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acid-ixx · 6 days

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prequel: again &. again. (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: prequel, chapter one, chapter two

read until the end for an author's note.

what hurts more when it comes to neglectful batfam that adopted you after jason's death (that eventually turns a 360 after you have left) is probably the fact that they always had time for you, it's just that they never chose to spend it on you; an extra burden to their family rather than an addition. if they had time to spend, they spend it on anything or anyone else but you. it's not that you don't share interests with them, it's just...! they have way more priorities that push you further back into their list of 'to do's'; though you know you'll always be the last of that list.

bruce has to juggle so many tasks as the billionaire playboy "brucie wayne", a father of an ever growing family, and gotham's dark knight vigilante but somehow, you're aware he could easily fit in one or two more children into his already booked schedule— he just never seems to consider you worthy enough apparently. or maybe it was because you were too silent, you set boundaries compared to your other family who are outspoken about what they want, what they need— but there's one thing for sure that sets you off from your siblings; you're not a vigilante.

you were merely a child of a one night stand; a child raised too well. you were behaved, you never complained, and you were just, you. and being normal (at least in their level of extraordinary talents were you a mere droplet) amongst a family of talented individuals makes you easily a ghost. was bruce to blame with his neglect? definitely. if he was able to balance his life so easily, then maybe as the world's best detective would he notice you packing your things day by day without update. maybe that was why you never once hesitated the moment you stepped outside the manor, permanently.

dick's excuse would always be "sorry, baby bird! but i promised to spar with damian today. ah, but you can watch from the sidelines!" or he would be too busy saving bludhaven to even acknowledge your presence. sure, he smiles at you with those shiny teeth of his, but despite him looking at you, he never notices you for more than a second, right after he would skidadle his way to another sibling's room, bothering them to spend more time with him, never you though. it occurs to you that he has only entered your bedroom once, and that occurrence was years ago. even then, he didn't last a minute inside there before running away once more.

family matters more than anything to dick. hell, he was enraged at the announcement of jason's death and even beat joker to a bloody pulp when he realized tim fell into his hands. he's ready to defend damian, barbara, steph, cass, and duke with his life. it's his duty and obligation as the family's eldest brother, of course. but were you considered family to him? were you considered a sibling in his eyes, or were you just the resident roommate of the mansion? you question that endlessly because everyone, family and friends, seem to be smitted with dick, but you eventually gave up trying to vye for his attention. it's fine, really, if you were just another civilian to him, because he was just another person to you too. just like in a circus, you would always be the intermission rather than the main event. and with that, you take your leave.

jason was the most forgivable to you, second to tim. he was never there, and he would've probably put effort into spending time with you if not for the fact he despises bruce and the mansion and wouldn't and couldn't last a second stepping into it. he never met you when he was robin, it was only right after his death did he discover were you taken in and that added fact alongside tim being his replacement turned him bitter with resentment. though his hatred for you receded over time, he wouldn't really be caught taking a minute with you because he always sneaks inside the mansion and crime in gotham never seems to lessen. because of that, and your unwillingness to become a vigilante to kick ass with him and the others, he wouldn't be able to fully take an hour with you.

casual talks are unavoidable, though, when at the dead of the night he would be caught sneaking in to eat some leftovers and you were conveniently awake at the same time as him. he'll recommend you some classic literature he read or 'cafes/restaurants that criminals visit the least' lists, but before it would turn into a full conversation, jason would already be wearing his signature mask again, and with a pat on your head and a "talk to you soon, can't guarantee it'll be tomorrow again though, only here for alfred's meals of course," and he'll be gone. you shouldn't have let your hopes high, you wished you didn't because, duh! he wasn't there to talk to you, specifically. you were just there to bide his time! wiping tears away from your eyes, and with a heavy heart, you book an apartment away from the wayne manor with your own atm card; hope irreversibly dead and unable to revive a sliver of faith, even if it was dipped in the lazarus pit would it never come back as the same.

tim drake is always tired. just like bruce, his days are filled with investigation, crime fighting, and worst of all; high school. that's of course that least of his worries the moment he drops out. tim was never the guy to talk much. he only does when he needs to make an impression for others, or when he needs to manipulate people for potential information. his life revolved around fighting, from when he solved the case of bruce wayne and dick grayson being batman and robin respectively, up to his current identity as red robin and occasionally robin. he'll often be found in the batcave working with babs on a case or working alone in his room.

it's no mistake that you were the most distant to him, never once knowing about his interests or even hobbies and vice versa. it was a given that at the very moment you pass a glance at him, you knew it was a 'mind your business' type of relationship with him. if you were a mere ghost to dick, then you were just a spec of dust to tim. it was unfair to assume he would never care for you, he does! only in a way where you were another person to save if you ever were endangered, but would that be enough to stalk you to the point he gains every insight about you? not really. you weren't one of his friends, like kon who he would spend weekly video game challenges with; and you probably don't exist as his sibling in his own little world filled with coffee and computers. yeah, your feelings about leaving him weren't as bitter as the caffeine he drowns in his system, but you were still hurt either way.

damian wayne, from his birth, was taught and raised to prioritize his mission as an al ghul, to be the one continuing the legacy and to shed blood on anyone who opposes. when he was given over to bruce, it took a hell lot of effort to turn a new page and become the next robin. it was, with no doubt, that despite his 'redemption', he would be a tad bit crueler to you than the others. unlike tim, who he persistently bothers, you were untalented, worthless, and a stain on the reputation of the wayne's. even jason, his father's greatest mistake, had more value than you.

maybe it was fine-tuned jealousy, maybe he was mirroring his father and dick's actions towards you with his own sick twist of violence. either way, you would rather avoid the boy, lest you face the wrath of his sword. it wouldn't be wrong if you came to hate him, actually you do, but despite your endless game of cat and mouse with you as the unwilling victim of the chase, your poor heart couldn't fathom the thought of not excusing his actions as that of a child's. you tell yourself everyday, 'just ignore it, he was raised like as to be a menace after all' but you can't deny the bitterness and the clenching of your teeth whenever you stumble upon a room and see your father and your younger brother watching a movie together. the resentment eventually builds up until you blow up and just, give up. within your final moments in the manor, you figured to leave some belongings that you collected overtime that were supposedly memorabilias that you wish to show off to your family. like his pieces of art, you could only explain your life in the family as black and white and as bleak as the streaks of charcoal that rubs against the pages.

when dick was jogging through the desolate halls of the manor, he noticed the place seemed to be more... empty of some sort. and he knows pushing that feeling into the back of his head would only result in more questions than answers. so he decides to enter the spare rooms one by one until he comes across your room (he doesn't know it was yours, though), turning the knob without knocking.

that was when his eyes seem to dilate. his nose catched a faint whiff of bleach (was the room deep-cleaned?), vision seemingly closing in on the few furniture left alongside a diary and other boxes left neatly on your bed, with other smaller trinkets left untouched on your bedside table. he didn't remember you mentioning anything about leaving, hell, he doesn't want to admit his lack of memories about you but—

wait...

didn't he promise to take you out for dinner months ago...?

