dimples along with it as he watches you push off the wall. His eyes are sparkling as you approach him, a constellation of hope and new beginnings twinkling right before you. 

He’s not sorry that you waited on him. Not in the slightest. Especially when those starry eyes travel over your appearance.

You have to force yourself to tsk, because otherwise you might end up just another pile of ash for the poor landscapers to sweep up, “Haven't you heard it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?” 

You stop in your steps just far enough to catch the way his eyes take you in. Drinking slowly. Following the trace of the just fancy enough tank top that you’d chosen to balance the skirt. Lingering on the plush of your inner thighs, barely peeking out the bottom of your chosen outfit for the night.

You almost start to feel self conscious until he lets out a little sigh, nearly a whimper as his eyes trail back up to find yours.

“I’m sure I have,” he chokes out, composure momentarily vanished as you distract him so easily, “But aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

“I could say the same about you.” 

You’re like a shark. If you stop swimming in the upstream flirtations, you’ll drown instantaneously in his big brown eyes.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you swear you see a hint of a blush across the highs of his cheek bones and sides of his neck as he holds out the helmet for you, “At least with me, it will.” 

“Even the top secret location of this date?” you ask as you take the helmet, considering putting up a fight. You still hated him not wearing one for your expense, and you weren’t exactly eager for any sort of helmet hair, “Do I have to wear-“

He knows the end of your sentence before you even finish, “Yes. No exceptions; you have to wear it every time you ride.”

“Every time?” 

“It’s for safety.” 

“Isn’t it sort of unsafe for you to go without one?” 

“You’re wearing the helmet,” he sighs, nose twitching with indignation as he holds staunchly onto the position, “And to answer your other question, no. I guess flattery will get you almost everywhere, but it’s a surprise.” 

You fiddle with the chin straps, looking down as you feel his gaze burning the top of your head from this angle, “Fine. But we really should just get me my own helmet. You need to wear one, too. And…” you look back up, pausing before you properly put on the piece of safety equipment, “It’s a little oversized. You know, considering it was meant to fit your big head first.” 

He narrows his eyes, still lit up with a sort of playfulness you haven’t grown accustomed to being on the receiving end of. 

You like him quite a bit more than you bargained for. A lot more than five hundred dollars, or twenty four hours, ever would have summarized. 

“We can go helmet shopping another day.” 

We. Not just him, not just you. But you and him. A unit. A couple.

“It’s a date,” you whisper just before you slide on the helmet. You completely miss the wildfire that the ghost of a blush has finally become. You completely miss the way that your talk of you two together, you two as a couple with a future, affects him just as his has an effect on you. 

Helmet hair is worth it, you decide, once you’ve saddled onto the bike behind him and he revs up the engine once more. You’re not as shy as you had been on that fateful night the week before, quick to wrap your arms around his middle and let your chest press hard against his back. The leather crinkles against the contact, the heat of him radiating, and you think you could spend forever like that. 

You’re almost upset that you can’t smell his cologne through the helmet. That once terrible scent of boy. 

Every curve and every slow stop is another excuse to cling to him tighter, every red light a reason for him to turn his head and catch a glimpse of you with a small grin that never once falters. You swear at one of the lights, when he revs his engine in a particularly rowdy fashion right as the light turns green and takes off particularly fast, you can hear his laughter over the loud wind mingling with the roaring engine. You know you can feel it, vibrating in his chest right along with your own that gets lost in the chaos of the unusually busy Tuesday night street. 

When he pulls into the parking lot behind the older building, you catch sight of the neon sign out front and find yourself laughing again. 

“Bowling?” you question, yanking the helmet off less than gracefully as he stands off the bike you’d just swung yourself off of, “You’re taking me bowling?” 

He takes the helmet from you, suddenly looking a bit shy as he averts his gaze, “Not just any bowling. It’s… It’s the coolest bowling alley you will ever go on a first date at.” 

“You say that to every girl you bring here?” 

You’re just teasing him, trying to poke fun rather than succumb to all the fluttering that bruises your inner chest and stomach. But then he has to ruin your fun, strike a match and set you aflame so adroitly.  

“Only the prettiest ones.” 

You should continue the banter, challenge him on just who else fell into that category, but you can’t. It’s in that glimmer of his eyes and the indent of his dimples, the way he looks at you as he slowly rises and somehow softens his gaze all while keeping a threat of a bite beneath the tone. His eyes tell you that you are, without a doubt, the prettiest girl he’s referring to. That in this moment, you begin and you end his world, and not even the commotion of traffic or nip in the air that creeps up as the summer sun sets can deter his attention being set solely on you.

But his tone suggests something far more dangerous. He says it like you’re a prey, an unattainable catch that he’ll be chasing for the entire night. A wicked growl to that voice you’ve been falling asleep to over the phone far more than you care to admit in just a short week. 

He says it like he’s going to ruin you. As if he hasn’t already injected himself into your veins, as if he isn’t the gasoline drowning and raging the burn within you. 

But he keeps up the gentleman persona in the short walk up to the door of the establishment. Holds out his hand for yours to fit perfectly into, guides you to the inner sidewalk as cars fly past and the only thing between you and them is him. 

 The hunt is on from the moment he opens that door for you. 

“Ever the gentleman,” you muse, voice hardly above a whisper as you brush past him and finally catch that smell of boy. 

You think you’d drown in his cologne now if he gave you the chance. Bury your face in his chest, wrap your arms around him and press any inch of your own bare skin to his. 

“Always,” it would have been a weak response if he’d only said it and nodded his head, but he takes it a step further. Right as you pass him, entering the brisk AC, his hand ghosts over the expanse of your lower back. Fingertips nimbly brushing right above the band of that skirt, grazing your tank top just hard enough for you to feel it and shiver. 

It doesn’t stop there. The back and forth, the chase, the hunt.

The way he makes sure your knuckles brush his as he hands you your shoes, even more brushes of his palm flat against your lower back repetitively, the way he insists on a heavier ball that makes his arms strain and muscles display. Over the chatter from the bowling alley’s fairly nice bar and the music trickling out of the overhead speakers, you’re sure that your heartbeat has joined the ranks of audible noises to echo the nice haunt. You’re positive he can hear every thump, can pinpoint the exact moments that poor aching muscle inside your chest begins to race. 

You go for a smaller weighted ball. You don’t think you could handle anything heavier with your current case of weak knees.

“Only an eight pounder?” Eddie tuts at you as you approach your designated lane again, “Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.” 

No, I can’t. Your fault, really.

“I have weak arms,” you try to defend yourself as you rotate the red ball in your hands. 

His favorite color. It hadn’t been intentional, but the swirling shades of stark scarlet and deep maroons is a nice touch. 

“Poor baby,” he teases, leaning into you as you deposit the ball right behind his own ball on the track where it already rests.

A twelve pounder. A smoky quartz design, black base swirling with misty white and gold accents. Far prettier than yours by a landslide. 

And fitting for the pretty boy you’re faced with when you turn to watch him shedding his leather jacket onto the bench a few steps away. 

“Not all of us are some big, strong macho man,” you scowl insincerely, moving to sit beside him and follow his lead in switching out shoes, “I’m betting now that by halfway through the game, you’ll be caving and begging to use my ball, Munson.” 

You’re looking down as you casually say it, one shoe already half off and unaware of just how close he had gotten until his hand reaches over. Not even a second later, he has your chin pinched between his fingers, gentle as it guides you and forces you to look at him, “Careful. Bets seem to be awfully dangerous when it comes to the two of us.” 

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. 

The graze of those fingers against your jaw leaves a trail of ash, burning that lingers and thrums beneath your skin, heart officially skipping beats rather than merely speeding up. You’re coming to realize that when it comes to keeping up with Eddie Munson in his element, in all his charm and flirtatious banter, you’re a bit hopeless.

He has you trapped under his thumb — metaphorically and literally.

“Are you always this flirtatious with all your dates?” you spit out against your better judgment.

Why do I keep bringing up his previous flames? Do I really care? Do I really want to put myself through the torture of hearing about all of the girls, or guys, he’s wooed before me? 

The same glittering eyes, the same hidden smirk from earlier. “Only the prettiest ones.” 

“You keep saying that,” you mumble, chin pressing into his fingertips against their hold, “Just how many pretty dates have you had?” 

The pride softens in an instant. His gaze is less sharp, grin less predatory as he raises his eyebrows. 

“Does it really matter?” 

You can’t help it. Your mind races ahead of you before you can stop it; you’re plagued in an instant with images of how many dates, how many other people he had indulged in over the year you two had wasted hating each other. You try to recall overhearing him describe any of those dates, try to remember if Nancy ever mentioned Eddie passing up one of the hangouts for a romantic endeavor.

You come up empty handed, but it doesn’t stop the overthinking. 

“I guess not,” you feebly answer, unable to tear your eyes from him. 

I guess not is really code for it matters so much more than I care to admit. An impossible riddle you can’t even expect him to pick up on. 

His hand falls from your chin and finds home on your bare knee, warm palm swallowing it up. He gives it a squeeze, and you wonder for a moment if maybe he can read your secretive language. Maybe he’s seeing right through your overconfident front, maybe he has felt every racing of your pulse. 

Maybe, he’s as nervous as you are.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t think you can bear another moment of this new intimacy. It had been easier when the two of you were on a ticking clock, confined to his apartment and parameters of a bet that never really mattered. Vulnerability had less of an edge when you could yearn and pine to see it flourish in the real world — but now, here it was, twisting away within you both a week later and pricking away as the stakes at hand come to light. 

“Are you ready for me to absolutely demolish your ass at this game?” you joke.

“Demolish me? That’s some big talk for someone using an eight pound ball, babe.”

“It’s not about how much you’re packing, pretty boy,” you scoff, “Just that you know how to use it.” 

He smiles slowly, but the quick squeeze of his hand tells you the vulnerability is here to stay. He feels that cutting edge too, and he’s not shying away. 

He leans right into it, just as he does your personal space, “Bring it on.” 

—

“You’re cheating!”

“I’m not!”

“You are! Who the fuck gets three strikes in a row?” 

Eddie strolls back towards you, self-satisfied smirk curling his lips and his hips swaying with arrogance as you continue to pout at his sudden show of sportsmanship, “I believe the answer is me, sweetheart. Wanna see me make it four?” 

“I hope you just jinxed yourself,” you scowl as you hop up off the couch and Eddie swaggers right past you, hardly affected by the palm you smack into the center of his chest for good measure, “I hope you roll nothing but gutter balls the rest of the game, you prick.” 

“Like you have been?” 

“Burn in Hell.” 

Eddie’s cackle echoes through the fairly busy alley. It wasn’t overwhelming, the lanes of either side of yours staying empty, the only other groups several ways down. So far, the date has been good. Even if Eddie was wiping the floor with your severe lack of skill. 

Both of you had opted for Cokes rather than alcohol, Eddie had ordered some sort of platter with onion rings and mozzarella sticks that the two of you had easily been devouring between turns. Playful banter had been kept up easier than breathing, barking words without bite being snapped back and forth loud enough for the entire establishment to hear the two of you being exceptionally childish. 

At some point, your nerves had melted. And you didn’t even need a lick of alcohol in your system for it to happen. 

“Try to aim for the pins this time,” Eddie continues to taunt you from where he’s spread out on the brown faux leather bench you’d been taking turns warming the seat of. 

Your fingers slide into the holes of your ball with ease, courtesy of the grease from all your snacking, “Try shutting the fuck up.” 

More of his laughter sounds off, and you nearly trip on your walk up to the markings on the linoleum wood flooring. It’s a nice sound; a beautiful response to words that could easily read identical to how the two of you used to fight. But these aren’t fighting words, they’re words passed between two… two… friends? 

Is that how you should continue to classify this? Were you and Eddie really still just friends? 

The sound of your ball stuttering in hops across the beginnings of the lane replaces his laughter 

No. Easy question – there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that the two of you were definitely not friends. Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken. And for the remainder of this date, you could live with that. 

Eddie sucks in an audible breath, letting the air whistle between his teeth as your ball veers at the last second and misses the pins entirely. Again. 

“Th-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, spinning on your heel and holding up a warning finger. It’s harder to hold in your own grin when Eddie’s already smiling into his fist, leaning his elbows onto his thighs as his big eyes peer at you, clearly amused, “Don’t say a word.” 

His knuckles dig further into his mouth.

“I meant to do that.” 

His eyebrows shoot up, still not speaking.

“It takes real talent to avoid pins like that.” 

He leans over a bit further, and you swear you hear him emit a snort from behind that damn fist. 

You open your mouth to continue with the bit when the clattering of your ball returning to the ball rack comes from behind you. Eddie only shrugs cheekily as he finally drops his fist to grab for a mozzarella stick, his smile contained but those damn dimples still flashing you brilliantly. 

Without taking your eyes off him, you hold up a warning finger for emphasis once more, trying to bite down any signs of your own amusement as you take a few steps back in the direction of the rack and repeat yourself, “I meant to do that.” 

“Sure you did,” he muses before taking a bite of the mozzarella stick smothered in marinara sauce. 

“I did.”

“I believe you.” 

“I-”

It seems the Universe is in the business of interrupting you two. As if it seems all that hope and potential flourishing in the space between you two and decides that simply won’t do. As if it’s too much. 

Maybe it is. But maybe, just maybe, you’re enjoying too much. 

Suddenly, before you can even finish your sentence or grab for your ball, the lights of the alley have dimmed. A few spotlights over the alleys themselves light up, erratically waving patches of light over the shining floor as the music that had been playing overhead cuts out to be replaced with some poor employee’s voice. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen-” you and Eddie share a confused glance, “-The time is officially ten o’clock, meaning nineties night has officially begun! Have fun, and enjoy yourselves as we throw you back to the decade of Nirvana and Beanie Babies for the rest of the night with these straight jams.” 

Your face scrunches up in a comical cringe before the buzzing static of the speaker can even cut out and the beginning lines of Say My Name by Destiny’s Child begins to play. 

You aren’t entirely sure of how it happens. Maybe it’s all the playfulness in there, in all that electric teasing at the tip of Eddie’s tongue and all that hopelessness bubbling up in your chest as it dawns on you of the fact you were finally on a proper date with Eddie. Maybe it’s simply a good night for you to continue to make a fool of yourself, and Eddie sees it as a chance he’ll always be right there with you, prepared to make a scene as he follows your lead. 

He stands up to approach you where you’re still rooted beside the rack, matching your own grin that blooms genuinely at the sound of the song. 

It was one of your favorite’s. A small fact about yourself you don’t think you’ve ever told Eddie – that you can remember. 

It’s small, at first. Just mouthing along to the first verse as he moves towards you, recognizing that excitement lighting up in you, shimmying his shoulders ever so slightly. He looks like an idiot – he’s absolutely your idiot. 