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: this is one of my favorite pieces of writing i have ever done and i like it a lot so i hope whoever reads this likes it too. if you all want to read more of this, then please leave a comment or reblog because i heavily appreciate it and it motivates me further to write this type of content! the reason i have come to a long hiatus is because, as stated, the lack of interaction with content. like i said, i will still write for genshin but i am open to expanding my fandom list. (p.s. i hope you like the way i had to connect their interests or a part of their past to the reader.)

heavily inspired by @klemen-tine's work: Glass Bones and Paper Skin, @gotham-daydreams' work: Not [], and @onmyyan's work: Ain't No Sunshine.

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dromaeocore · 1 year

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So, Peer Respites are a not-very-well-known alternative to psychiatric hospitalization. They are 100% voluntary and staffed by peers, AKA individuals with lived experience of mental illness/emotional distress/what-have-you. Generally, they are a homelike environment where you can come and go as you please, and there is lots of voluntary programming like groups, art, yoga, etc. You can bring your own food or cook meals together with staff and other residents. Stays are usually anywhere from five days to two weeks, depending on the respite house and also your own wants and needs. There are no restraints, strip searches, or seclusion.

They're also on the rise!! I know this because I've spent all day today compiling data on peer respites in the US so I could create this fun graph for ya'll.

In the past ten years, at least 38 new peer respites have opened in the US. The data for 2023 is incomplete, but at least one has already opened, and another is scheduled for a soft opening later this year.

Some things about the data:

I did not include peer respites which were permanently closed (2) or could not find an opening date for (1)

I used the National Empowerment Center's Directory of Peer Respites, along with some internet sleuthing to find a few more (and to find the opening dates for each one). Because of this, I may have missed a few.

There were a handful of peer respites for which I could not pin down a for-certain, exact date for. I did include these in the dataset as I was able to find rough estimates.

I have also not done a deep dive for all peer respites that were unsuccessful, which may skew the data a little bit.

I included Soteria Vermont as well, as it technically fits the definition despite being specifically for people with psychosis

If you would like to help get a peer respite off the ground, I would recommend donating to Peer Support Space Inc.'s Orlando FL Peer Respite. Their soft launch is November 2023, and they are scheduled to open to the public in January 2024. This is really important, because Florida's only peer respite has recently permanently closed.

If you're interested in starting your own peer respite, the National Empowerment Center has a list of resources here.

If you are interested in seeking help from a peer respite, there is a directory of most of them here. You can also look at the Google Doc I created to compile my data, which has a few more/is slightly more updated - though it's not nearly as nicely put together as the other one!

If anyone would like to add any information, non-US peer respites, etc, feel free to!

#peer respites #peer respite #psych ward #psych hospital #psychiatric hospitalization #psych critical #psychiatry critical #anti psychiatry #antipsych #antipsychiatry #mental illness #neurodivergency #disability #hospital diversion #psychiatry #disability pride month #psychiatric survivors #putting in all the tags I can think of so ppl see this lol

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officialclangen · 1 year

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CLANGEN: POTATO UPDATE

Clangen has updated! Cat and Sprite Changes: - New sprites for paralyzed, sick/injured, and newborn cats. - Separated vitiligo and points from white patches. It's now possible for a cat to have all three! - New vitiligo patterns: PHANTOM, MOON, and POWDER - New white patch pattern: PETAL - New eye colors: SILVER and BRONZE - New accessories: Nylon Collars (in all colors), and INDIGO and WHITE collars of all types! - New mask-based tortie system! Tortie patches can now be any color/pattern. - New tortie patch patterns: REDTAIL, DELILAH, MINIMALONE, MINIMALTWO, MINIMALTHREE, MINIMALFOUR, OREO, SWOOP, MOTTLED, SIDEMASK, EYEDOT, BANDANA, PACMAN, STREAMSTRIKE, ROBIN, ORIOLE, BRINDLE, and PAIGE. - Rare "Wildcard Torties", which bypass the normal rules for tortie patch color/pattern to allow for wacky combinations. - Smoke pelt colors have been slightly tweaked for consistency. GHOST smoke has been given lighter points. - New separate tint that is applied only to the white patch and point markings. - You can now favorite cats! You can toggle favorite cat indicators on the list and patrol screen. - Pregnancy is now a condition that may prevent cats from patrolling. - EXP limit has been increased, and the EXP levels have been renamed. - Apprentices now graduate based on EXP, rather than age. This can be turned off in settings, if desired. - Cats can now retire any time between 110 - 140 moons. - New prefixes, suffixes, and loner names! - Some prefixes and suffixes are now specific to your biome. - You can now override special rank suffixes for particular cats. - New randomize buttons on the change name screen. - Moved list of possible names to a .json for easier customization in compiled versions. - The code handling relationship events have been rewritten, and new types of relationship events are now possible. Relationship and Moon Events Changes: - New system for accessory moon events, alongside many new accessory events and possible "congratulatory" accessories after a cat gives birth. - There is now more variation in relationship initialization, which allows cats to have more varied relationships with their family. - Lots of new relationship events! - Group relationship events have been added. - Affairs have generally been made more common. - Lots of fun new moon events, including special events for medicine cats and elders with certain skills. Thoughts Overhaul: - Thought code has been reworked to be way more specific. - Cats can now have thoughts based on their status, age, backstory, and even permanent conditions! - This should also have fixed those pesky bugs where cats would think about dead or lost cats as if they were still around. - In light of this update, A TON of new thoughts were added. Other Significant Changes: - New auto-updater! The game will now alert you when a new version is available, and will update without the need to re-download. - New re-designed family page! More family relationships are now shown, and it's easier than ever to browse through a cat's lineage. - Save files are now stored in an OS-specific data directory. You will no longer need to move save files when updating. - Added a button in the settings menu to open the save data location in your file-explorer. - New backgrounds: Shipwreck and Crystal River - Revamped background: Gully - Overlapping cat sprites on the clan page has been reduced. Once two cats are on a single spot, that position is considered "full." - You can now choose the starting season when creating a new clan. - Most backgrounds have unique cat placements. - The appearance of the allegiances page has been changed, and descriptions have been updated to flow better. - On the allegiances page, kits will now be listed with their parent, if they have one. - Lots of new patrol artwork! - New error screen when saves fail to load, which gives more in-depth failure messages. - New custom cursor (it's a little paw!) - Lots of bugfixes and QOL tweaks!

#clan generator #clangen #clan gen #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats generator #clangen announcement

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dragonroilz · 1 month

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The Lifesurger: Genetic Anomaly

**Given my track record, I'd like to state that there are no further plans for this concept.**

this concept was made because i hate how there's not a true support character in this game which i understand why thats the case. if youre in singleplayer theres no point for it. the medimarker and feedback loop passive gives a reason to want to pick up allies and heal people. maybe this game will never fit a true support archetype but as a permanent support class mf in games like OW, TF2, and LOL it scratches an itch in my brain lmao

Feedback Loop - Passive

Healing yourself(via items) or others will make your attacks stronger. Decays over time. Amount charged is proportional to healing done.

Feedback Pulse - Alternative Passive

Healing past a certain threshold creates a burst of healing around you, harming enemies and healing allies. The threshold increases with level.

Stimshot - Primary

A single shot that can be held down to do more damage. The projectile heals and pierces through allies, while dealing damage to enemies. A fully charged shot pierces enemies and heals more damage. While an uncharged shot is a projectile with gravity, the charged shot is hitscan.

DIRECTORY: MARK - Secondary

The Medimarker targets a selected enemy and attacks it. Additionally, all damage done to the target is tripled.

DIRECTORY: BLOCK - Alternative Secondary

The Medimarker targets an ally and shields them. The target is only able to take an amount of damage up to 50% of their max HP in one hit.

DIRECTORY: ESCORT - Utility

Recall the Medimarker and grab onto it to ascend upward. This skill recalls your secondary.

DIRECTORY: MOUNT - Alternative Utility

Recall the Medumarker and ride it. The drone is weighed down by you, but can be controlled for ten seconds. The drone has less gravity and is faster than your sprint speed.

Pulse Accelerator - Special

Empower yourself and surrounding allies, giving a 50% chance to critical hit chance, removing all debuffs(except void kills, cooldown debuffs like rings, etc.), and a slight healing aura to anyone within range of the skill.

THE MEDIMARKER V1.0.0 LOGBOOK ENTRY:

The Lifesurger(Patent pending) is a prototype firearm that is meant for quick healing on the battlefield. The Lifesurger(Patent pending) excels in its ability to both heal organic creatures and repair machines, meaning that cybernetic enhancements can benefit from the effects of the firearm.

The Lifesurger(Patent pending) is also able to hurt enemy combatants by disrupting cardiovascular tissue, genetic material, and electronic signals. Through the help of an accompanying MED-E to identify friendly and hostile entities, the Lifesurger(Patent pending) is slated to be one of the greatest supporting assets on the battlefield.

Side effects may include: Vomiting, nausea, soreness, sudden bruising, death, genetic scrambling of previous users, limb loss, fever symptoms.

LIFESURGER LOGBOOK:

[CAM 3]

Patient 4-B is seen through the facility. She is escorted by a damaged MED-E.

4-B: COME ON MED-E. JUST A BIT FURTHER.

Something is pursuing them.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[CAM 4]

Patient 4-B is seen using Dr. A. Kurosawa's keycard to access Restricted Section 2.

[Unauthorized access. Security has been alerted. No response received.]

Patient 4-B is seen entering Restricted Section B.

[Unauthorized access. Security has been alerted. No response. Automatic alert issued to UESC authorities. This is the last alert they receive from this station.]

Something is pursuing them.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[CAM B-1]

Patient 4-B is seen running down the hall. Her IV is disconnected as she trips. The MED-E helps her up. They continue running. 4-B's vital signals are dropping as a result of loss of ?????.

She stops in front of ROOM 1.

Something is pursuing them.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[CAM ROOM 1]

The door opens.

[Admin has been alerted to the breach. No response.]

Patient 4-B pulls the Lifesurger(Patent Pending) off of the wall. She misfires into her chest and falls unconscious.

The MED-E prods her body with stimulants. There is no response.

Something is pressed up against the glass. It's cracking.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[EXT. CAM A]

Dr. A. Kurosawa is seen standing over the corpse of an unidentified creature. Her hands are up as UESC-dispatched enforcers approach her. The Lifesurger(Patent pending) is strapped over her back.

Enforcer: IDENTIFY YOURSELF.

KUROSAWA: I AM DOCTOR KUROSAWA.

Enforcer: DOCTOR KUROSAWA. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?

KUROSAWA: I DON'T KNOW. THERE ARE MORE INSIDE.

Enforcer: GET TO THE SHIP.

Three enforcers enter the facility. Dr. A. Kurosawa moves out of the FOV. The escorting MED-E follows her.

[Post analysis: Patient 4-B did not report to UESC authorities following this encounter. Her current location is unknown.]

Detective's Notes: I don't know how, but she somehow passed the genetic and facial recognition tests. Someone please let Captain ???? know about the background of his alleged "doctor". Although somehow I doubt he'll really care, seeing as how he's got some real screwballs on board.

#risk of rain 2 #risk of rain #my art #ror2 #ror

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noosayog · 1 year

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wc: 500

warnings/content: angst, cheating(?), descriptions of vomiting

part 6. directory here.

Atsumu's running. He finds himself doing that a lot around you.

From the start, the only thing you ever wanted from him is to give him the slip. But he chased. He ran after you, chased you down, and finally found that he was granted access to the insides of your heart that first night he had pulled you into his arms on your bed. He remembers the exact moment you began to relax in his hold, weightless against his chest.

Now, he's chasing again, but things aren't looking up.

The events leading up to this point flash across his mind. He thinks of his disappointment when you had leveled him with a scoff and an ironclad no when he had asked you to come see him play at the biggest game of his professional career. He thinks of the adrenaline he felt the moment he scored the game-winning point, only to be soured by the realization that you weren’t there, watching and celebrating with him. He thinks of the frustration when you hadn't shown up to his victory party, despite promising him. He thinks of you, he misses you, when that girl had shown up wearing a top that he knew well.

He had seen that top in your closet and begged you to wear it for him. He remembers persistently bringing it up day after day, only to be met with your usual bored decline. Until the day after that night in your bed, when he had asked you out for dinner, and you had shown up in that top, bashfully avoiding his eyes and grumbling, "I would've worn this anyway."

He remembers being stunned for half of dinner before finally regaining enough brain capacity to tease you as he usually does. But that didn't stop him from staring the remainder of the night. He couldn't look away. Something about you wearing the top he had been begging you to wear for him, dreaming of you in, made it feel like you were his.

And so, when someone in the same top had approached him, the mix of disappointment, soured adrenaline, and frustration amalgamated into some sick need to get revenge on you for abandoning him.

And yet, it didn't make him feel better. In fact, despite not having one single drink, he felt the need to vomit on the spot when you barged in.

The nausea gets worse as you run, run, run. There's bile in his throat and a strange sensation that his lips don't belong on his body because they've been tainted by someone else's touch.