“Did you know it was nineties night?” you mumble as he gets closer, shaking your head slightly.

“Stevie might have mentioned something about you enjoying nineties nostalgia,” he drawls, still taking sure steps towards you. 

“Did you ask him for advice for our first date, Eddie?” 

“No,” he scoffs quickly, finally close enough to grab you gently by your hips. He’s nowhere near manhandling you, but it’s still reminding you of the game, of the hunt, at play. You’re his prey and he’s officially making his move. Carelessly, nonchalantly. “He mentioned it ages ago. When they were trying to convince me you weren’t all bad.” 

Your smile widens, “Was this around the time I threw a glass at your head, by chance?” 

“Maybe.” 

The dulcet instrumental of the song continues on overhead, beginning to pick up in beat, making you nod your head along as Eddie finally starts to tug you closer. 

You’re in public, and you both should know better than to make absolute fools of yourselves, but it doesn’t seem to matter when all you can really see is him. 

Your friends had also spent ages trying to convince you that Eddie wasn’t all bad, but you’d always known that much. You’d seen glimpses of the good in him from that very first night. When he’d made you feel welcome, when he’d given you a life-preserver to cling to when you’d felt most out of your element. You knew that Eddie Munson was one of those people who had a hardwired habit of trying to make people feel welcome.

Even in a room full of people, when you’d be non-stop embarrassing yourself endlessly. 

All his jests had been further proof, but when he sees your rock on your heels as you enjoy the music, he takes it a step further. He grabs one of your hands with his free one, keeping a hold of your waist, encouraging all your giddiness over the song. Every single person in the establishment could be staring at the two of you – you didn’t care. 

When he starts dramatically mouth along to the chorus of the song, swinging you around slightly, it takes very little provocation for you to join in with him. 

You both could’ve taken a step further, and properly sang along in the most obnoxious voices possible, but you don’t. There’s still the slightest blanket of security there as Eddie keeps the antics mostly silent, reserving his dramatic reenactments of vocal runs for your eyes only. Even yanking your hand up close to his mouth, as though it was a microphone, as he swings you around again. You quickly become a giggling disarray, hardly able to keep up your own footing, eyes squinting with joy and what must be the messiest and ugliest smile possible showing off all your teeth. The type of smile and laughter you’d normally try to hide on instinct. The kind of smile you cover up. 

But you can’t, because Eddie is keeping his sturdy grip on your hands with his own, and he’s drinking in every second of your joy. He’s vibrant as he watches the way he’s entertaining you. Shamelessly staring, making his antics falter. 

“Baby, say my name,” he purposefully sings along dramatically, quietly but terribly off-key.

You can’t help but let out a snort, “Eddie, you’re an idiot.” 

He ignores you, and continues to give you your own private concert, switching rapidly between singing the main song and the backup vocals, which only makes your stomach further ache with laughter. 

This is what you’d been yearning for the last year. This silly side of him, an absolute fool who couldn’t care less about the stares of others. 

The seductive side of him was enticing. The honest version of him nice. But this side of him? Carefree, rowdy, indiscreet? It may be your favorite yet. 

Only the sound of a nearby teen couple mocking you two break the moment, just as you’ve begun to jokingly whisper-sing back into Eddie’s pretend microphone made of your joined fists. They make what must be vomiting noises, and you catch the tail end of one of them jokingly poking a finger towards their outstretched tongue as you finally sigh deeply. 

You should probably feel embarrassed. Later on, when you find yourself in bed later tonight and attempt to find some rest, you’ll probably ruminate and burn yourself alive with all the embarrassment. But not right now; not with your boy still in front of you, smiling just as desperately wide as you were. 

His dimples would probably consume him if you let him go on any longer. 

“Eddie,” you choke out through residual laughter, tugging your hands free as the song starts to fade out. You make no move to remove yourself from him, though. Your arms find home around his shoulders, hands splayed just below the nape of his neck, “People are staring.” 

“Good,” he snipes back, finally dropping the act but not the glee, “Probably entranced by how pretty you look right now.” 

“Pretty? I probably look like a loser. They’re probably already engraving a trophy for world’s ugliest smile-”

“Oh, don’t do that,” his forehead falls against yours, rolling his eyes, “Shut up and take the compliment. I love your smile.” 

There’s something unspoken there. He loves your smile, yes, but he’s also been denied of it for a very long year. It’s the first step of making it up to you, making up for lost time. 

Making a fool out of himself, just to see that goddamn smile. 

With your arms around his neck, his forehead pressed against yours and the tip of his nose bumping yours, the game of bowling is all but forgotten. Even the teens, still side-eyeing the two of you, can be pushed aside in your mind. 

All your insecurities of the night that have crept in the shadows become insignificant. You don’t care how many dates Eddie has been on before you, you don’t care that you’ve clearly become a prey caught in his web. You don’t even care about the way you’re losing. 

It’s the perfect first date. When one of his hands wander, playing with the hem of your skirt, knuckles and rings brushing against bare skin, it’s perfect. 

“Hey,” you whisper, “I’ve got a question.” 

“I have an answer.” 

“You sound very sure there, big guy.” 

“I am sure,” he pulls his face away just a bit, but his gentle touch against your thigh lings. The other hand stays warm against your lower back, keeping you pressed up against him, “What’s up, sweetheart?” 

Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken.

Hearing him say it out-loud will still be nice, though. 

“Does this mean we’re official?” you breathe out, trying to cling to all your bravery and not let it slip away, “Like – God, I sound like a high schooler right now – does this mean we’re… you know…”

“Dating?” he’s grinning, unable to hide his giddiness. 

“Yeah. Dating.” 

The hand tracing circles on your exposed outer thigh rises up to your cheek, brushing along it as he tucks a bit of your hair back. You swear you see it shaking out of the corner of your eye. 

“I sure would like to be,” it was shaking. You know it surely, because his voice is as well. Vulnerable and honest, just how you like him, “We don’t have to tell the others, we can take it slow, but-”

“But we’re dating.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement – an affirmation. You and Eddie Munson, the man you swore you hated just over a week ago, were dating. 

He only nods, and you consider the way that his dimples might just swallow you whole instead of him. 

Not enemies, not friends – lovers. It has quite the nice ring to it. 

“Well, in that case,” you finally pull away, dropping your arms slowly and letting your fingers catch on the chain of the necklace he currently wears. A red guitar pick, something you’ll surely learn the story behind soon enough. “Better go and roll that fourth strike, boyfriend.” 

His head rolls back, and a joking groan falls from his lips as his neck stretches and nearly distracts you momentarily, “Don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re making fun of me, you little shit.” 

Another laugh falls from your lips as you step around him, quirking an eyebrow. Perfect first date, indeed. 

“Get used to it, Munson.”

“I plan to, Sweetheart.”

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

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[m1d-45]

second chances

summary: baizhu knows he isn’t your favorite, but he still finds himself hoping for the impossible. maybe, with enough prayer, he’ll get it.

word count: ~2k

-> warnings: major spoilers for baizhu story quest + lore + liyue archon quest, based on me and my experience (vaguely disliked baizhu at first due to partial information, immediately changed my mind w his quest and now adores him, doesn’t have kirara)

-> gn reader (you/yours) and unspecified traveller (they/them)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr

< masterlist >

baizhu knows he isn’t the most favored.

from the first moment the traveller set foot in his office, he knew. he wasn’t met with anything special, no big flair from his god when you first saw him. it was to be expected, with how much time he spent praying—could gods have regulars?

it was simple. a quick ‘oh, the snake talks?’ thrown his way, a comment or two about his choice of outfit or the jade pendant hanging off his vision, and that was that. mostly, you seemed preoccupied with qiqi and the funeral parlor’s consultant, something to be expected. he was a quick stop on your journey, a note in the margins about the doctor you met at the pharmacy. it made sense, of course, that you’d be occupied with the death of rex lapis during the failed rite of descension, and the return of osial and beisht surely took priority over him. he offered little, only a dialogue or two actually shared between him and the traveller when you were present. he’d gathered as much of his energy, saved it for your arrival to make a good impression, so… it made sense you’d fret over qiqi, constantly forgetful as she was.

it made sense. he’d… made his peace. he had more to worry about, surely, what with orders to fulfill and his own condition to manage. maybe not more important—never, not maybe, what was he thinking?—but certainly more.

when your attention on qiqi flared, spurred by some unknown whim, he delighted a bit in being close to her, even if your thoughts on him weren’t entirely positive.

it was fair. you liked qiqi, and were concerned. it made sense you didn’t know every detail of teyvat, and since he’s never had the chance to come to you and spell out his story directly, it made sense you’d make some assumptions.

“i guess that makes sense, but still… qiqi deserves better.”

she probably did, in truth, but hearing it from you…

he’s had his vision for years by this point. he’s hd it for as long as he’d had changsheng, to be exact, and she was always able to remind him of exactly how long that had been.

“ssseven yearsss, four monthsss, thirteen daysss, and counting…”

“ah… thank you, changsheng.”

he knew he wasn’t special. out of the thousands of vision wielders across teyvat, only a handful have started having their constellations appear in the sky. just under a hundred, by his approximation, but he tried not to count. if he sought out the proper numbers, tried to pin down a percentage of those with a vision that had a chance to hold their god’s attention, then he’d start trying to find patterns. he was a doctor, patterns and rhythms were his literal job, but he knew that wouldn’t end well.

(a librarian, an alchemist, a lawyer: did you perhaps favor more studious types? a bartender, an exorcist, a detective: or those with a drive in their lives? a nobody, a traveller, a wandering samurai: or those seeking one out for themselves?)

there wasn’t a pattern. it was random. and part of him hated it.

baizhu had had his vision for seven years, eight months, and thirteen (was it fourteen? the sky was growing dark) days, and had never once seen his stars in the sky.

he had one. he had a constellation, something he knew was rare among vision wielders, but it didn’t guarantee him a spot in the sky any time soon. kirara had hers long before she had her chance in the heavens—they’d spoken about that, both hesitant to show the other their divine gift, but willing to speak of its existence.

and now kirara’s turn had passed. though her vision didn’t shine any brighter, he could see the pride in her smile when she dropped off another delivery at the pharmacy. sign here, check these, make sure this is what you ordered, goodbye have a good day, pretend like yours doesn’t weigh more after seeing hers.

it wasn’t as if he was unremarkable. a perfectly healthy man who had thrown himself into illness to find the cure for all of them? surely that was interesting, wasn’t it? but it wasn’t his time, he was being impatient, slipping back to the same mindset he condemned his patients for.

“patience. medicine doesn’t work in an instant, and you’ll need to be taking this for the next week at minimum.”

“but it’s so bitter!”

“then tell me, what tastes worse: bile, or this pill? if you want to stop being sick, you need to take it.”

patience.

qiqi was blessed with a place in the stars near instantly after she’d gotten her vision, but she was not the norm. perhaps his expectations were weighted, then? or maybe you disliked his work entirely? he didn’t like entertaining what ifs, but when various aches kept him up, there was little else he could do while he waited for his medication to take effect. patience, he tried to remind himself, counting his breaths. be patient. wait, be calm, don’t agitate yourself. count in, count out, are your breaths getting shorter? just stay calm, be patient…

the first time he saw you, he knew you were coming. he’d saved as much energy as he could, doing his best to make a good impression. but now, with changsheng nudging him awake urgently, pushing him into his shoes and putting his glasses on for him, the first thing he’d expected was the millelith, maybe, or perhaps the ministry of civil affairs. maybe he was needed urgently, maybe something had happened to qiqi, maybe he was late for his medication and he’d get terrible headaches if he wasn’t quick- oh, but then why would she bother to coil around his shoulders?

and yet, out of all those possibilities, none were correct.

“hey! who’s talking about me behind my back?”

“changsheng, qiqi meant that as a compliment. there’s no need to be upset.”

it had been so long since he’d felt your light, far longer since he’d been properly healthy. he’d forgotten how it felt to walk without the dull ache in his joints, and yet here he was. standing by gui and a familiar looking child, speaking with your traveller. it was easy to say words he didn’t choose, his throat not getting dry despite the lack of his morning tea.

the quest was long, and by the end he should have been exhausted. between taking on jialiang’s sickness to turning him into a zombie, he should have been out of commission for the next few days. as it was he had a nasty cough, his breath coming shorter than typical… but that was it. he took his regular medication at the dinner with your traveller, the linger of your aura on them still seeming to dull his pains. how curious, that you could cure ailments even he couldn’t name anymore…

“baizhu, are you alright?” idly, he wondered if the traveller noticed the change in their voice when they were speaking for you. it always sounded a bit lighter, a bit of your emotions bleeding through… a pity he’d never know why. “today must have been taxing for you…”

all eyes were on him now, even qiqi’s. “i’m doing fine,” he said simply, taking another sip of his tea. “better than normal, if anything, which i have to owe to our guest.”

paimon still seemed nervous. “but what about when we leave? what if everything hits you all at once? normally you stay at the pharmacy, and using your power so much…”

a fair assessment. while he was no stranger to combat, to be thrown in the middle of a pack of such vicious hilichurls was a shock. still, he had made it through—even if, privately, he doubted it would have been so clean without you there. “i will be fine. even if my condition declines, i am well equipped to handle flare ups.”

it seemed the whole group was hesitant to let him go. changsheng insisted he stay up until three hours had past since the traveller left, when his limbs again felt heavy and his head began to hurt. something odd was stirring in his chest, and he was eager to get to bed before it sparked into anything more. it was reasonable, he knew, but there were only so many prescriptions to prepare before he had nothing left to do. gui had long since went to bed, leaving just him in the lobby of the pharmacy, quietly double checking his stock of herbs.

eventually, he stood from his seat, returning the sweet flowers to their proper place. he held up an hand to let changsheng climb up his arm, closing up the pharmacy. she curled around his shoulders twice, a familiar weight. the night was cool, a slight breeze bumping the chain of his glasses against his cheek. it had been a long few days, and he was happy that everything was settled. he’d done all he could for jialiang, and he and his family hopefully wouldn’t be coming back for quite some time. back to routine…

“…baizhu?”

he checked the lock with a quick tug, “yes? what is it?”

“the ssstarsss… they’re due, aren’t they?”

ah. the cycles of constellations, switching through the sky. if he thought about it.. yes, they were, weren’t they?

“by my memory, they are. why?”

her head was turned, looking off to the part of the sky not obscured by the roof of the pharmacy.

“…changsheng-“

“look.”

“it’s late.” his heart began to pick up, false hopes being raised. patience, he chided himself, but what follower did not wish for acknowledgment from their god? “we should go to sleep before we fall too far out of schedule.”