When he finally reaches you, hands circling firmly around your wrist, he briefly remembers your first encounters and the irony of it all. This must have been how you felt in your first encounters, nauseous just at the mere thought of the his eyes on you (though, you felt it out of hatred for him and the concussion he gave you, and he feels nauseous because he knows you’re about the pull the plug on him), because as Atsumu bores into your eyes at this very moment, you're looking at him like he's a monster. And no amount of alcohol would make him feel more like regurgitating the contents of his stomach more than the return of that foreign, cold stare.

There’s nothing more he can do when you slam the door in his face, the first time in a very long while. This time, it feels like the door is staying permanently bolted.

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sehtoast · 6 days

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Live and Let Love (Homelander x OC)

18+ | 1.1k, p*rn without plot, p*rn with feelings, biting, bruising, marking, mirrorlander, aggressive sex, degradation, homie and mirrorlander internal dialogue, spidersona oc, loose followup | Fic Directory

Nails bite into the flesh of the web-head's hips, pulling him back hard and fast for every punishing thrust into his warm, wet heat.

This had been promised to Benjamin back then. Back when he'd stumbled upon Homelander pressing his used underwear to his nose, breathing deep and fucking his fist to completion– moaning the bug's name so very beautifully.

After the shame of being caught settled in and John retreated into his own psyche, his other self emerged. Coerced Ben into a position he was actually all too happy to fall into, and damn near was the one who fucked him that day. Except, he managed to get his darling Johnny to reemerge just in time to share that special moment.

Now, his other half is out to play.

A hand moves to grip Ben's hair and force his gaze into the mirror. “Pathetic,” Homelander grits. “Fuckin’ drool goin' down your face and everything. My cock that good, bug boy?”

Ben answers with a weak moan and useless nod of his head. He's lost track of time, of how many times he's come, of how many spanks to his ass and bites to every inch Homelander could reach have marked him for at least the next week.

But this is what the bug deserved. Too much teasing, too much and not fucking enough for his star-spangled lover. Didn't he know what he did to Homelander? A super suit of spandex, an ass that fucking nice, the sound of his heart hammering and the scent of his pussy drooling after every little in-between-work flirt, every little makeout in the corridors.

It was like his mere fucking existence was enticing. And the way he was so goddamn sweet… Even the thinly contained violence within the man made god couldn't control himself. Each gentle touch amounted to a lifetime of tenderness that called to him, beckoned him out to partake in that for which he's always yearned.

Johnny got it all. Wasn't it time for him to have a taste?

Don't break him!

Relax, champ. Homelander coos. Benny-boy and I are just having our fun. I won't break your toy.

He snarls as he drives hard and deep into the bug, reveling at each clench of that delicious cunt around his thick cock.

“Look at yourself,” he commands, stilling just long enough to pull Benjamin up, back flush to his chest. He grips the boy's jaw, grinning wolfishly at their reflection. His little spider has endured him for hours now, but it will never be enough. No nebula of bruises will suffice, no handprint will last long enough, and no blood-dribbled bite mark will be as permanent as he needs.

Not even the sight of come drenching his thighs was enough to placate how fucking badly he needs to claim Benjamin. That's what he gets for dangling all that fucking love and kindness in front of him. It’s what he deserves.

Homelander snakes a hand down to rub Benjamin's abused clit, making the boy keen, nice and pathetically.

“Embarrassing, isn't it? How easy you are to take apart.” He suckles at a bloody bite mark on the boy's neck, letting off with a wet pop that doesn't quite deafen the pitiful little whimper cried for him. “I can see it inside of you, you know.” Another bite, each word accentuated with sharp snaps of his hips. “You're so full of my come. Still not enough for you, is it? You're a greedy little thing, but I'm worse.”

Homelander shoves Ben face first into the bed and lets loose, hips pistoning, hand spanking his cheeks raw while the other bites crescents that he hopes will never fade.

Fuck– be gentle!

“Mine to break, mine to fuck– mine, mine, mine! All fucking mine!”

He finishes with a roar, jerking Benjamin back onto his cock one last time to ram good and deep. Homelander loses just a shred of that composure, falling forward to press his fuzzy chest to Benjamin's back, grinding in slow circles. “Feel so fuckin’ good, bug boy. You–”

Whatever snarky words he had cooking are cut short by a trembling hand reaching back to scritch at his scalp. He grabs Ben's forearm tight, ready to reprimand him, but…

Isn't he sweet?

His lip curls for but a moment, rage searing in his gut at being patronized, but then–

“Love you…”

Love? Love!?

Imagine that…

It's vile, it's pathetic, it's…

His grip slackens just the slightest bit as he stares contemplatively. The bug loves him. Fully aware and not at all confused about which facet of his lover had come out to play. Violence and cruelty, volatility and rage– all those marks and injuries that will surely leave him pained for days before that pesky healing factor fades the evidence of their coupling, and he fucking loves him.

The first to ever say it to him, let alone mean it.

Every neuron in his mind screams to sink his teeth in and never let go, but he does something else.

Something… wrong.

He slips free and turns the bug, grips his chin, and takes him in a kiss so very unlike himself. Instead of biting and forcing his tongue inside, Homelander pecks slowly, body nestled slack against Benjamin's as he indulges in such a foreign act of tenderness.

To make it even worse, the bug reciprocates perfectly. Strokes his face, legs hugging him at the waist.

He doesn't know what to do.

Accept it. Let him love us. Let him love you.

What if he leaves us?

Well… you haven't scared him off yet. Odds are lookin’ pretty good.

Mm, he made it past your one-pump-chump performance the first time around, too.

Won him over, didn't it?

When they part, Homelander can't deny the way Benjamin's gaze tugs at his heart. He's sleepy and worn out, sure, but that tenderness is still there. Still full of love.

No fear. No disgust. No regret.

“You can stay, too, y'know…”

And that throws him so completely off guard. Homelander figured Ben would be asking for ‘his Johnny’ by now. Coaxing his sweetheart back to the surface with kisses and calming words to the man he is now.

“I–” he tries, suddenly stumbling over his own tongue.

“S'okay, you know? You're allowed.” Ben murmurs, slowly nudging Homelander to rest his head upon his chest.

It's so strange, he could scream. He's heard this heartbeat a million times over, but this time is so much better than ever before. It's for him.

This time is for him.

“Want you to…”

We're torching the planet if anything ever happens to him.

Glad we're in agreement…

#homelander #homelander x oc #homelander smut #homelander fanfiction #homelander x reader #the boys #antony starr #the benlander agenda #the homelander #the boys fanfic

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wisteria-blooms · 3 months

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sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader) (9/??)

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST AT THE BOTTOM! (Let me know if you'd like to be added or if I've missed you!) A/N: "I'll try to update every 2 weeks." Uh - sorry. This is only edited once so I apologize for any mistakes. I thought it was better to get this out and keep things moving than holding onto it forever! Hope you enjoy. (:

WARNING: Y/N starts to get horny. Short descriptors of sexual situations. Minors DNI!