“baizhu! i know you have better sssenses than that.”

perhaps he did. his vision burned where it was clipped to his side, invisible vines creeping up toward his heart. “don’t be too hasty,” he said quietly, the words tasting as bitter as his pills.

don’t be too hasty. you could still be wrong. don’t get your hopes up. be patient.

one hand went to his hip, undoing the clasp of his vision, the other settling on the railing. a few clouds dotted the sky, but he lifted his vision anyway, searching for any stars tinted green.

everything happened at once. the terrace was replaced with an ocean of skies, the slight mumble of “i do have a guaranteed…” getting lost in the whirlwind around him. he was weightless, trapped in by an invisible box, only dimly aware of the fact that his pain had once again disappeared. he was floating, dressed in the attire he normally saved for formal events—dressed in what he’d put on when you’d first arrived—with no sight of the pharmacy below him. it was just him and changsheng, him and changsheng and the bright light that came from everywhere, lifting him from his unseen prison.

a laugh, a smile, a rush of power flooding through him, and when he next set foot in front of the pharmacy, he did so with a new gleam to his vision. he could hear a door open behind him—qiqi, if he had to guess, as why wouldn’t she be drawn to the power the adepti could only hope to imitate?—but couldn’t turn, breathless.

“welcome home, doc.. it’s good to see you.”

it had taken seven years, four months, and 25 days, but he was here. and it was more than he could have ever asked for.

[kurogane2512]

First off let me say god your works are absolutely amazing as always kuro! Signora def deserves more love. I wanted to ask if you could do a fic for Signora where reader just loves to bury their nose on her neck and inhale her scent after being away from each other for a long time and just being all fluffy and stuff (of course you're welcome to add some nsfw 👀). Also could i be the 🐯 anon? That's all keep up the amazing work!

This is so cute oh my god ugh to hold and bury my face in her😩 also yes certainly go ahead with that anon name pls its so suitable for Signora reminds me of the nickname she had for reader in my books🤭

18+ CONTENT

Game: Genshin Impact

Characters: La Signora x fem!reader

Type: Smut and Fluff (kissing, pampering, thigh riding)

The Fair Lady strutted inside her office, reading over documents and pondering strategies for her next mission when a knock was heard on the door. She nitted her brows as she had asked to not to be disturbed for the next few hours unless something was very urgent.

"Who is it?" she demanded, her voice ringing across the room.

"A-Apoligies, my lady. It's urgent...." one of the guards replied in a scared tone. Signora grew suspicious and exhaled a sigh.

"Come in and make it quick."

She turned towards her shelf to keep the documents in a file while the door opened to allow the person to walk in.

"Start speaking already." she ordered as she arranged the documents in the file, not turning around to look at the person.

"Ahem, I'm afraid you'll have to come with me somewhere, milady~"

Signora's eye widened at the familiar voice, she quickly turned around and was taken by surprise at who was standing in front of her.

"Y/n?! When did you—?"

You chuckled at her surprised state then closed the door behind you and walked closer to her. "Oh, did I really manage to surprise you with my early arrival, Rosa?~"

Signora blushed for a moment then smiled before pinching your cheek, "Why did you not tell me you'll come back earlier? I would have come to pick you up."

"Ow ow! Sorry, I just wanted to surprise you!"

She smiled and released your cheek then caressed your face, "Hmph~ Is that all you can do for a surprise?~"

You smirked, "Heh~ And here I thought you'd be pleased to see me earlier than expected. Guess I should have come later than intended~"

Signora chuckled before leaning close to your face, muttering a 'shut up' while ghosting your lips. You smiled back then connected your lips with hers, engaging in a sweet and gentle kiss. Her hands cupped your face while yours snaked around her waist and pulled her closer, your bodies pressed together as the kiss turned heated with your tongues dancing passionately.

"Mm.... Aahh.... Y/n~" Signora moaned in between the kiss, her angelic voice filling your ears making you more desperate for her. You released the kiss after a while, panting heavily while gazing at each other. She then wrapped her arms around your neck and tightly embraced you, caressing your head while you lovingly held her and relaxed.

"Did I disturb you? You sounded irritated earlier...."

"....No, it's okay. I was just focused on work and didn't want to be interrupted."

"T-Then, I'll come later—" you let go of her and stepped back, "I was too excited to meet you, I should have chosen a better time."

Signora hated having to send you away, she shook her head and quickly held your hand. "I said it's okay, I was due for a break anyways."

She determindedly gazed at you and you smiled in return, "Hmm.... not eager to send me away, milady?~"

Oh, how cheek of you she thought. She pulled you in and embraced you again, not willing to speak further and just wanting to hold you. You smiled to yourself and wrapped your arms around her again, snuggling into her neck and breathing in her scent.

"You smell so good, Rosa.... Isn't that my favorite perfume?"

"Mhm, it is. I just happened to wear it today, turned out to be a good decision now~"

You nodded and shifted closer, causing her to step back and lean against the shelf. She felt your lips against her skin and in no time, you started planting light kisses on her neck and exposed chest.

"Mm~ Y-Y/n.... my love~" Signora moaned and tilted her head back, giving you the chance to kiss further up and lap at her neck while massaging her breasts.

"Hah... sorry, I just can't hold back.... I missed you so much I—"

"Shh~ It's okay~" she put her finger on your lips and kissed your cheek, "Let's become comfortable, shall we?~"

You nodded with a blush then followed her as she made her over to the sofa and sat down then pulled you on her lap, making you straddle her. She proceeded to pull her dress down and reveal her breasts for you to touch then held your waist and positioned you on her thigh. You dived in and immediately took her breast in your mouth, licking and sucking her hardened nipples while kneading the other breast.

Signora softly moaned and pushed your head closer, letting you be enveloped in her soft bosom while your hips subconsciously rubbed on her thigh. She internally chuckled and pushed her leg up making it hit your clothed core, a muffled moan leaving your mouth sending vibrations to her as well. She cooed and held your hips to make you grind more, she knew how much you wanted this.

"M-My~ So desperate.... mhm.... how adorable you look, m-my love~"

You hissed and molded her breasts harder, pinching her nubs and lightly grazing your teeth around them before sucking more intensely. She guided your hips further and in no time you were desperately grinding her thigh to seek your release, your clit rubbed against her skin in just the right way and she could feel your wetness seep down. You held her tightly as you nuzzled into her neck and panted out, seeking more friction and rubbing faster as you felt your orgasm approach.

"Mmm.... Rosa... Aaah~ Cumming.... Please~"

"Aww~ I wanted you to hold on longer, love~"

"N-No... please... let me... ngh~"

"Hehe~ Alright, I'll be kind for now. Go ahead and cum for me, my darling~"

She bounced her leg up making you whimper and finally release with a breathless moan. She held you close as you came down from your orgasm then held your chin and tilted your face up to kiss you, "Well done, my love~"

[wandagcre]

SAM & HER GF & COREFOUR IN CHRISTMAS HEADCANONS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!

christmas with the core four as sam's girlfriend 🎄

Note: this had become a christmas special writing hhh i hope you like it nonetheless <3

whether you have a tradition or not during christmas time, you'll certainly have a lively extension of a family now that you're sam's girlfriend!

you ask sam what you should prepare and she simply says "your presence is much needed of course, then some clothes and finally, hope for the best for the sake of your sanity"

you chuckle at sam's words. it was between a lighthearted joke and reality. the 3/4 of the gang is full of expressive and loud personalities but you already met them and hung out, so you know you're in for a (good) ride 🫶🏼

but thankfully, you're already welcomed so you thought your previous worries were silly. chad goes for a special handshake, then mindy and tara for a warm hug and how are you's <3 it was genuine too

sam is already smiling at the sight of you as she puts your bags away, how you're getting along with them in christmas style. she has known the twins for so long and was ecstatic to finally continue celebrating it with her sister, and now with someone special — you.

after settling in, you're surprised that they actually cooked? not because of their skills but them combined is a hazard and their brain cells cancelling out each other. sam chimed in soon as she caught the conversation, "hey what does that say about me then! >:( i instructed them carefully when they started cooking,"

rest of the gang laughed, took no offense to your assumption. they said that you were absolutely right. in fact, tara reveals she almost did the classic switch up - salt over sugar - all because she got immersed at their in between conversations to which you join laughing at.

it's so diverse! full of everyone's favorite dishes at christmas time instead of the traditionally expected dishes. you told them that this was such a good idea and made things even more heartwarming to celebrate. they smile and chad rubs your back, "of course. we're our own little family. we do it according to our favorite picks and sharing it... in a way feels like you're sharing love, too. it makes it even more special." mindy butts in, "not bad, brother."

tara agrees and says chad definitely has his moments.

then! from your back, apparently sam sneaked in and smoothly glides another dish - your own favorite! she looks anywhere else except your eyes, "you didn't know the theme and you deserve a slot in this tradition," she murmured and tara adds, "so that's what you've been burning your hands for?" your eyes well up in affection. you press a chaste kiss to which the gang gagged at 😭

"no mistletoe for you two!" - they reprimanded you

trying eggnogs in discreet - perpetuated by the twins, specifically by chad (unknowingly made them after mindy said "go wild, surprise me") and immediately regretted her words. after things cooled down (re: woodsboro and new york mess) they decided to bring it up, the carpenter sisters weren't safe and so were you!

sam looking at the sidelines, suspiciously smiling and seemingly anticipating. you took more than a sip unknowingly, then soon as it hit your tastebuds, your face was contorted in disgust. the women started laughing. chad says "don't hate the brits!"

sam says in your defense, "you know they eat baked beans with dry sausages and bread right?" tara agrees with ease, saying that's a fair point and flips off the twins for the same surprise they did last year. adding to the chaos, you firmly say, "yeah! it offended my tastebuds. i thought this was a christmas tradition not a frat initiation!"

the core four loved your response 😭 sam included, was laughing hard and gasping for air. it was witty and the twins playfully retort that it was extreme of you to accuse!

sam couldn't stop smiling and laughing oh my god somebody help her facial muscles! it's permanently stitched to her at this point

mindy loves the banter. she nudges you and says that sam is partially getting her lick back. but mainly it was in your honor, to which she gags at because you guys are subtly so sweet already 🥹

they introduce you to some clichés, but with a twist! gingerbread house making but five of you will pick names, not revealing them and within an hour u should dedicate it to them. they're all wonky creations but decent. sam can't do much to control it anyway as they try to sabotage everyone, including yours 😭 the clean up will be tedious for sure!

you're surprised that tara decorated yours in your favorite color and how she noticed since it wasn't that obvious and yet she noticed a pattern apparently, it shows with your stuff and clothing! i think hers are perfected, standard-like creation and you see her stickman drawing attempt of two persons - apparently it's you and sam

sam points at it, "is that us? why am i smaller?" and tara grumbles. "this is for your girlfriend can you leave my masterpiece alone?"

you agree with tara who grinned widely at your approval, "be nice. i think it's an adorable touch to this homey gingerbread house!"

mindy adds knowingly, "also, sam, i hate to break it to you but you're an absolute puddle of baby around your girlfriend, that's why you're smaller - duh. your real height is not equivalent to your height there." and tara spreads her arms, exclaiming 'exactly!'

chad looks back and forth, trying to grasp the context. "oh! oh! i get it," he clasps his hands rather loudly. "you're so right for that. and you let her call you sammy?"

you giggle at sam's petulant pout at the teasing but she doesn't deny anything. "whatever," she grumbles and when you wanted to appease it with a kiss as you lean in to sam, the 3/4 are already making gagging and vomiting sounds 😭✋🏼

watching movies based on your favorite christmas themed movies! (insert an obscure movie u randomly hyperfixated or a popular one from your country) usually it was a matter of rock paper and scissors for fairness, but since you're new they gave you a special pass and played your choice of movie <3

your pick was new to them. therefore they were entranced at the plot and you enjoy the commentary and how they analyzed it, like little kids during the movie time in class. you look to your side and see that sam's eyebrows were bunched and she ate in sloth-like manner 😭

baby was so focused! it was funny how she looked like that while her arm is hooked around yours and leaned to you comfortably. sam says i can see why this is appealing to you... it's so you and unique and it matched your energy and she happily rambles - much to 3/4's surprise

not because sam is silently attentive but it's their first time to see her so open and carefree with her partner and so they have this faint, knowing smiles on their faces. they're happy that sam finally have found her person that she feels comfortable and honest with🥺

as you go to your respective rooms (obviously you're rooming with sam) mindy shouts from the hall, "please be respectful and let's keep the jolly, wholesome spirit alive! we do not need anymore virgo babies,"

tara visibly wanted to vomit and covered her ears. chad looks at his twin confused, "since when do you have beef with virgos?"

meanwhile you and sam were stuck in chuckling and was flustered. "i didn't even think of that!" you shout back to mindy who replies with sure, jan. as you and sam settle in her room, you take her hand and swung them gently, your gaze intent on sam's brown ones. "thank you for having me. i felt so loved." both of your hearts felt so full. your silly smile is unerasable and so is sam's, you find it endearing how the two of you probably look like fools together.

and sam pouts cutely at your words. "no, thank you baby for being here. it's only a first of many more to come." she retrieved something - a mistletoe - on her pocket. sam placed it above you two, and you smirk at her sly action. "let's seal it with a kiss then?" you say to which sam eagerly responds to and met your lips with no hesitation.

[machiten]

thats my seat!

academic rival scaramouche x gn!reader headcanons

warnings: scaramouche(bro is a whole warning), foul language(it's scaramouche we're talking about here so), reader is mentioned to have bad eyesight, fights, angst, academic validation, bad parenting

barely proofread lmao im tired, it's 3:15 am and im starving. there will be a chapter 2 ofc i just wanted to post something goddamn my blog has been empty for so long (4 days) didn't have a way to keep track of the word count but it's kinda long. anyways hope u enjoy!!

oh god

when i say rival, i mean full on brawls on the school hallway

so let's say you've been top of your school since day one. your name has always been at the top of the score board every exam, always class representative, and well known as a smart kid ever since you steped on school premises.

you work hard to keep your grades up, your parents pay enough attention to your succesful brother and none for you

having a successful brother plants high expectations on you. i mean, he did very well, so why cant you? you both have the same blood running through your veins. your parent's praise, that is all you've ever wanted. and yet you're not even informed if there's a family outing, leaving you in your house alone

it has been like that for years

not until one day, you enter into the classroom and someone else is sitting in your chair. someone unfamiliar is sitting on your chair.

"hey, excuse me. i sit there." you pointed at what is supposed to be, your chair. "what, i dont see any names on it." Ok, what. when you finally look up to the culprit, my goodness. Fierce purple eyes that looks like it holds the entire universe, his skin as fair as a maiden, lips plum as a springs fruit, a beauty mark at the underside of his right eye, and his hair a unique color of indigo that is cut in a weird jellyfish-ish hairstyle. while yes, he looks ethereal, not gonna lie (if he had longer hair you might've mistaken him as a girl) his personality certainly does not match his elegance. an annoyed look currently adorned his face, as if you disturbed his peace.

"done checking me out? i know im hot, i get that look everyday so dont ever think you're special." and now it changed into a cocky smirk. the nerve! not only is he sitting on someone else's chair but it seems like his head is getting bigger too. "well excuse me, i havent seen your around school until today so im guessing that you're the transfer student our teacher talked about last week. but do you mind finding a new spot, i sit there." you glared at him.

"no i like it here. here's a better idea, why don't you find a new spot. im the new student here, show some courtesy."

"no- what, go away thats my seat!"

"alright everyone, settle down- oh, i see that the new student is here already," the teacher finally came in the classroom, cup of steaming hot coffee in his hand. Everyone sat down on their seats while you are still standing up waiting for this person to look for another seat. Lmao guess what, he didnt move.

"(name), c'mon sit down. i know getting a new friend is exiting but we have to greet the new student properly. now go find your seat."

"wait but sir--"

"sit down, (name)"

"yeah that's right (name), sit down" a voice beside you spoke. you looked over to the new student adorning a triumphant grin at your loss. and so you are now forced to sit at the back, barely seeing what's in front because of your poor eyesight, and wearing a vengeful spirit.

epic first meeting

the seats in the back are okay, its breezy and you now sit next to xiao (his music taste is so good) but yeah, you cant really see the board clearly so you get notes from mona at the front

at first, it was a one sided rivalry. how hated how rude and bratty he was and at that time, he didnt seem too care (like he get those everyday). but then he started fighting back and oh boy he hasn't had this much fun in years!

the way you retort back to his harsh words is so amusing to him. usually, no one would dare talk to him in a degrading manner but then you came into his life, claiming that he's sitting on your chair, and it was never the same ever again.

now, he looks forward to everyday. he rises up earlier so that he can sit at your chair first, he keeps looking at the classroom door everytime someone enters (in case it's you so that he can give that shit eating grin), he loves how your face gets messed up when he wins an argument, he loves how small your hands are compared to his when you have a brawl in the hallways, and most of all, he loves it when you give him the shit eating grin when you win something (he says he let's you win sometimes because he pitied you, but is it really?)

to him, this is fun, amusing, entertaining. but to you? you've never felt this much hate in a human being, ever.

scaramouche is smart as fuck and he demonstrated that loud and clear

he aced the math test that the teacher gave that wasn't even taught to him

in presentations, he speaks loud and clear and you can really understand the point he's making

he doesn't really like group works (you noticed) but if he was put in a group, he does most of the job flawlessly

sports? oh of course. he's really good at baseball (pitcher). he's also good at other sports but not as good as baseball

oh and pray that you don't get him as your opponent in debates, you will be grilled like a brisket

did i mention he sleeps in like 70% of his classes? it's not like the teachers can do anything about it. he excels in everything, at least let him sleep as a gift

the only times he would be awake is when he pulls on your strings

but of course, you're also good in all of these, that's why you both are rivals

you fight almost everyday for the top spot (and for your original seat) to the point where its a daily routine to everyone else to see you both pinching and arguing in the classroom

He doesn't have any close friends (ahem childeahem) and it's either bc ppl are intimidated by him or he just doesnt give a fuck about friends

maintaining grades is one thing, winning against him is another

you are very intellegent, yes, but you work very hard for your grades every night. losing sleep studying for upcoming quizes and making sure your projects are perfect. unlike him who doesnt even try

you havent seen him study once

and it makes you see yourself lower. you're both equally in par with your grades but thats when he doesn't even try. what happens when he takes everything seriously? what if he studies as hard as you do? where will you stand then?

but when you got 2nd place for the 3rd time this year, he took it too far

"what the hell?! this is the third time!" you looked at the results in the bulletin board expecting to see your name in first place. you studied hard, right? so then why,,,

"oh oops, looks like i did a little too well again this time. aw and i didn't even answer some of the questions because i felt bad for beating you the last two times." a snicker is heard behind you and sure enough, piercing indigo eyes is looking at yours in pure pity. "thanks i guess. are you happy now? that's three times in a row!" aether beside you is now having a deadpan expression, expecting the worst. 'alright here we go again'.

"oh yes very, you know what makes me even happier? your declaration that you're inferior to me. why do you even try anyways, it's clear to everyone that im better. you're just wasting your time burying your head in your books and notes when we both already know who's coming at the top. imagine not meeting your parent's expectations." he's now looking down on you, beating you up with words that you know damn well are true. but that doesn't mean you're not gonna fight back.

"what."

"oh you know, maybe if you tried harder, the cost of your education might be worth it for your parents. honestly, if i we're them id--"

before he could finish his sentence, a loud echoing smack is heard all across the hallway, making everyone's attention turn to the commotion. scaramouche head is now turned the other way, his cheeks beginning to flare from the hit as he glared at the culprit, you. "you motherfucking bitc-!" you tackled him and due to surprise, he fell back. aether is now alert, shouting your name trying to get you to your senses.

you gripped scramouche's collar, rasing his head from the floor and slamming it back down. "you're an asshole, you know that?! i try my best everyday and this is what i get?!!" he fights back, hand on your arm that's trying to get a hold of his hair and another on your neck, holding back your weight.

"you don't know what it's like!! you will never know what it's like being compared to your brother everytime they get a chance!! you dont know what it's like going home to nothing but words of disappointment when you did everything you can to get their approval!! you will never know what it's like for your efforts to go to waste!! you will never know the feeling of being kicked out of your own home and live in a run down apartment!! i work day and night, i lose sleep everyday, i barely have anything for myself to live, and now i have to deal with your ass every single day too?!!"

"(name)! calm down, hey-!"

"fuck off aether!"

every word you spat pricked scaramouche's heart and made him struggle from your assaults. this isn't fun anymore. he knew a bit of your situation, kazuha told him. but he never knew it was this bad. all he knew is about your parent's expectations. he didn't even attempt to fight back this time and just defends himself from your blows. 'shit, i took it too far.'

"you dont have to remind me of my incompetence! i already know, i know damn well i will never be enough!! you're right, why do i even try, right?! you're so fucking annoying, doing everything so effortlessly, like school is a nuisance!! can't i take a fucking break?!!" at this point, you cannot control your tears from falling into his cheeks, rolling down his porcelain skin.

"what are you--?!"

"why can't i be a genius like you?! why dont i have everything that you have?!! i did everything i can, what am i doing wrong?!" you are now saying intangible words that no one can decipher because of the mess of emotions you are feeling at that moment. you're about to deliver another blow when someone held you back.

"(name)! you're doing too much! thats enough!!" goddamn she is stronger than i thought, scaramouche deals with this everyday?? aether pulled you away from the tangled mess that you and scaramouche managed to create. you're struggling his hold but after a bit, you slumped down having no more strength to keep going, sobbing quietly. "...(name)?" aether said.

"...i am so tired of everything, why do i even keep trying. i.. i just want to make my parents proud..." sniffles could be heard from where you are being held my aether's arms. aether supported you from the groud and led you away from the scene and the prying eyes of other students. before you both can disappear completely, aether turned around and gave scaramouche a threatening glare. "i know you both bicker a lot but you took it too far. you are an asshole and you better change that attitude of yours or i will send you home even worse than your condition right now." and you both are gone.

scaramouche is still sitting on the floor, his arm supporting his weight, bruises are forming in his skin while he's craddling his cheek that is now very noticeably red and flaring from the slap you served him earlier. he doesn't know how to act, really. should he apologize? should he just walk away and like nothing happened? should he report you for physical abuse? he didn't know anything.

what he does know though is that he fucked up, big time. he knows that you'll never want to see his face ever again, he knows that nothing will be the same again, and he knows thag the feelings he has will never be reciprocated, after what he's done.

he actually just found out recently, when someone from the other class was making fun of you and he didn't like it one bit, he's the only one allowed to make fun of you, everyone back off. scaramouche can see the crowd dissipating, no longer interested since the main action is gone. he sat there on the floor the whole time, rethinking his life choices, wondering if he said things differently instead of those. would he be seeing you tomorrow? will you still argue with him about nonsensical bullshit? can he still hold your hand whenever you pinch him?

he heard footsteps and before he can look up, someone had smacked him in the head.

"what the fuck-!!"

"i want to say 'are you okay', but to be honest you kinda deserved that." a mop of ginger can bee seen hanging from someone's head.

"fuck off childe, and why did you smack me?!"

"because you deserve it. but y'know, it's nice having front row seats seeing you ruin your life because of that toungue of yours. aether's right you're an ass." he helped scaramouche from the floor, dusting his uniform from the filth. "ill take you to the infirmary." scaramouche can only nod, feeling lethargic after all that energy spent.

he hopes to see you the next day, acting like nothing ever happened.

part 2

[fatecantstopme]

Still Perfect

Pairing: Rafael Barba x plus size!reader

Summary: You're feeling self-conscious about your body and Rafael reminds you how beautiful you are.

Warnings: body image issues. Cursing. SMUT, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (p in v)

A/N: Spanish translations in brackets/italics after each sentence.

mi amor: my love

cariño/querida: sweetheart/dear/darling/baby/etc.

por favor: please

mi corazón: my heart

hermosa: beautiful/gorgeous

“I don’t wanna go,” you complained with a huff as you dropped onto the bed. 

“What’s wrong, mi amor?” Rafael asked gently. 

“I have nothing to wear.”

He chuckled softly. “For a woman with a wardrobe as extensive as yours, that seems unlikely.”

You groaned and laid back onto the bed. “None of it fits.”

“Now I know that’s not true. You’re currently wearing clothing.”

You glared at him. “I look homeless, Rafi. None of my cute clothes fit.”

“Cariño, you look cute in everything.”

As sweet as the comment was, it didn’t make you feel better. “But it’s a vacation…on a beach…there’s gonna be hot model babes running around everywhere.”

He sat down beside you and took your hand, concern evident on his face. You were normally such a confident woman, but you’d gained a fair amount of weight recently and it was definitely bringing you down. Rafael still thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world, but he was having a hard time making you see that too. 

“Mi amor, you have nothing to be concerned about. There will be a plethora of hot model dudes running around too. I certainly won’t be hanging out with them.” 

His tone was teasing, but you were so stuck in your head that you interpreted his meaning differently. “So I’m not as attractive as those women?”

He gave you a harsh look. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, hermosa. Nothing has changed for me. Nothing.”

Tears stung your eyes. “I’m too fat to sit comfortably on a plane, Rafi. I don’t wanna go. I hate my body so much right now,” you whispered. 

“I know, cariño, but you’re not too fat to do anything. You’re perfect. I don’t care that you’ve gained a little weight. You’re sexy as hell and I can’t wait to lay beside you on that beach and show you off.”

You looked up at him and offered him a small smile. You’d never loved anyone the way you loved him and you could see that same love reflected in his sparkling green eyes. 

“I love you, Rafi.”

He smiled in return. “Te amo mucho, (Y/N).” [I love you very much.]

He laid down beside you on his side and gently caressed your skin. His touch warmed your heart and your body. He had a truly special way of making you feel beautiful and loved. 

“But you know what I’m looking forward to most?” He whispered into your ear. “I’m looking forward to making love to you every place we can possibly think of…every inch of that hotel room, the private patio, the beach, the ocean…everywhere.”

You inhaled deeply, breathing his scent into your nostrils. Your body reacted to his words instantly, desire pooling in your abdomen. “Rafi…” you whispered. 

He knew exactly what you were asking for and he was never one to deny you. His lips met yours hungrily, his growing need for you evident in his kiss. 

He rolled his body so he was hovering over you, his lips never leaving yours. His long fingers ran down your sides before slipping under your shirt and dancing across your skin. 

Your body tensed slightly as his hands touched your soft flesh, a surge of insecurity hitting you. 

“I’ve got you, cariño. Let me love you, por favor,” he murmured. 

You nodded and tried your best to relax. As usual, his touch and his kiss were enough to push the negative thoughts from your mind. 

You allowed him to remove your shirt and he let out a low growl when he noticed you weren’t wearing a bra. His mouth immediately latched on to your breast, a groan of enjoyment sounding from deep in his throat.

As much as he loved your breasts—and god help him, he loved them—he desperately needed to taste you.

He made quick work of removing your shorts and your underwear, but he forced himself to slow down and give your body the love it deserved.

His lips touched every inch of your skin he could reach, slowly, sensually moving down towards your core. He took his time, his touches reverent, his kisses adoring.

“Rafi, please,” you begged.

He looked up at you with a soft expression. “Do you feel beautiful?”

You shouldn’t have been surprised by his question. Rafael cared about your feelings more than anything. “I feel beautiful,” you whispered honestly.

He smiled warmly. “Do you feel loved?”

“I feel worshipped.”

“Oh cariño. You haven’t seen worship.”

You found yourself unable to respond as he licked his way between your folds and began his delicious assault on your pussy.

“Rafi!” You gasped, fingers entwining in his hair.

He tugged your hips closer to him, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. He needed you more than he needed to breathe—mouth never leaving your core.

You couldn’t keep still as he feasted. Every inch of your body was alight with desire, a desperate need to feel him everywhere.

As if he read your mind, his hands began to travel, caressing you and squeezing your flesh…gently digging his long fingers into your skin. He left a blaze of euphoria in his wake, a feeling only eclipsed by the tightening in your belly.

He knew you were close and he suddenly realized how badly he wanted to taste your release. He sped up his ministrations, his own hips digging into the mattress in search of some relief.

Within seconds, he sent you spiraling over the edge with a cry of his name. He worked you through the pleasure, not stopping until your last aftershock had passed.

“Can I make love to you, mi amor?” Rafael asked softly when he came up for air.

You were breathless and content, but when you saw the look in his eyes, you felt the fire within you begin to grow again. “Por favor.”

He smiled and pulled away from you, quickly ridding himself of his clothing. When his cock sprung free, you reached for it almost instinctively, but Rafael grabbed your hand.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?” You pouted.

“If I feel those pretty little hands wrapped around me, I won’t last long enough to make you cum again.”

You sat up slightly, propping yourself up on your elbows. “But I wanna touch you, Rafi,” you purred.

“Querida…” he murmured hesitantly.

“Just for a moment…”

The hungry look on your face made him give in. “Alright, just for a moment—mierda.” [shit/fuck]

You stroked him slowly, paying special attention to the throbbing tip. You spread the precum leaking from his cock around the head, causing him to buck his hips against your hand.

His breathing was labored as he watched your hands—so small around his thick cock. “Cariño, por favor,” he begged.

In response, you dragged the head of his cock between your folds, causing both of you to moan at the sensation.

“Mi amor…”

You nodded your head in permission. “Make love to me, Rafael.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he slid his cock into you all the way to the hilt. He paused before moving, forehead falling against yours, slightly breathless.

“You’re always so tight, hermosa,” he mumbled.

You moved your hips in response, silently begging him to move. You craved the friction he would provide and the inevitable release he would coax from you.