CHAPTER 9: As the days go on, Charlie's presence arouses some very... interesting thoughts within you. One night, his actions towards another man makes you question his feelings for you. And if that wasn't complicated enough, you get an urgent message from Molly. (6.2k words)

CHAPTER 9: THE PASSENGER SEAT

“This is exactly why I said not to apparate into the apartment!” You shrieked as you shut the bathroom door so hard it nearly flung off its hinges.

Or so you thought. The amount of force you used wasn’t quite sufficient so the door decided to spring back to you like a boomerang. When you realized it wasn’t going to shut, you chucked out a spare towel as a distraction.

“Have you considered maybe,”—Charlie, who’d just apparated into the apartment, ducked to avoid the towel—“closing the door for privacy?”

You took the opportunity to shut the door. “I needed to vent the air out,” you retorted, your voice muffled by the barrier.

“Sure you did,” Charlie responded, his voice seeping through the small crack below.

“I will vent it into your room, Charlie,” you threatened. “And you’re not going to like it when your room feels like a rainforest.”

“How would you know I don’t like the heat?”

You choked.

“Look on the bright side, (Y/N),” Charlie reminded. “You weren’t naked.”

“May as well have been,” you grumbled as you slipped into your room, the humid air sticking to your form as you walked.

“I’ve seen you in much less,” was Charlie’s response. Barely there, but your ears always perked up for whatever he said.

You stilled in front of your closet, your face tingling. ”That was one time.”

The day you accidentally walked out in a slip dress in front of Charlie was permanently burned in your mind. So, you’d taken to wearing more in the living room so Charlie couldn’t poke fun of your state of (un)dress. Living with him was proving to be quite habit-changing indeed.

You walked back out in a t-shirt and sweatpants, leaving no more than a couple inches of skin exposed. You were amused to find Charlie on the sofa, tinkering with an artifact. You crossed your arms and drummed your fingers on your deltoid. “Now, will you promise to stop apparating into the apartment?”

“No promises,” Charlie said languidly as he reclined back on the couch, spreading his legs out and continuing to scrape some rust off the artifact with his nail. His fingers were so long—and it was then that you’d lost the ability to speak, the tortuous vision in front of you forcing your mouth agape.

You ripped your eyes away, pivoted towards the kitchen, and inhaled deeply through your nostrils. You couldn’t, shouldn’t, really, really, shouldn’t be imagining what was laying in-between his limbs. But faster than you could control your impulses, your imagination went off to the races: what did it look like? If the laws of proportion held true and if Charlie’s appendage was anything like his body, it would surely rest thick and heavy in your hands. Maybe it would be red and freckled like him.

You saw a brief image kneeling in front of Charlie, knees digging into the marble floor, your hands wrapped around his cock, mouth parting to accommodate his girth, his pupils blown wide, his blue eyes fluttering close, his head thrown back as his hands remained tangled in your hand, “good girl”—

Holy. Shit.

It was one thing to dream about it in the privacy of your bedroom, but doing it in front of Charlie seemed invasive, and you were absolutely fucked if he had mind-reading abilities of any sort. Given how everything came to him with ease, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was watching your thoughts like a film reel. Red in the face, you went into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of cold water and slammed a scoop full of ice cubes into your cup. You chugged. Not effective. You needed another shower and preferably at a temperature that was below freezing this time.

Your heart rate persisted its course of flying through the roof. What was this? You either needed to scrub your mind clean of all the Madame Millicent you’d consumed the past couple weeks or just plain get your priorities straight. You abhorred when Fred spread his legs on the sofa or on a public bench. You told him straight to his face that it looked—and was—improper, and it took space from others, especially on the tram or a bench. So why was it that when Charlie did it, you instead wanted to jump his bones?

“(Y/N),” Charlie called out.

“Yes?” You turned slowly, fingers maintaining a death grip on your glass. Here it came: his confession of his mind-reading abilities.

“Come here.”

You felt as if someone had punched your windpipe. Cracked it into little pieces. How cruel of him to predisposition you to respiratory disease at the tender age of 23.

You shuffled slowly towards him, a cold sweat prickling your skin because of what he was going to say or do.

“Sit,” he commanded.

“Where?” You blurted.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Here, of course.” He patted to the cushion to his left and you immediately complied.

“You’re acting funny,” he observed, cocking his head.

“Really?” You questioned. “I don’t think so.”

His lips lifted into a curious smile. You leaned forward to set your water down on the table, grateful that it allowed you to break eye contact with Charlie— a much-needed moment of respite.

“See this?” Charlie placed the artifact, which you now discovered was a fossil, in your hands. A current of electricity ran through your fingers, each inch of skin blooming with the intensity of a thousand fireworks. And as if that wasn’t enough touch, he swung his left arm around you before finding your hand again. You shuddered when his larger, callused hands covered yours completely.

Hands. Hands and fingers in your hair, simultaneously pulling your strands and forcing your head down on his cock.

You shuffled your position on the couch, trying to mitigate the growing heat in between your legs.

Charlie’s thumb brought you back to reality, guiding yours over a ridge on the fossil and onto the ribs of whatever creature had been buried in sediment and imprinted upon the rock. “Bill brought it back from Egypt for me. It’s a Nundu, or at least what they’re known as now, from over five thousand years ago. Evolved a lot since. Pretty neat, don’t you reckon?”

“Yes.”

Charlie pouted. “I thought you’d be more interested.”

“I am!” you said, squinting your eyes and leaning closer to inspect every speck of bone in the fossil.

“I’ve been told you quite enjoy magical creatures.”

You paused. “By who?”

Charlie leaned in, hovering a mere two inches from your face, and teased, “Can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“I was sworn to secrecy lest I be cursed by the fury of a thousand Whizbangs.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Fred? George? Both?”

Charlie leaned back onto the sofa again and grinned. “Maybe.”

Your pulse quickened. “What did they say?”

“Nothing more than the fact you took the elective together,” Charlie said. “I just thought it was unlike you. Why’s that got you all worked up, hm?”

You rubbed the back of the fossil, asking yourself the same question. What did it matter if Charlie learned about the fact that you’d basically flunked Care of Magical Creatures? You’d only taken the class because Fred and George insisted you should stick together, but your fear of the same creatures took precedence and the rest was history.

“You know how Fred is,” you responded with a strained smile. “He’s always twisting things around to make me look bad.”

But maybe Charlie was telling the truth. If he’d known about your abysmal grade, he’d probably be teasing you ruthlessly right now instead of nodding along with you and saying something like: “He’d never be able to make you look bad in my eyes, (Y/N).”

Heat smattered against your cheeks as your lips parted. There was no part of you that wasn’t molten now. Perfect, you’d transitioned from a hormonal imbalance to menopause. Charlie Weasley has proven himself terrible for your health, but here you sat, listening ardently to everything he had to say about Nundus.

On Thursday, you walked into the outpatient wing of St. Mungos. Charlie had left the previous day for Hogwarts, leaving you some peace of mind without his presence. And as luck would have it, Healer Tousignant was going to provide you a cure for your issues. She was excellent, wasn’t she? Despite this, you remained unsure. Deep in some compartment of your brain, you wondered how your friends would react if they found out. You’d receive the run-of-the-mill treatment by the twins (“Oh good, you’re finally sleeping with someone? Wait! It’s just a bit suspicious that it’s all happening now, isn’t it?”).

But Charlie? He was a wildcard. You imagined him finding a sleeve of pills in the living room. Would he think you responsible, or would he think you did this out of necessity because you were sleeping with someone else? Which again, posed the question: what did it matter what he thought? Truthfully, you knew. You were far too tangled up in your growing affections for him to not care about what he thought.

The secretary brought you back to reality and place: the office of Healer Tousignant. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m here for my appointment with Healer Tousignant.”

“Your name, please.”

“(Y/N) Malfoy.”

The receptionist nodded, tapped her quill twice against an appointment scheduler, the light thwacks resonating with your beating heart. She pursed her lips and scrunched her nose. Her glasses shifted downwards as she looked at some blotting ink that was appearing on the paper.

“It seems Healer Tousignant has just been called into the gynaecology and obstetrics department for emergency coverage,” the receptionist said.

“Alright,” you breathed out. You had to thank some higher powers for letting you off so easily. “I can come back another day.”

You were halfway out the door when her voice stopped you in your tracks. ”Of course not,” the receptionist said with a wave of her hand. “It won’t be long. Head to the east wing, fifth floor up, until you find room 5-E. She’ll see her before her lunch break.”

“Are you certain? I’m happy to come back another day if she’s handling an emergency.”

“Absolutely,” she responded with confidence. “You shouldn’t be waiting for more than 15 minutes. Healer Tousignant is very experienced and efficient with deliveries. I hope the change in location isn’t an inconvenience, but you should be otherwise accommodated.”

Plans foiled and any chance of escape thwarted, you dragged your feet to the east wing and took the stairs to prolong the inevitable. When you pushed the last door open, you were almost blinded by sunlight. This section of the hospital was adorned with glass windows and as a result, was lush with natural light. Blooming plants lined the sterile-clean hallways.

Nurses in lavender smocks and perfectly-slicked back hair strolled past you, some pushing carts with meals, others pushing carts with sterilized tools.

You gazed into the smoky windows of a waiting room. Your eyes landed on a pair of expectant mothers chattering excitedly to each other. Unknowingly, you smiled. Their excitement was contagious. Your eyes then trailed to a couple walking out the doors. The female was heavily pregnant and was being supported by her loving, adoring partner—

Her partner being Bill Weasley.

Panicked, you backtracked your steps and turned the nearest corner. You scrambled for safety under the cover of an oversized plant. In any other circumstance, you would’ve loved to exchange formalities, but something told you that you sauntering around the Obstetrics and Gynaecology Wing at St. Mungo’s wouldn’t be a good look, especially after Charlie’s erroneous proclamation about your sex life last week (and you hoped it hadn’t spread much around that little circle of women). So, you pressed your back against the light green wall, trying to shrink yourself so no part of you would jut out.

Bill and Fleur, thankfully, didn’t even turn around as they walked, much more enraptured by each other than anyone else. You cautiously peered out into the hall to catch the last of their retreating figures. Down the last bit of the hall, Bill cradled Fleur like she was the most precious, delicate, fragile and only thing in the world, even though she’d proven she was as tough as nails. His chin rested on the top of head as they walked hand-in-hand. Thoughts of having lunch with Bill clouded your head, and the maturity and stability he exuded by simply inviting you. Unknowingly, you bit your lip. As Bill and Fleur disappeared, your heart thumped in some mess of emotions you couldn’t discern.

When you were certain the expecting parents were out of sight, you followed the directions to Tousignant’s office. You gave the door two solid raps.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Charlie asked from the kitchen island as he effortlessly uncorked a bottle of wine. It was late Friday evening, and Charlie had gotten back from the train station with a bottle of red wine and groceries in one hand, and his briefcase in another. “Another tea party?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you responded. You walked into the pantry, looking for some more ingredients to throw together for your impromptu dinner. Charlie didn’t tell you he was coming back on an empty stomach and you thought he’d have taken care of his dinner himself. You were more than happy to have him here, but the miscommunication led to him dramatically proclaiming he was going to die of hunger at your doorstop.

He was obviously joking because he’d purchased some groceries on the way home.

“Come to a concert with me tomorrow,” Charlie suggested seamlessly as he retrieved two wine glasses from the highest shelf. “I was supposed to go with Bill. We’ve been planning this for years, but Fleur’s due any day now and he won’t leave her side.”

“What kind of concert?” You asked, tossing him a bulb of garlic.

He caught it without missing a beat and responded, “Rock concert.”

“Oh.”

“In muggle London.”

“Ah.”

Charlie chuckled as he switched gears and poured you a glass of Merlot. “It’s not scary, (Y/N), it’s just rock music.”

“I’m not scared,” you retorted, accepting the glass and swirling it around. “I just haven’t been to a concert in ages.”

That was a lie. You’d been to plenty with Fred and George over the years, but going to a concert with Charlie where you might be pressed up to him for three hours was an entirely different concept. Was it a date he was proposing? Or were you just the most convenient thing around to try to fit the tall, lanky gap that was his brother Bill because Charlie didn’t want to go alone?

You drew in a deep breath, furrowing your brows. And then you said something Charlie wasn’t expecting.

“Say you’re sorry first.”

A look, a perfect cross of amusement and surprise, graced Charlie’s face, and he paused midway through crushing a garlic clove under his knife. “What for?”

You let the attractive bass notes of his question float past your ears. “For waltzing in here and telling me I didn’t have a sufficient meal prepared. And implying my culinary skills were insufficient.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Charlie said, a touch more quietly than how he usually spoke. He set his knife down and walked over to you, his height quickly casting a growing shadow over your head. “I figured for hanging out with Fred and George so much, you’d be the queen regnant of taking jabs.”

You pouted at Charlie, trying to take advantage of his apologetic state. This was a dangerous line you were toeing, but you were feeling courageous tonight. “I’m well-aware cooking isn’t my strong suit. It’s been made known to me all my life. I’m trying my best to work on it, but to be put down like that…”

“Hey, hey,” Charlie consoled as he placed two firm hands on your shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“The damage’s done, Charlie,” you whispered, looking down to conceal a laugh, “I’m—my confidence is crushed.”