He picked up on your indication and began to slowly pull out of you, only to plunge back in with force. He repeated the motion a few times before speeding up, but his focus never left your face.

He watched your expressions, taking note of every reaction you made. Every time you closed your eyes, every moan that escaped your lips, every tilt of the head…

Every time your nails dug into his back or your pussy clenched him extra tight, moans of pleasure forced their way out of his mouth. Rafael could never be considered a quiet man, and the same was true in the bedroom.

You loved hearing the sounds he made, just as much as he loved hearing yours. Although you would never admit it to him, what you loved most was the way he talked to you in bed…especially when he was so far gone that the only words slipping out were in Spanish. You couldn’t explain why it turned you on, all you knew was that it did.

Rafael wouldn’t admit it to you, but he knew the effect his whispered Spanish had on you—and he never hesitated to use it to his advantage.

“Cariño, te sientas muy bien. Me encanta la forma en que me aprietas tan fuerte." [Sweetheart, you feel so good. I love the way you’re squeezing me so tight.]

Your nails raked down his back and a desperate moan left your lips. “Please,” you begged—though you weren’t sure exactly what you were begging for.

“Qué necesitas, mi amor? Digame." [What do you need, my love? Talk to me.]

“More. You.”

He smiled at your inability to form a coherent sentence. He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Cualquier cosa por ti, Querida." [Anything for you, baby.]

He shifted his hips just enough so that he hit your g-spot with each thrust. Within seconds, he could feel you nearing the edge, but he wanted—needed—to feel you cum with him.

“Wait for me, cariño.”

“I—I can’t—“

“Yes you can. Just a little longer.”

You closed your eyes and focused on holding off your impending orgasm. Every sensation flooding through your body was pure pleasure and you could feel yourself losing control.

“Rafi, please,” you gasped.

A couple more thrusts and he whispered, “Ven conmigo." [Come with me.]

You cried out as you came, fingers gripping Rafael’s back like your life depended on it.

He exploded with a gasp of your name, hips finally beginning to falter.

He didn’t stop moving until you’d come down from your high. He lips met your heated skin and he whispered sweet nothings to you.

Finally, he collapsed beside you, taking a moment to catch his breath before dragging himself to the bathroom to get a warm washcloth.

He cleaned you up gently, as he always did, before crawling back into the bed beside you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He tugged you into him and placed soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

“Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?” he asked softly.

“Nope. No one. Ever,” you said in a teasing tone.

He laughed warmly. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world, mi corazon and I love you.”

You turned your head to look into his warm green eyes. “Te amo, Rafi, con todo mi corazon.” [I love you, Rafi, with all my heart.]

His lips met yours in a gentle kiss. “Te amo mucho, querida. Más que la vida." [I love you so much, baby. More than life.]

[the-library-of-forgotten-endings]

The Delinquent’s Guide to Finding Love

Warnings: profanity, domestic ab*se, psychological ab*se, Gakuhoe Asano and his A+ Parenting, mild spoilers

Reader is female

Assassination Classroom doesn't belong to me, and neither does Karma.

“Good morning, everyone. My name is (Y/N) Asano, and I am the new transfer student.”

The girl at the front of the room surveys the class with a cold expression. “I look forward to meeting you all.” She certainly doesn’t seem like it.

She stalks across the room, taking a seat next to Karma Akabane.

Karma feels a vengeful glee grow inside of him. Ha! This is hilarious!

“Not so smiley now, are you, Princess?” he taunts.

“…” She looks at him. “Akabane.”

“(Y/N)-chan.”

“Don’t call me chan. Only my friends call me that. And you are not my friend.”

Maybe…just maybe…

“Daddy decided that Princess was useless, didn’t he?” Karma sneers. “Looks like Daddy doesn’t love you anymore~”

“…” She looks at him frigidly. “Please do not talk to me.”

This is better than hilarious, Karma decides. This is possibly the best thing that has happened to him in his life.

(Y/N) Asano.

How does Karma describe her?

Perhaps he should keep it short.

Former student of 3-A (Former, ha!). Daughter of the Principal. Sister of Gakushuu Asano. Captain of the cheer team. Kunugigaoka’s School Idol.

A complete and utter fake.

If you ask anyone on Main Campus, (Y/N) is a kind, gentle soul, a friendly, talented young girl who, even when she’s beaten down, keeps a bright smile on her face.

If you ask Karma Akabane, she’s a liar and a fake.

She’s an Asano, for god’s sake. What do you expect?

The first time Karma saw her, it was hate at first sight.

Pure, unfiltered, hate.

She was cheering on Kunugigaoka’s football team, with a bright, warm smile, which Karma knew, from the very depths of his core, was fake, fake, fake.

“Come on A-Class!” she had yelled, shaking her pom-poms. “Let’s send them straight to hell!”

The team A-Class was playing against was the E-Class team.

They weren’t sent to hell, but E-Class was most certainly put through it.

“So, (L/N)-san how did you end up here?” tries Kanzaki.

“Reasons,” (Y/N) responds.

“Um…ok…”

“What do you want with me? Just spit it out.”

“…Would you like to sit with us at lunch? I know-”

“No.”

“…”

“(L/N)-san, this is an opportunity to make friends!” encourages Koro-sensei. “Why not-”

(Y/N) looks at Koro-sensei. “I have no intention of making friends here,” she states.

“You’ll need allies on your side if you want to kill me-”

“I have no intention of killing you.” Koro-sensei freezes at this, as does Karma. (Y/N) narrows her eyes. “I have no need of the prize money. I will be back at A-Class soon enough anyways, so there is no real point.”

“…”

“Please excuse me.” (Y/N) stands up and starts to walk away from her desk.

“So…you show your true colours at last,” calls out Karma.

(Y/N) stops in her tracks, and slowly turns around, facing Karma. “Fuck off.”

(Y/N) was rather popular back when she was back at Main Campus.

Karma would often see her blow a kiss or two to her admirers, who would often follow her around the school, but noticed how she would skip those from E-Class.

Speaking of following, there was also that clique of hers. She wasn’t really part of the Big Five, but she did have a ‘group’ of her own. It was made exclusively of members of her cheer team, each one as plastic and fake as her.

Naturally, there was no room for the ‘dirt’ that was E-class.

Karma was watching from the shadows when The Incident happened.

“Why won’t you let me join the cheer team?” fumed Hinata Okano.

“You’re in D-Class, Okano,” says (Y/N), her voice cold, unforgiving. “You’re barely hanging on as it is. Get better grades and then I might consider it.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fair.”

Okano stormed out of the room, and Karma only just managed to catch the tearful shine of Okano’s eyes.

Lunchtime in E-Class.

(Y/N) is not eating a bite of her food, simply messing around with what’s inside her lunchbox. She is sitting under a large tree, its shadow protecting her from the harsh sun.

Karma casually walks up to her, pouring his strawberry milk inside her lunchbox, some of the milk splashing onto her shirt.

“Oops.” He smiles innocently. “Sorry.”

“…” (Y/N) stands up, and walks towards the nearest bin, dumping her food inside, disposing of it.

Karma kicks over the compost bin, the contents of the bin landing on her shoes.

“Sorry.” He is openly smirking now.

Maybe she’ll say something now. Maybe she’ll yell at him. Maybe she’ll cry.

Karma wants to see that human side of her again, he wants to see that vulnerable side, so he can reach into her and then finally tear her apart.

Oh. That was a little intense.

Meh, whatever. ‘Intense’ is Karma’s middle name.

(Y/N) walks away from Karma, not saying a word.

“What happened, Princess?” Karma mocks. “Did I hurt your feewings~?”

No answer.

What a shame.

The first prank was relatively amateur.

A box of chocolates, the chocolates replaced with a jack in a box which sprayed paint all over (Y/N)’s shirt.

Karma had watched from a little ways off, as (Y/N) and her clique stood there in silence.

Pin drop silence.

Until (Y/N) laughed. She looked straight at Karma and shot him a (fake) smile. “You totally got me, Akabane-san!”

Rage.

Karma watches Kanzaki shrink into herself as she walks home, as jeers and insults are thrown at her from the Main Campus students.

Someone pushes her, and Kanzaki falls to the ground, her books scattered all over the ground.

Karma begins to walk up to her but stops when he sees someone else approach her. He hides behind a tree in order to see exactly why would (Y/N) Asano would ever help someone?

“Stop crying,” says (Y/N), holding out a hand for her to grab onto. Kanzaki takes it and stands up, sniffling.

(Y/N) crosses her arms. “You need to stop being so pathetic, Kanzaki,” she says, her eyes narrowed.

Kanzaki looks like she’s about to burst into full out tears.

(Y/N) takes a deep breath and sighs, her tone changing into something softer, kinder almost. “The reason they pick on you is because you look vulnerable, pathetic and weak. You try to hide so that people won’t notice on you, but it just has the opposite effect.”

“…” Kanzaki looks confused.

(Y/N) sighs again. “Tell me something. In the wild, a wolf wouldn’t attack a lion, would it?”

Kanzaki shakes her head.

“But it would attack a cow, wouldn’t it?”

Kanzaki nods her head.

“Why is that? Why doesn’t it attack the lion? Why doesn’t it leave the cow alone?”

“…It’s because the wolf knows it’s weaker than the lion,” answers Kanzaki tentatively. “So, it decides to pick on the cow instead…”

(Y/N) smiles. It isn’t like how she used to smile, how she used to smile back in Main. This smile is more…evil-looking, cruel, mischievous (and it makes Karma’s heart do weird backflips worthy of an Olympic gold medal, but there was no way in hell he was ever going to admit that).

“Kanzaki-chan, you are the cow. And Main Campus are the wolves. To beat them, you need to become a lion.”

“…But…I’m not nearly strong or clever enough…” Kanzaki shuffles her feet nervously. “I’m…not ready…”

“Then fake it till you make it.” (Y/N)’s tone is hard. “Hold your chin up high, stand straight, and pretend you don’t care.”

Kanzaki does exactly that, not really succeeding, instead looking sort of like constipated turtle.

“You look like a constipated turtle,” sighs (Y/N).

“Sorry,” Kanzaki mumbles.

“Let me put it this way,” says (Y/N), pinching her brow. “Try to look like a bitch.”

“…a…bitch?”

“Yes. A rich, beautiful cold brat who has money and looks and the whole school humping her leg like a chihuahua.”

“…that’s…oddly specific.”

“Just do it.”

Kanzaki tries to look bitchy, and kind of succeeds, putting a cold look on her face and holding her chin up high.

“Now walk,” instructs (Y/N). “Walk back home like that.”

“…and if they insult me again?” asks Kanzaki timidly.

“Ignore them. Pretend that they’re tiny little ants.”

“…Alright.” And so Kanzaki walks away, trying her best to pretend that the Main Campus are tiny little ants.

“…”

…Karma gets it.

She’s…trying to be nice.

Maybe…maybe she was really trying to change.

…

THE NEXT DAY

…

Okay, you know what Karma said about (Y/N) trying to change?

Karma takes that back She isn’t trying to change, not at all.

Why did Karma expect anything different?

“The way you’re cartwheeling is completely wrong, Okano.” (Y/N) crosses her arms. “It makes you look like an amputated duck.”

“Haaanh? And when we ask you for your opinion, Miss ‘I’m so great at everything?’” snaps Okano. “Jeez, could you stop poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong? My cartwheel is fine-”

Kanzaki looks helplessly from one girl to another. “Guys, we shouldn’t argue-”

“She’s insulting my skills!” yells Okano.

“I’m trying to help you!” (Y/N) retorts.

“So, dissing me is helping now? How about some actual constructive feedback instead!?”

“…Ok, you want constructive feedback?” (Y/N)’s voice is cold; Karma swears that the temperature drops a few degrees. “Just quit. You’ll never be able to get anywhere, so why keep trying if you just keep on messing up?”

“…” Okano clenches her fist and glares. “Why you…!”

Kanzaki’s eyes widen, and she mutters, “Wasn’t that a little harsh…?”

(Y/N) doesn’t even bother to answer, only turning her back on the two girls and walking away.

Okano yells and launches herself in (Y/N)’s direction, about to give (Y/N) one of her signature flying kicks. “YOU BITCH!”

(Y/N) simply steps out of the way and watches as Okano lands in the dust, raising an eyebrow as if to say, ‘Seriously?’

Okano gets back up on her feet, breathing heavily. Anybody with half a mind can see that she is still angry from the angry furrow of her brows to the red flush of her cheeks and the trembling of her clenched fists.

With a roar Okano launches a punch towards (Y/N)’s face, but (Y/N) without so much as a flinch grabs Okano’s arm and flips her backwards, sending her crashing to the ground.

Okano doesn’t get back up this time.

The retaliation was unexpected.

Karma never thought she would have the guts.

But there Karma was, realising that all of his clothes had been switched out for something truly hideous.

No one had any spare clothes, and therefore, Karma Akabane was forced to spend the rest of the day in a tattered yellow Hawaiian shirt and mud splattered shorts, subject to the sniggers and giggles of fellow students.

Karma hadn’t known who had done it.

Not until (Y/N) Asano had brushed up against him as he was moving classes and whispered to him, “You look good in yellow, Akabane,” her lips lightly touching the skin of his ear and sending shivers down his spine.

Love Hate.

“Asano-san, what you did was completely out of line!” fumes Koro-sensei, his face a deep black. Karma feels himself tremble ever so slightly, but (Y/N)’s face seems composed, bored even.

Karma may be a devil, but (Y/N) is definitely not human.

“I was defending myself,” she says calmly.

“You could have seriously hurt Okano!”

“And she could have seriously hurt me if I had let her.”

The entire class sits in pin-drop silence as Koro-sensei looks straight at (Y/N). “Hurting another classmate isunacceptable,” he growls.

“She was the one who started it.” (Y/N)’s face betrays nothing.

“Okano, is this true?” And just like that, Okano is now the one who is shaking (even more) as Koro-sensei directs his gaze onto her.

“…yes…” Okano mutters, confessing to her sin. “But she provoked me! She insulted my skills! She told me that I should just quit gymnastics!”

“…” Koro-sensei looks at (Y/N) once more.

“…Okano is telling the truth,” says (Y/N).

“And what made you say such a thing to her?”

“She asked me for advice, and I gave it,” (Y/N) states.

Koro-sensei sighs, his face fading back into its usual yellow colour. “I see now. (Y/N).” (Y/N) nods, showing she is attentive. “For now, I am letting you off, since you are new, but you must not provoke another student in such a manner again. Do you understand?” he says, wagging a tentacle at the young girl

“I understand.”

“And Okano.” Okano perks to attention. “You mustn’t lash out like that a fellow classmate again. Violence against others will not be tolerated. Do you understand?”

“…I understand.”

“Good!” And just like that, the tension in the air disappeared, as if it hadn’t been there at all. “Now, let’s get back to the lesson, shall we?”