You waited for his clever retort. What you weren’t expecting was for him to use the same hands that rested on your shoulders to pull you closer, until your forehead thwacked against his hard chest. The very same pair of hands glided back to your scapula, cornering you in and making escape impossible. He had you locked in his sturdy and very hard arms. You had no choice but to get lost in all six-feet something of him.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said, his voice rumbling from his chest and vibrating through your body like you were a conductor to his current. With your cheek splayed against his body, it was impossible to think straight. “I don’t think I’ve told you how much I appreciate you letting me stay here when I need. It’s miles above any other accommodation. You don’t need to have anything ready for me, ever. I’d be fine if you kicked me out to sleep on sofa and kept my room for yourself.”

You were about to burst. It was overwhelming: his words, his warmth, and his sudden earnestness. He was acting like everything you imagined someone like, oh, you know, his brother, Bill Weasley to be. But in the midst of it all, when the situation became lucid, you panicked. What were you supposed to do in Charlie’s arms? Nestle in and show him how lovesick you were, or pull away and give him the impression you were uncomfortable in his presence and didn’t like him that way? The latter wasn’t true, but you didn’t want to spill your unformed feelings to him.

“It’s alright,” you said, trying to look up at him but only getting a glimpse of his chin. You decided on the most diplomatic solution. Still in his arms, you agreed. “I’ll go to the concert with you.”

It wasn’t like you were going to say no, anyway. You just wanted to make Charlie work for it.

”Perfect,” he said, voice husky in your ears. “That’s my girl.”

If he kept this up, you were going to devour Charlie for dinner.

Before heading out to muggle London Saturday evening, Charlie suggested you have a drink at the pub. You tried very hard not to let your face show what your brain was thinking when he stepped out of his room in a corduroy jacket, tossed over a shirt, that perfectly skimmed his muscular body. He left his hair tousled and curly.

In the descending lift, you asked him where exactly the bar was. He refused to answer and instead, led you there, the silence between you only broken by him humming a tune.

“This is where Bill and I usually go,” Charlie finally said. You’d almost flown past the entrance until Charlie pulled you back by the arm. The tavern was tucked away on a cul-de-sac, completely hidden from the bustling shopping streets.

Charlie, playing the part of a true gentleman, opened the door and whisked you in. You walked down a short flight of the stairs until the bar came into view. Charlie ducked the low ceilings the whole way down. The space was warm, orange-hued from the wood and lighting, and ridiculously cramped. Or cozy, whichever term fit it better. The bartender—a stout man in his late sixties with a white beard—was chatting with two other men of similar ages. The guests were perched on the barstools, leaving only one of the three seats available.

“Well, look at who it is!” The bartender exclaimed, his accent tinged slightly Scottish. His proclamation prompted his patrons to look your way.

“Charlie!” one of the patrons spoke. “Finally decided to come home?”

“Who’s the lassie?” The bartender asked.

You supposed he meant you. “(Y/N) Malfoy,” you greeted.

“I’m Don, owner.” He shook your hand. “This is Henry, and Bruce.” The two men gave you a wave which you returned. Then, Don looked at Charlie and asked, “Where’s Bill?

“At home, with his wife,” Charlie answered.

Don grinned at looked at you. “I like her, much easier on the eyes than Bill.”

You gave a polite smile.

“Sit.” Charlie gestured to the open seat.

“What about you?” You asked.

“I can stand.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“Charlie, where are your manners?” Don barked. “Get (Y/N) a drink.” Charlie quickly moved forward, head almost hitting the ceiling, to pull a glass from the shelf. The way Charlie obeyed Don so quickly led you to think that Don was a parental figure to him.

“Your reflexes aren’t what they used to be, I’ll get it myself,” Don grumbled. He pulled out five shot glasses. His mouth twisted into a mischievous smile. “Getting old or something?”

“Something like that,” Charlie agreed. “I’m not the same exuberant boy you knew.”

Henry hid his words behind a generous cough. “Aren’t we all blessed by that?”

Don poured you a hefty amount of whiskey and slid the shot glass over to you.

“Loosen up, lassie. It’ll do you some good. Especially if you have to deal with him the whole night.”

You nodded. You clinked your glasses with the four other men and threw back the whiskey. A smidgeon of tears welled up in your eyes as the substance burned your throat.

Don and his friends downed the drink like it was water. ”It’s harsh, but it’ll get you where you need to go.” Then, he peered over at Charlie. “So, what’s keeping Bill at home?” He questioned.

Charlie set his glass down right by yours, “His wife is pregnant, due any day now.”

Don let out a low whistle. “Last I saw Bill, he’d just graduated. Still had his robes when he stopped by the bar to say goodbye before heading to Egypt. Now, he’s got a kid on the way? About time for you too, don’t you think?”

“I’d rather raise dragons,” Charlie said off-handedly. “They’re much more interesting, and less needy.”

“What about you?” Don asked, tilting his head towards you.

You stopped trying to gnaw the bitter taste of alcohol off your mouth when you realized Don was asking your opinion on child-rearing. “I, uhm,” you stammered. “I don’t think I’m particularly good at raising either.”

“That’s no good,” Don said.

Your face fell momentarily.

“I’m only joking,” Don clarified with a hearty laugh. “What else are you having tonight?”

Charlie pressed closer until his warm chest was flush against your back. The chain around his neck swooped by your line of vision and tickled your skin, forcing some heat to your cheeks. “A pint of Guinness.”

“I wasn’t asking you!” Don shouted gruffly as he pulled a glass. “You should know better to wait your turn, lass.”

Don slid the glass towards you.

“Don’t worry about me,” Charlie brushed off. “I’m going to sit here and enjoy watching her drink this.”

You leaned back, neck falling into place in the crook of Charlie’s shoulders, the metal of his necklace lightly digging into your skin, as you whispered to him, “Why did you order me this?”

He tilted his head down, angling his blue eyes straight into yours. “Because I’ve been told you hate it.”

“Are you stalking me or something, Charlie Weasley?”

“It’s mainly for my entertainment,” Charlie whispered. “Let me break you in,” he said in a much louder voice as he leaned forward. He grabbed the pint and took a swig. Instead of setting it back down, he held it out in front of you. “Your turn.”

You stared at where his lips touched the glass previously. Hesitantly, you took the glass into your possession and sampled a feeble sip of it before making a face which you tried to conceal from Don.

“How is it?” Don asked.

“You have an excellent pour,” you praised. Technically, that part was true. “Do you have a tab started for us?”

Don raised an eyebrow. “Everything here is on the house,” he explained. “I don’t make any money, anyway. My financials are in the negatives. I’ve been retired 10 years. I just come here to have a drink without being scolded by my wife.”

You let out a quick laugh, but cut yourself off, thinking it was rude to have a laugh at Don’s finances.

“You should fancy a laugh at his expense. That’s what we all come here for,” Bruce added.

A warm sensation filled your body. You felt like a part of the family, and you’d only met these men fifteen minutes ago.

“How do you know Charlie?” You asked when you felt brave enough.