By the end of the day, the rain is pouring down like never before, dark clouds swirling in the sky and fog clogging the air. Karma luckily has brought his umbrella, so his hair is fluffy rather than sodden from the water.

He walks out of the school, frowning when he sees a figure standing amongst the white fog.

“…Asano.”

(Y/N)’s eyes are trained on some spot in the distance, and her foot is tapping impatiently, the rain soaking her all over. “Akabane,” she responds curtly. “You’ve come to spill milk on me again?”

“Aw, Princess, you know me.” Karma gives a dark grin. “I’m a complete angel. I would never do something like that on purpose. Could you imagine?”

(Y/N) snorts in response.

“So, what’s someone like you doing out here?” questions Karma. “Standing in the rain like a stray dog?”

“Waiting for my brother,” (Y/N) says. “He should be here any minute now. That idiot’s so late today.”

There’s a little catch in her voice that most people would have missed or ignored, but Karma isn’t most people, and as such he pounces on this chink in her armour. “And by any minute, do you mean one hour?”

“…” The tapping of her foot stops.

“I stayed back an hour to help some of the others with math. And knowing that Asano, he wouldn’t forget anything. He’s always on time, always completely prepared. Face it, Princess. You’ve been ditched.” Karma holds out his umbrella, smirking. “So why don’t you let the handsome prince take you home?” he mocks.

“…Gakushuu will be here soon,” she answers, her voice slightly unsure. Her eyes are still looking somewhere far away. “He’ll be here. So, I don’t need your help.”

“…He’s not coming for you. No one’s coming for you,” says Karma, the smile dropping from his face. “You’re one of us now, Princess. An outcast. A piece of trash. No one from your old life will even want to touch you now. Welcome to E-class.”

“…that isn’t true.” (Y/N) shakes her head, laughing. “That’s ridiculous! My brother cares about me, obviously, he just can’t afford to spend time with me right now because there’s so much work to do, and I have to concentrate on my studies too!” Water drips down her cheeks.

“A dog with a leash can’t stray too far from his master,” states Karma. “And stray dogs are to be kept far away from the house.”

“…” (Y/N) finally looks at Karma. There is a sugary smile on her face, one that reminds Karma of the old days, back when Karma was in D-class and she in A-class.

But her eyes burn with something even darker than sin itself.

“Does the Princess have something to say?” Karma mocks, trying not to waver at the look in her eyes. “What is it, Your Majesty?”

“…I really like dogs too!” she says, her voice dripping with thick, sweet, choking syrup, the saccharine poison forcing its way down Karma’s throat and drowning out his voice.

“They’re so sweet and cute, you know!” She laughs, looking Karma up and down. “There’s this little red one who I see very often. He’s thinks he’s so scary, barking at me all the time. It’s so adorable! But I sometimes feel really sorry for him. His parents- oh sorry, owners, like to go on really long trips, and they leave him alone all the time. Then he really acts out, getting into fights and biting all these people, but when he gets home, he cries and cries. It’s just so pathetic.”

Karma can’t hold himself back anymore. His fist flies through the air, straight towards (Y/N) Asano’s face.

“I am speechless.”

Karma and (Y/N) are back in the 3-E classroom, under the disapproving gaze of Koro-sensei, similar to before with Okano really, except it was only the three of them.

Karma, in hindsight, curses himself for falling for the bait. But he feels satisfied

“Asano-san.” (Y/N) isn’t afraid. But it’s not like she’s calm either. Her dull eyes stare at somewhere that isn’t here nor there, and she barely breathes.

Karma isn’t sure if he likes it.

“I warned you today that you were on caution, and any more fights would get you in serious trouble. And yet, the minute school ends, I get-” Koro-sensei waves a tentacle in Karma’s direction. “-this. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“He started it,” she mutters, barely audible, sounding like a sulking child.

“I see. And is this true, Karma-kun?” asks Koro-sensei, his usually sunny smile now much more comparable to the bloodthirsty grin of a serial killer.

“…” Karma could lie. He could lie. But he isn’t that kind of person… “…No.” Well, he is that kind of person as it turns out. What a surprise.

“Oh yes, so it was a ghost who punched me?” snaps (Y/N), vindictive. “It was a ghost who mocked me? It was a ghost who spilled milk all over me? I am so done with your bullshit, Akabane.”

“I’m done with your bullshit too,” Karma fires back. “You’re all sour over the fact that you’re not in Main anymore and you’ve been taking it out on all of us like a petty little bitc-”

“I understand what has been going on now.” Koro-sensei’s voice has a certain resolution to it. “You both can go home now, but I want you to stay after school tomorrow. Understand?”

“…Understood,” (Y/N) mutters.

“Understood,” Karma mutters as well.

…

THE NEXT DAY

…

“Bonding,” Karma seethes, crossing his arms and slouching in his chair. “Fucking bonding. I can’t believe it. The undercooked piece of seafood wants us to bond.”

“That octopus is a strange one,” remarks (Y/N) quietly, rocking backwards and forwards gently.

“Princess, he’s a literal octopus who walks and talks and flies at Mach 20. Strange does not even begin to cover it.”

“…” (Y/N) falls silent again.

The two are sitting together in the empty 3-E classroom. Door and windows are all tightly shut and locked.

“The attitude you two have will not do at all!” Koro-sensei had said, wagging a tentacle as a large cross appeared on his face. “Assassins must have the ability to set aside their differences and work together, and the two of you fighting will only drag the entire class down! So, I have devised a challenge for you two…”

“I can’t believe the octopus turned the mountain into an escape room.” Karma shakes his head. “If only you had a hairpin or something, I could-”

(Y/N) walks to Karma and brings a hairpin out of her pocket, wordlessly putting it in Karma’s hand.

Karma takes it, and bends it out of shape, inserting it into the lock and wiggling it around until he hears a click. “You do the honours, Princess.”

(Y/N) swings the door open…

They quickly run through the corridor, Karma reaching first and pushing the doors to the exit. “No use. It’s locked. You have another hairpin.

“No…that was my last one.” (Y/N) frowned. “There’s a key, right?”

“There is, in the staff room.”

“So, let’s go.”

“The key has to be somewhere in here,” says (Y/N).

“Let’s check.”

They turn the room upside down, but come up with no results, except for four strange pieces of paper, with various things written on them.

“…it’s not here.”

“It is,” responds Karma, pointing to the safe. It is locked with a six number code, which Karma doesn’t know.

“…there are a number of possibilities,” says (Y/N), tapping her foot anxiously. “If we try them all-”

“No can do, Princess.” Karma shakes his head. “We only get three tries for this kind of safe. And besides, trying them all would take ages.”

“…Koro-sensei…the paper …it must be a clue!” (Y/N) turns to Karma. “We have to solve this…!”

“Okay.” Karma snatches up one of the papers. “This one should be…” His bravado quickly fades when he realises that the entire thing is written in a foreign language. “…easy.”

“Give it to me.”

Karma hands it over to (Y/N). “I doubt you’ll be able to solve this one.”

“…” (Y/N) scans over the paper. “It…it seems to be written in French. I’m a little rusty, but it’s asking a question: what must an assassin always have?”

…So…she knows French, huh? “…Koro-sensei always tells us that an assassin must always have a second blade,” offers Karma. “As in a back-up plan, if the first should fail.”

“A second blade…” (Y/N) thinks aloud, tapping her foot (something she seems to do when she’s thinking).

“…what would the corresponding numbers for ‘blade’ be in the alphabet, if let’s say, a = 1, b = 2, and so on?” asks Karma

“…2, 12, 1, 4, 5,” (Y/N) says, after a moment’s thought.

Karma inputs the numbers ‘212145’ and tries to open the safe. “…Hey, did you translate that right?”

“No, I’m definitely not wrong.” (Y/N) shakes her head. “That is what the question says…”

“…well, what’s ‘blade’ in French?”

“It would be ‘la lame.’” (Y/N) frowns. “But technically, if you translate ‘la lame’ literally, it becomes ‘the blade’ rather than just ‘blade,’ so ‘blade’ is actually ‘lame’ rather than ‘la lame…’

Karma has it. He quickly inputs the numbers ‘121135,’ and the safe opens with a click, revealing a key.

“Wow…” (Y/N)’s eyes widen. “That was…pretty cool…”

“…heh…you warming up to me now, Princess?”

“…no, I’m not.” Her voice is unsure, and Karma’s heart leaps for no reason at all. “Come on, let’s go.”

“…that octopus is a strange on,” (Y/N) murmurs, repeating her earlier statement.

The entire of 3-E is surrounded by a tall (six meters if Karma has to make an estimate), metal fence, with no barbed wire thankfully, but it’s a fence all the same. The fence isn’t completely solid, though, more like a mesh, and Karma can see to the other side.

“Don’t tell me we have to unlock another door,” groans Karma.

“…no…” (Y/N) points. “I don’t think there is a door.”

Karma looks in the direction (Y/N) is pointing in. And on the floor, he sees a pole.

“Koro-sensei wants us to vault over it. He’s even kept cushioning on the other side, see?” Sure enough, Karma can see a large blue mat on the other side, along with a large rope. “One of us has to vault over, then toss the rope so that the other person can climb over.”

“Alright then, I’ll go-”

“No,” (Y/N) interrupts him forcefully. “I’ll go.”

“…Why?” demands Karma.

“Akabane, pole vaulting is dangerous without intense practice and training.” (Y/N) crosses her arms. “This fence is six meters at least, that’s Olympic levels.”

“And you’re suggesting that you’re capable?”

“…yes. I am.” (Y/N) takes a deep breath. “I’m very experienced in gymnastics and athletics, so something like this is right up my alley.”

“And how do I know you won’t just leave me here?” Karma challenges her.

“…you don’t. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“…” Trust. How can Karma trust someone like her?

But as he looks into her eyes, he can see no manipulation, no deceit. Just the cold hard truth.

“…Alright then. Take the lead, Princess.” Karma reluctantly picks up the pole, and hands it to (Y/N).

(Y/N) steps backwards, taking one breath, two breaths, three. Then she starts to run, eyes trained on her destination, and she brings the pole to the ground, launching herself over the fence, and landing on the mat, uninjured. She stands up, looking at Karma.

She’s going to leave now, Karma knows. She’s going to leave Karma behind, and it serves Karma right for believing in an Asano of all people–

(Y/N) tosses one end of the rope over the fence, ready for Karma to take so that he can finally make it to the other side. “Come on. Climb over before I graduate, yeah?”

…

THE NEXT DAY

…

“…Okano.”

Okano looks up from her lunch, glaring at (Y/N) who is standing before her. “What?”

“…Your cartwheels aren’t perfect,” says (Y/N), and Okano’s opens her mouth to spew a retort, but (Y/N) continues. “But they are very precise and controlled, which is impressive considering that you don’t train very intensely. You also look very graceful from an audience’s perspective, and you can also do multiple cartwheels in a sequence in a high speed, which is also takes a lot of effort. All in all, I would give your cartwheels an eight out of ten.”

“…so…is this your way of saying ‘sorry?’”

“I’m not apologising. I’m stating facts.”

“…” Okano cracks a small smile. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome. And, one more thing.”

“…yeah?”

“When I eventually get back into Main, and yes, I will get back into Main, I’m planning on opening the cheerleading team to members of all classes, not just A, B, and C class,” (Y/N) tells her. “You’re welcome to come for try-outs, if you want to. I’m sure you’ll get in.”

This time, Okano’s grin is as bright as the sun.

(Y/N) turns around to face Karma, who was watching from a distance. “Hey, Akabane…you don’t mind if I sit with you for lunch, right?”

Karma smiles, genuinely “Sure thing, Princess.”

(Y/N) and Karma, a few days after ‘The Great Escape Room,’ become friends. One might think that a friendship between someone who is born of the system and someone who breaks the system is completely atypical and absurd, but Karma was never one for the typical anyway, and it would seem that (Y/N) completely agrees.

Today, Koro-sensei just handed back the quizzes they did a few days ago, right before break started, and Karma smiles in satisfaction as he once again looks at his paper with a large ‘96%’ written on it.

“Impressive,” compliments (Y/N), smiling.

“Thanks, Princess.” Karma gives her a lazy grin. He really couldn’t be bothered to, he knew he would ace it, and he did. “Hardly studied too. What did you get?”

“Oh, nothing remarkable.” To anyone else, her tone might sound dismissive, casual, but Karma knows her well enough to detect that underlying something that puts him on edge, so he snatches up her paper, and his eyes widen when he sees her ‘100%.’

Karma Akabane is second. The thought spins around in his head: second, second, second, second, second.

There is a sly smile on (Y/N)’s face. “Just because we’re all buddy-buddy now doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass when I can, Akabane.” She laughs. “Or should I say, ‘Second Place?’”

“…you bitch,” growls Karma.

“Ooh, did I hurt your feewings~?” mocks (Y/N).

“Guys, you shouldn’t fight in here,” says Isogai nervously, seeing the look on Karma’s face. “Just because it’s break doesn’t make it a–”

Karma goes in for the kill, his fingers attacking (Y/N)’s sides and incessantly begins to tickle her with a dark grin on his face. “Take that!”

“Ahahahahha!” Tears pour out of (Y/N)’s eyes as she tries to push Karma off her, but fails, falling to the ground in the process. “Karma, stop!” she chokes out.

Karma grins. “Then beg me for mercy, Princess.”

“P-please…” Her eyes narrow. “Have a breath mint.” (Y/N) suddenly grabs Karma and flips him over, now on top of him.  “Time for reve-”

“In broad daylight?” remarks Bitch-sensei from the doorway, raising an eyebrow. “My my, you two are bold. Just use protection, ‘kay?”

“…” Realization slowly dawns on (Y/N)’s face. “I…I…NO!” She gets off Karma and leaps to her feet. “I would never!”

“Really?” The Bitch Supreme smirks. “Because it sure looked like it, honey.”

“I’m leaving!” (Y/N) storms out of the room in a huff.

Karma doesn’t bother to get up. He lies there, takes his time, pondering over what just happened…

He closes his eyes.

(Y/N) Asano, her image appears

Same as ever. Nothing different. Not at all.

(Is what Karma is telling himself, and it’s true. But his future self will never anticipate the magnetic pull, the backflips his heart makes, the butterflies in his stomach.)

“Ugh, today was so annoying.” (Y/N) rolls her eyes as she walks down the mountain with Karma. “Seriously, now everyone’s shipping us all because Bitch-sensei made it weird. Honestly. Us? A couple?” (Y/N) laughs.

Karma laughs along. “Yeah, could you imagine?”

Ridiculous, honestly.

“Gakushuu!” calls out (Y/N).

Oh no.

Oh no.

Karma quickly grabs (Y/N)’s arm and hisses in her ear, “(Y/N), why is that bastard here?”

(Y/N) slaps Karma’s arm. “I told him to walk with me. And don’t call my brother a bastard.”

“…” Ah. Karma had forgotten that the two were related.

“…(Y/N), why did you bring Akabane with you?” Asano barely does anything to hide the obvious repulsion in his voice.

“Look.” (Y/N) crosses her arms. “Karma’s gonna be hanging around me a lot more now, so I want you both to get along. So be polite. Both of you.”

“He abandoned you,” Karma points out, his voice rising. “He left you to rot in the rain like a stray do-”

“You don’t know anything about me, or (Y/N).” Asano’s eyes flash with anger. “So, I suggest you kindly shut your trap-”

“Let’s just go.” (Y/N) begins to walk the way to her home. “Try to keep up.”

The two boys exchange one last glare, before following (Y/N).

(Y/N) walks much faster than them, and thus, she is now several feet ahead of the two, and safely out of earshot, allowing the boys to argue.

“Let me make one thing clear, Akabane,” says Asano, glaring. “If you intend to hang around my sister, I will not make it easy for you.”

Karma smirks. “Well, I like a good challenge anyway~”

“My sister is not a challenge,” Asano spits. “She’s a person, with fee–”

“What’s that I hear about me?”

You know what Karma said before about being safely out of earshot?

He takes it back.

Does she have super-hearing?

“Can you two not spend two minutes in the same place without fighting?” (Y/N) sighs. “You both are like toddlers, honestly. Well, Karma, you’re on your own now, since we’ve reached our destination. And I’m never walking with the both of you again.”

“I told you,” say Karma and Asano in unison.

(Y/N) laughs a little. “Well, see you tomorrow, Karma.”

“Why did you forgive him?”

“He’s my brother,” answers (Y/N) nonchalantly as they walk up the mountain together.

“He still abandoned you,” Karma points out indignantly. “Are you really gonna make it that easy?”

“…there’s stuff,” mutters (Y/N). “Hard to explain. But he cares about me. And I care about him.”

“…If that’s what you say…”

Maehara asks (Y/N) The Question on a warm, sunny day, while they are all outside.

“Hey (Y/N), how are you so smart?”

“…” She frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I always figured that cheerleaders were supposed to be…dumb?” Maehara laughs awkwardly. “I mean, that’s how it is, right?”

“…Hollywood,” (Y/N) sighs. “There isn’t a single thing it hasn’t managed to fuck up.”

She brings out her phone, and quickly selects a playlist. Upbeat, fast music begins to play.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the show! We’re reaching for the top, and we’ll never fall below!”

(Y/N) then does a series of backflips so fast that Karma’s sight begins to blur, and then does some different jumps that makes her audience hold their breath, seemingly defying gravity.

A show indeed.

The music stops, and (Y/N) bows down to her audience, and Karma, along with a bunch of others, claps hard.

“Does that answer your question?” asks (Y/N), looking straight at Maehara. “…Yeah, it does.”

“People think cheerleading is easy,” (Y/N) tells Karma, later. “And as you can tell, they’re wrong.” She smiles. “My dad first told me that cheerleading was a stupid career choice, and I would be better off investing my time somewhere else. And now today, my cheerleading team has won every competition they’ve taken part in.” She laughs. “Not going to lie, I did a great job.”

“How humble.”

“Oh, shut it, strawberry.” (Y/N) playfully pushes him. “But let that be a lesson: if you work hard enough, nothing can bring you down.”

Thoughts.

That’s all they were.

Silly little thoughts that would pop into Karma’s head annoyingly from time to time, easy to brush off, easy to ignore.

But thoughts will turn into feelings, and feelings are a part of who you are.

The day (Y/N) truly becomes a part of Karma is burned into Karma’s brain.

Today is burned into Karma’s brain.

There are 365 days in a year, and listing out what happened in all of those days would frankly be ridiculous and time consuming, so maybe it would be best to pick out what stands out the most in Karma’s mind…

…

THE FIELD TRIP

…

At this point in time, E-class is in their trip to Kyoto, and this particular moment is the long awaited ‘gossip time…’

“Sounds like a party in here,” Karma remarks as he walks into the room, holding a cup of tea.

“Karma, great timing,” says Isogai. “Which of the girls in our class do you like?”

“…” Karma pays no attention to the paper handed to him, saying the first name that comes to mind: “I believe I’ll have to go with Okuda.”

“Bullshit!” groans Okajima, unsatisfied with Karma’s answer. “Everyone and their grandmothers know you have the hots for (Y/N)!”

“That isn’t true,” says Karma as casually as possibly.

“Bullshit liar, bullshit liar, bullshit liar!” Maehara jeers.

Karma knows opportunity when he sees it, and in this case, he sees it when Koro-sensei peers into the room with a pink, blushing face, noting something down in a notebook.

“Maybe you should be more worried about him.” Karma points at his poor victim.

Almost immediately, the room dissolves into chaos, everyone sans Karma and Nagisa drawing their knives and going after their target.

Karma simply sips at his tea, smiling and revelling in the chaos.

He steps outside to see all boys and girls attacking Koro-sensei, said teacher dodging their attacks at Mach 20, and Karma leans casually leaning against the wall.

“Hey Karma, don’t tell me he spied on you guys too,” says (Y/N) from beside him, looking at the destruction. Karma jumps a little; he hadn’t noticed her.

“Alright, I won’t.”

“Jesus.” (Y/N) rolls her eyes. “I see you aren’t attacking him.”

“Got nothing to hide,” says Karma (lying; he’s very good at it). “And I could say the same about you. You have no secrets either, huh.”

“…heh…” (Y/N) looks right at Karma and smirks. “Nah. I’m just very good at keeping secrets.”

(Karma wonders if drinking insecticide will kill the butterflies in his stomach.)

…

THE CAVE

…

Now, obviously there’s the island incident. The 3-E students got poisoned, Nagisa beat up Takoka, blah, blah, blah.

No one gives a shit about that, so let’s move onto Koro-sensei’s infamous matchmaking scheme (on of many to come): The haunted cave.

Karma and (Y/N) both walk through the cave, the candle Karma’s holding lighting their way. “How much do you bet this is some stupid matchmaking scheme?” says (Y/N), sounding exasperated.

“My firstborn child,” Karma jokes.

“Thought so.” (Y/N) sighs. “That octopus is never gonna give up.”

“Never gonna let you down, never gonna-”

“Shut it.”

They walk in a comfortable silence for a while, before (Y/N) asks another question. Well, it’s less of a question, and more of a statement.

“You’re afraid of Nagisa, aren’t you?”

Karma stiffens. She’s good. “What do you mean? Me, scared of Nagisa?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Karma,” sniffs (Y/N). “You looked scared to death back there with that battle with Takaoka.”

“…you got me there, Princess,” admits Karma.

“Can’t blame you there. He was pretty scary back there.”

“I know, right? And he’s like a mouse most of the time, who’da thunk that he’d have turned out like…like that!” Karma laughs bitterly. “Just goes to show that things you’re the least afraid of are the most dangerous…”

“Everything’s dangerous, Karma,” points out (Y/N). “I mean, I’m dangerous too.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re strong, I know that.”

“It’s not about who can beat you up, Karma. People can ruin you without even laying a hand on you.” (Y/N) narrows her eyes. “All it really takes is a few well-placed rumours and a few leaked secrets to make the world burn.” She sighs. “It’s the mistake a lot of people make, really. It’s so easy to forget. In today’s world, violence will only get you so far. It’s about how well you can mess with people.”

“…you seem to know a lot about messing with people, Princess,” Karma notes.

“Heh.” (Y/N) smirks. “And what are you going to do about that?”

“You shevil.”

“Thank you, darling,” she drawls in response, grinning.

Oh shit, it’s the butterflies again.

Perhaps you have a good picture of their friendship now. Strong, passionate…

The news hits Karma like a truck.

“What do you mean, you’re going back to Main?” Karma demands.

“I just got the letter.” (Y/N) doesn’t make eye contact with Karma, she instead looks down at her feet.  “I’m going back, Karma. Today’s my last day in E-class.”

“So, you’re just going to abandon us?” spat Karma. “You’re going to abandon me?”

The look on her face is like a knife straight through his heart.

“I…I’m not abandoning you.” Her voice is soft. “You all are really precious to me…you’re precious to me, Karma.”

“Then why?” Karma’s voice cracks. “I thought you cared about this. I thought you cared about the assassination. I thought those moments we had actually meant something to you-”

“They do! They mean everything to me! Things are complicated, Karma. I can’t stay…”

“Then prove it.” Karma’s voice is cold. “Prove to me that you aren’t lying, Princess.”

Karma didn’t know what he expected.

A hug? A tear-filled confession of friendship?

But he certainly didn’t expect (Y/N) pulling him in for a kiss.

Karma is a smart person, but he thinks, in this very moment, this is how it feels to be dumb. This is how it feels to have your head empty.

No thoughts, just (Y/N).

He kisses back.

“…” There are a few precious seconds of silence, after (Y/N) stops kissing Karma. “I…” (Y/N) takes a breath. “I’ll be in the cheer club after schools.”

She turns around and begins walking away, and Karma’s brain screams at him to say something, anything, but as you would have it, he stood there, voice gone.

What a shevil she is.

Stealing Karma’s heart and running away the second she kisses him.

Well, Karma supposes he’ll have to steal her heart as well, just to get even~

The Cheer Club, she said.

That’s in the sports hall, isn’t it?

She’ll be happy to see him, right?

Right?

The door is already open, so Karma peeks in, to see…

(Y/N) is on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Karma has never seen her in such a vulnerable state before, and it almost feels like he’s peeking in on something private, not meant for his eyes.

(Y/N) shakes someone’s body, tears streaming down her face. “Aiko? Wake up! You need to wake up!” Around her, many more bodies are scattered, and Karma realises with a jolt that they belong to girls. Actual girls.

“They were weak.”

Ah.

The Principal.

He looms above (Y/N), looking down on her disapprovingly as she cries. “You allowed yourself to become weak, and in the process, you made them weak,” he tells her. It feels like they’re in the middle of a conversation. “While you were in E-class, their performance declined, bit by bit, until I had to…step in.”

“They weren’t ready,” (Y/N) chokes out. “They couldn’t take it. You killed them!”

“Now, now, you shouldn’t exaggerate so. There are a few broken bones here and there, but they’ll come out of this stronger. You’ll come out of this stronger.” The smile on his face is truly terrifying.

Just when Karma thinks that this possibly can’t get any worse, (Y/N) looks at him, glances at him from the corner of his eyes, and mouths, go.

By god Karma wants to stay.

But he doesn’t know anything.

So he goes.

An ambulance comes afterwards, and (Y/N) and Karma help carry (Y/N)’s Main Campus friends to the ambulance beds.

And when all is said and done, she collapses into Karma’s arms and cries.

…

THE NEXT DAY

…

“…So…” They sit together on a bench in a park. Karma licks a cone of strawberry ice-cream aimlessly. “Complicated?”

“Yeah.” (Y/N) sighs. “We’re not your standard textbook dysfunctional family, Karma. We’re functionally dysfunctional, if that makes sense.” She leans into him a little, resting her weary bones. “He’s more of a teacher than a father.” Karma can sense the obvious hurt in that last sentence. “Living with him is like walking on eggshells. I always feel like a disappointment, always feel like I’m weak…”

“Well, then, the solutions obvious, then isn’t it?” says Karma. “Live with me.”

“…huh?”

“Live with me.” Karma grins. “And bring your asshole brother along with you while you’re at it. Let’s really piss him off.”

“…” A wide grin slowly appears on (Y/N)’s face. “You genius! I could just kiss you right now!”

“Then do it.” Karma leans forward, closer to (Y/N). “I dare you.”

“…bastard.”

And so, she takes the dare, and there’s no one in the world except for them.

[meanbossart]

DU drow asks time

Lore questions/sweet messages/stuff that made me laugh that's about DU drow specifically that I decided to compile in a single post!

First of all, "outraged to be used as a medium for old man gay divorce" is a hysterical sentence LOL

As for his thoughts on the Ansur debacle? Negative ones. He hates the emperor, he doesn't care about his third-time-twist real identity, he doesn't particularly care about Wyll either (well - he kind of finds him entertaining, he's kind of really frustrated by him, it's complicated) but he saved his dad on a whim to spite Mizora anyway. BUT HEY, all that trouble would have been worthwhile if he's about to get an ancient dragon fighting alongside him - this old duke sounds a little too confident in this fairy tale, but stranger things have happened, right?

Then the situation unfolds as it does, and if he wasn't eager enough to use that orphic hammer before, he certainly is now. There is very little that the Emperor does past Act 3 that DU drow doesn't find a way to twist into something that confirms his resolve against him. If he could have taken Ansur's side in that fight, he would have - not that he shed any tears over killing him either.

Sick sword though, that helped soothe his nerves a bit and I'm sure spared everyone a little bit of a tantrum at camp later.

HAHAHAHA I can't confirm nor deny because I see so few large body-type elves as it is (which is fair, elves aren't usually... That massive). I did set age to 50% because it does look a little weird when it's all smooth. Maybe that's the trick?

Though I guess if you find it unsettling, then... No wonder it suits him! however this just looks like an impressively handsome fella to me, to be honest. I insist on fucking him up further whenever I draw him for that reason.

Thank you so much for following along and for giving the fic a try!!! And no worries, english isn't my native tongue either so I've been there 😎👍

I do actually have a couple of very short comics planned that take place pre-tadpole, but my backlog of WIPs is... Massive. Not to mention the commission work I do (currently not taking any more). I have one that's about his first interaction with Orin and another about a business dinner with Gortash gone-wrong, but I have no clue when I'll be able to work on them. Hopefully soon though!

You know, I've always hoped that after I died I'd be remembered as the guy who inspired others to make their nipples card-swipe-able.

Joke's aside, thank you LOL I love that my guys' nips have taken up non-insignificant room in your mind, it's always comforting to know that you aren't the only one.

Piercings and the such aren't really his style though. While he finds his scar-work weirdly comforting, he isn't so interested in aesthetic results as much as he just enjoys having pain inflicted upon him in a controlled environment, by people that he loves - He doesn't recall this post-tadpole, but the scars were a result of a kind of... Recurring ritual between himself and Orin that served to replace normal intimacy, pretty much.

Since you touched on it though, I do like to believe that Astarion finds his cut-up body fun, both on the eyes and on the hands LOL.

I'm starting to think you guys are all in on this. It's like the fifth time someone catches me in the act - god damn it, is it that obvious that I wanna slide down Peter Steele's cold corpse like he's a a ride at the Magical Ice kingdom... Which is to say, yes, both the guy and his music are not-so-lowkey a big inspiration behind a lot of DU drow's characterization!

That's all for now folks, thank you so much for the asks!!! This isn't all of them but I try not to spam people's feeds when I can help it/space them out. I see all of your messages and I guarantee you that if I have an interesting answer for them, you will see a reply eventually!

[cassieb1617]

Risky nights under the moon💌

Pairing: Remus Lupin x fem!reader

Angst

Summary: Submitted to the power of the full moon, Remus accidentally hurts the one person he swore to never hurt, how will they handle the complicated situation that takes place in Hogwarts‘ hospital wing?

Warnings: reader get injured but nothing too badly, Remus feels so bad about it, mentions of scars, language I think, let me know if there‘s more

A/N: this is probably far from canon because I honestly have no idea about werewolves but I hope you enjoy it anyway! And yes, in my head Poppy knows about the Marauders animagi abilities.

To be fair, you knew the risks. All of you did, Peter, Sirius, James and you. Remus knew you knew the risks too. Remus grew restless under the full moon, not that that is his fault. It was an accident and all of you knew that. Remus can‘t control himself when he‘s moony but he was always more gentle with you. Why Moony was that way no one knew but it started back in the middle of fifth year. The boys noticed that, of course they did, but they blamed it on the fact that the wolf can probably smell that you‘re a female not a male and he felt protective of you because of that. It didn‘t truly make sense but it was one explanation. Another one was James‘ theory. In his eyes it was all pretty clear. Remus was in love with you so Moony was as well but the problem in his theory? Remus hadn‘t realized how deeply in love with you he was.

Madam Pomfrey was by far the best mother-figure Remus ever had. His father hated werewolves and when Remus got bitten by one which resulted in him being one as well, his father had given him to an orphanage. Remus was only a kid, barely a kid actually when he lost his family through another man‘s revenge. Madam Pomfrey was caring about him since his first year at Hogwarts, she knew about his monthly trip in the woods and she tended his injuries with a care that only a mother had. She was also the only other person who knew about Remus‘ friends' little secret: that they are animagi. The woman had seen the worst of Remus‘ transitions, his first ones here in Hogwarts where he thought he would be alone and some where he came out with more scars littering his body than before. But this one was the messiest she had seen in all the six years the woman had known him. 

You came in the middle of the night to the hospital wing with Peter by your side, helping you to walk. The woman barely had time to recognize your pained cries and Peter‘s helpless shouts for help before she saw you two. Your arm was around his shoulder to help you not to fall down. There was a big slash across your thigh that reached downwards to your knee. The full moon was still not over but that wasn‘t Pomfrey‘s thought. She already had a theory on what happened and she certainly wasn‘t ready for the morning if the night already smelled like trouble. „It‘s a hard moon?“

At her question, you nodded numbly as she led you and Peter to the hospital bed, thanking every God out there that you were alone. „He- it was an accident but he slashed me, Poppy, it hurts. Please, make the pain go away!“ Your cries for help broke the poor woman‘s heart. She knew that you didn‘t just meet your pain but also Remus‘ pain of hurting you. Pomfrey had her wand out as she warned you, „This will hurt for a bit, my dear, but it will numb the pain.“ She muttered a spell and you hissed in pain, holding Peter‘s hand a tad tighter for comfort. The short boy bit his other fist as to not scream from you grip and shook his hands as you let go of his hand. 

„Oh, fuck! Sorry, Pete, didn‘t want to hurt you.“ Madam Pomfrey shook her head at your words, of course you would apologize to him when your leg got critically hurt. Pete waved his hand in dismissal and you smiled at the older healer, „Thanks, Poppy. It doesn‘t hurt anymore, you can work your magic now.“ The woman smiled at you and began healing you with spells, giving you a few potions against the pain and with that you called it a night, Peter sleeping on a neighborly hospital bed as you waited for the morning. 

Sirius and James were worried. They already predicted that this full moon would be a harder one, Remus was more stressed and more on edge the week before the night, far more than usual. They‘ve been helping the scarred boy on full moons since fifth year and they got hurt a lot, sometimes because Moony decided deer looked fascinating tasty that night or because a dog was a good playdate but Moony has never hurt you. Sweet you who cared so much about Remus that even Moony was protective of you. The pair of best friends knew the feelings that Remus held for you but on the first full moon they realized just how strong they were. Whenever Padfoot, Prongs or Wormtail came close to your animagus form, Moony would growl or even latch out, shielding you from the other guys. This time though you got hurt and your whole group knew that it was Moony. He didn‘t bite you but the scratching of his claws did enough damage. You were bleeding and Sirius and James would forever remember the moment Moony‘s eyes shifted as he realized he had hurt you, precious, loving you. 

Moony ran away after that, deeper into the woods and it was an agreement they made beforehand that if someone got hurt, Peter would go with them. It was nothing personal, obviously, but someone had to follow Remus and Peter was the smallest due to his animagus. This was the case this time, you got hurt so Peter helped you to the hospital wing as the two other boys followed the confused wolf into the forbidden forest. Remus was fast and more aggressive after he hurt you, Prongs and Padfoot almost got as hurt as you did as well but they always escaped in the last second before another critical injury was inflicted. 

In the morning, Remus, Sirius and James woke up in the Shrieking Shack again. Remus‘ memory was always vague after a night in the full moon but this time it wasn‘t. Remus can remember exactly the moment the night went into a disaster, the moment he hurt you. And not just a small scratch, no he slashed your thigh. The three boys knew that Madam Pomfrey would come in any minute to bring them to the hospital wing and Sirius and James were not prepared for the upcoming storm of emotion from Remus that they knew for sure would come any minute. They heard the footsteps from outside just as predicted and a few moments later Poppy opened the door and held her hand in with a few old clothes for Remus. Sirius stood up, took the clothes and thanked Madam Pomfrey as he handed them to the naked boy on the ground. James and Sirius turned around as he got dressed, helping him with his pants or sweater when needed. Madam Pomfrey stepped in when they gave her the ready and together, they brought the taller boy to the hospital wing, not yet ready for Remus‘ emotional outburst.  

The moment they stepped into the hospital wing, Peter was up on his feet to greet them. You would come too but Madam Pomfry told you to keep it easy and walk as little as possible. You watched as Sirius and James hovered him to the hospital bed next to you that didn‘t hold Peter moments before. James looked at you and you watched as his eyes drifted to your leg. His eyebrows raised slightly and his eyes moved back to yours, he motioned to help you to come over and you nodded. Remus was already lying in bed, Madam Pomfrey next to it and already tending his wounds. James helped you sit up as Sirius was pulling a chair for you next to Remus‘ bed. The two boys helped you up and into the chair, Peter getting your blanket and throwing it over you. You reached for Remus‘ hand as his wounds were treated by Madam Pomfrey. 

„How are you feeling?“ You asked the question as soon as Madam Pomfrey stepped away, eager to hear if the night got worse after you got injured or if things quieted down. Remus looked, understandably, tired. He had dark bags under his eyes and fresh wounds that were still fresh pink. His grip on your hand was weak but it was there, a sign of comfort coming over you. „Doesn‘t matter, how are you? I- I‘m so sorry that I hurt you. I don‘t know what‘s gotten into me-„ 

You interrupted him before he could even start blaming himself, the Marauders watching the interaction with heartbreak in their eyes. „Oh, Remus. It‘s not your fault and not Moony‘s either. You aren‘t you on the full moon and it‘s always a risk to go out with you and the rest in the nights. I know the risks of getting hurt and I did it anyway. It‘s not your fault, Remus. If anything, it‘s mine.“ 

The boy shook his head at you and tears gathered in his eyes. The three animagi next to you two looked at the scene in sadness. Whenever one of them got hurt on the full moon, Remus always believed it to be his fault. „I hurt you, I did that. You shouldn‘t even come to the full moon with us, with me, none of you should.“ 

James intervened with Remus‘ statement next, „Now, Moony, don‘t exaggerate the situation. She got hurt, yes, so did we all at one point but don‘t you realize that we help you a lot on those nights? You‘re a lot calmer and getting hurt is normal.“ The curly haired boy gestured to you, „It may seem bad now but Poppy‘ll fix her up in no time and she‘s gonna be alright again.“

„Listen, this is the first time you hurt her and she‘s tough, she‘ll get through this.“ Sirius' words made Remus flush slightly but the boy still looked as guilty as ever. 

„Remus, every other full moon you kind of, like, protect me. It‘s truly okay if you hurt me once. I may not be able to properly walk now but I will in no time. And anyway, I will have a badass scar on my leg now and imagine how cool it will be when someone asks for it: „How did you get the scar on your leg?“ - „Oh, I survived a werewolf attack!“ That‘s pretty badass isn‘t it? I almost have to thank you.“ Your giddy smile and words made the group smile and even Remus cracked his tense expression up a bit. You had imitated voices as you spoke and it helped let Remus lose a lot. You reached your hand out to smother his brow, „I‘m going to be OK, Remus, don‘t you worry about me.“

The boys shook their heads at you two, „You know, you would think they‘d be a couple by now but no, they have to take their special time.“ Sirius mumbled words made  Peter and James crackle and you and Remus looked at them in confusion. „What did you say, Sirius?“ The long haired boy shut up at your words and the group laughed as you and Remus shook your head at them. 

Madam Pomfrey watched the group with a smile, the older woman couldn‘t wait to hear the words of you and Remus dating, having rooted for you two since she first saw you at the hospital wing after the full moon. Youmay not be together now but she knew you will be. 

[arlerts-angel]

below the cut are screenshots with highlighted time stamps in chronological order of my idea being stolen.

let me be absolutely clear: i am not the only person to write this dynamic, i am certain of it. what i am saying is that it's certainly suspicious timing. this account was a mutual of mine, so i think it's a fair assumption that they saw at least one of my posts, if not all of them, prior to posting their fanfiction.

this is not me calling for a witch hunt, this is me telling a cautionary tale. i am not looking for drama in the slightest; hence why i'm not tagging anyone. i'm not a confrontational person. i am extremely discouraged and slightly anxious of the hate i may get following this post.

i hadn't even posted mine yet, and truthfully i don't think i will anymore. i was gauging interest, i even posted a snippet in a WIP thread that i got tagged in for fun on Feb. 22nd

i took the above screenshot of their fanfiction this morning at 11:52 am.

idk i guess all i can say is keep your ideas to yourself if you don't want to risk them getting taken from you.

and again, let me reiterate that i am not claiming the satyr x nymph pairing as my own. what i am saying is that their idea for a greek myth au switched fairly quickly from a god x goddess to satyr x nymph after i stated that's the pairing i was working on.

[misaldragon]

The mercs (and others) red flags.

Saw someone else do a post like this, hated it, decided to give it a try at it. Please keep in mind this is my personal list so if you don’t agree with something that’s a-okay. I welcome constructive criticism and questions.

Scout: Talks to people who aren’t there (See the comic where Zhanna tried to bed scout), major ego (to be fair he is god's favorite but still), will pick a fight with someone for you (If you have social anxiety like i do you’ll want to shrivel up and disappear), kills people (this is just going to be a given with all the mercs), and dates might be cheap due to him spending all his money on Tom Jones merch (Scout may set aside money for dates with you if you say you want to go somewhere else though but man cannot buy a house for the two of you).

Soldier: Man is as dumb as a bag of rocks (he drank led water cut him some slack… Also dumb enough to fall for just about any scam), like scout he will also fight someone for you but be much louder and bombastic about it (please i just was to not exist, no, don’t fight the dad in front of his kids), VERY proud american (as an american, this country sucks), and will yell at you, other people, anyone, that baby in the stroller? Getting yelled at! (Generally very loud person and doesn’t care who you are… Also kills people).

Pyro: Do you collect bones? You do now (Due to Pyro vision bones are probably candy or flowers or something to Pyro… They have good intentions but my god is it scary/creepy if you don’t know about Pyro vision), bones might be animal or human bones and also general body parts (Pyro vision again), will not shower around you.. Do they shower (they don’t want to be seen without their suit on but will let you clean the suit with them in it), and will probably steal your lighters (this is going off a hunch but also stealing is not something i like… Also kills people).

Heavy: Works very closely to Medic a lot of the time (and Medic is… A lot), VERY happy to do his job (and since his job is killing people this can be concerning), maybe a bit too attentive to his guns (can certainly be off putting to see a minigun in a small bed next to a larger one), and he was out of touch with his family (as shown in the comics when he's worried about his family only to find out they have been defending themselves just fine).

Engineer: Probably a workaholic so he may forget dates (note, he’ll also do his best to make it up to you if he does and start setting up reminders for himself he’s just not used to being in a relationship because of his job), makes southern sweet tea (as someone who lives in the south i know how sweet our tea is, if you don’t want cavities from looking at a drink don’t let him make sweet tea for you), probably shot at you before (mans paranoid because of spies, don’t sneak up on him), and would pressure you to ride a bull (mechanical or not but he’d prefer it to be mechanical and one he made to make sure it’s not to much, still won't take no for an answer when it comes to this only… Also kills people).

Demoman: Substance abuse (alcohol, congrats to the original you got one right), probably mommy/daddy issues (his mom seems to be an angry elderly woman, dad is dead so it seems there's something there but that could just be me), believes in monsters/ghosts (i don’t but given how the world of TF2 works this is more a IRL issue), has probably blown himself up at least once (possible that he might blow you up if he's REALLY drunk… Also kills people).

Medic: This man is a walking red flag, made a deal with the devil more than once, stole his pet doves, stole a wedding van, puts animal organs in people, manipulative (mostly seen with the tfc team when he had to manipulate them to put animal organs in them), stole a man's skeleton, medical malpractice, probably not mentally well, will take your organs, and kills people… Probably not all of it either.

Sniper: Can skin any animal or even person flawlessly and tell you how too (creepy, and i don’t want to know), very good stalker and hunter (he does this with you because he wants to surprise you with something you like but conversation is his weak point so this is the next best thing in his mind), Pyro isn’t the only one that’ll bring you animal bones (at least he’s a bit more tactful about it, making it into actual stuff like alligator teeth necklaces, deer antler coat hanger, and snake bone coasters for a few examples), probably doesn’t shower as much as he needs to (at least he brushes his teeth… Also kills people)

Spy: Will eventually leave you like he did all his other partners (which we can see with Scout's mother since he didn’t help raise Scout), is french (must i explain?), secret past (will keep as much of his past a secret as he can but also find out everything about you he can), and he never fully trusts you (he’s a spy, it’s understandable but sad.. Also kills people).

Miss pauling: Does not have time for you (unless you join her on missions but that is a large order), doesn’t fully trust you (this is from vibes), cannot fully devote herself to you or the relationship (her loyalty is to the administrator), can kill you without anyone noticing (its just scary to think about).

Saxton hale!: Can and will fight people for you even if the person just looked at you funny ( the police have been called several times), will fight a hippy just because they are a hippy (He really likes fighting), willingly and knowingly sells weapons to mercs (man can kill and condones it), will jump out of a plane with you… you have no choice.