“Tell her,” Charlie dared, his chest firmly pressed against your back as he picked up your glass again.

Don coughed. “When this troublemaker was barely sixteen and Bill not much older, they stumbled into my bar. I had a right mind to tell them to get out, but they pleaded with me into letting them stay. I was stupid enough to cave in and serve them a touch of alcohol, whatever was left in the barrel.” Don’s forehead crinkled. “Promise me this stays between me and you, and not the Licencing Wizengamot?”

You nodded quickly. “Of co—”

”Actually, (Y/N)’s father works for the Ministry,” Charlie said. “Surely, you made the connection. Lucius Malfoy?”

“Well, fuck me!” Don said, playfully slapping his dish towel on the counter. “Good thing I’m retired.”

“I assure you”—you stretched a hand forward on the table—“My lips are sealed. I can’t say the same about him.” You pointed back to Charlie.

Charlie simply looked down at you with amusement.

After Don told you to be on your way, you left his bar gaily, promising to be back. Presently, your boots slapped the concrete floor as you ascended the steps up to the venue with Charlie. When you entered the complex, he stopped by a standing table where the end of the queue for refreshments started.

“One more drink for the show,” Charlie suggested. “I’ll be back. Another pint for you, queen regnant?”

You nodded, watching as he effortlessly glided through the sea of people. His ginger curls stood out like a sore thumb in the crowd.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N) Malfoy?” A voice rung out on the other side of your head. You pivoted to look to your left.

A tall, lithe man was approaching to where you stood in wait. He looked about your age and wore his blonde hair slicked back. His bright green eyes, ringed with a line of hazel around his pupils, caught yours immediately. The plastic cup of beer he held seemed dwarfed in comparison to the size of his hand.

“Alex,” he introduced, extending his hand. “I’m a friend of Draco’s at the country club.” He leaned forward slightly, his pointer finger extended towards you as stabilized the plastic cup with his other fingers. Just a touch of hesitation marred his voice. “He is your brother, correct?”

Alex gave the impression of regality with his high cheekbones and poised stance. Unlike everyone else who was dressed down in jeans and a tee, he favoured a black blazer over a white shirt, trousers, and a silver watch to decorate his wrist. For all you knew, he descended from Danish royalty, and you didn’t mind curtsying.

“Yes,” you responded. Your face flushed with curiosity, wondering why Alex found it necessary to greet you.

”Well, fancy seeing you here.”

“A dramatic shift in scenery from the golf course and resort,” you jested.

Alex chuckled. “Absolutely less stuffy.”

”What brings you here? You asked.

You watched as his throat caught, trying to latch onto an answer. As you waited, you thought it was downright puzzling why your parents never tried to introduce you to Alex. He seemed far more down-to-earth than the egotistical brutes for sons that your father seemed to favour. Maybe if you’d met him earlier, you wouldn’t have had to dig yourself into this infinite hole of lies.

He shifted his weight from side-to-side, but gave no other tells of being nervous.

“A night out with my mates,” Alex explained. “They reckon I need to get out more after my,” he paused, a nervous smile appearing for the slightest of moments, “my girlfriend broke up with me.”

Your mouth rounded quickly as you wondered who’d dump someone like Alex. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear,” you offered your condolences.

“It’s alright,” he said. “She would’ve hated coming here, anyway. I don’t mind muggle music; it’s quite good. You seem to fancy it, if you’re here.”

“Oh, I’m—”

You froze midway through your sentence when you felt a feather touch of a hand at your hip bone. Gentle enough not to startle you but hard enough to make its presence known. Panic set in quickly and you whipped around, ready to confront whoever deemed it was acceptable to lay a hand on you.

“You—!” you started.

You were captured by the cloudy, deeper blue eyes of Charlie. You stopped yourself. His hand was still wrapped around you, lingering at your hip with no intention of letting go. You wouldn’t have minded if it stayed there, if you were being honest with yourself.

“Got you a drink,” Charlie said, handing you a cup of beer with his other hand. You gingerly accepted it. His lips were pressed in a tight line, leaving no trace of the usual playful Charlie you’d come to know.

Alex was silent. Your eyes darted between the two men. Alex and Charlie were similar heights, but Charlie appeared bigger in stature due to his broad shoulders and muscle tone. Formalities would’ve called for you to introduce them to each other, but there was some strange, palpable tension in the air that you reckoned it was better they remained a mystery to each other.

“Let’s get a move on, (Y/N),” Charlie suggested with a flicker of a smile, his hand moving upwards to give your waist a squeeze. You had to will every inch of your being not to scream; you hadn’t prepared for such intimate touches outside your house or in view of people your age. The men at the pub were a different story. “Don’t want to miss the opener.”

“Wait, (Y/N),” Alex called out before Charlie could whisk you away. “Will you be at the Christmas luncheon?” He asked.

“Yes, of course,” you responded.

“Excellent. I’ll see you there.” He affirmed with a smile, before he returned to a group of friends waiting for him. You snuck a glance; his friends’ faces struck you as familiar.

“Who was that?” Charlie’s eyes danced playfully, his usual disposition crawling back from the void he’d stuffed in a few seconds ago.

“A friend from the country club.”

“Sounds fancy,” he mused. “Are you close?”

“Not really,” you said. “He seems to know Draco, so we must run in the same circles. You can imagine how I feel about that.”

“I can imagine,” Charlie said. He led you to the entrance of where you were seated.

In the darkness and between ear-splitting guitar riffs, you glanced over at Charlie when he wasn’t looking. You wondered why he’d dragged you away from Alex so quickly. There was ample time for the opener, and his intimate touches were as befuddling. They were, as you thought, done in the privacy in your home or when you needed to convince someone of your relationship. Perhaps you were overthinking it. Yes, you definitely were. You recalled when Charlie was overly flirtatious with Cecile, and you were certain he meant nothing of it.

After the show, you filed out with all the other attendees. Your entire body buzzed. You were about to ask Charlie as to how you were getting home, but he was the first to breach the topic.

“Can’t apparate in such a state,” lectured Charlie. He guided you out of the venue and down a back alley.

“Who’s picking us up here?” you asked, pulling your coat closer to fend out the gnarly bites of wind that swept through the area.

“My most trusted driver,” Charlie responded confidently. “It seems he’s just running a minute late.”

Charlie looked down at his watch and tutted twice. That was when the wind picked up dramatically and you hid your face behind Charlie’s shoulder to block it out. Through one cracked open eye, you saw it. A purple vehicle had squeezed through the narrowest gap of the alleyway and then re-expanded to just fit without scraping the sides.

The passenger doors opened.

“Hi, Stan,” Charlie said.

Stan shut the engine off, removed his hat and bowed. ”Shupike. Stan Shupike, at your service.”

“Good evening,” you greeted.

“Evening, ma’am,” Stan responded.

Stan leaned against his seat to give you room to board. Charlie followed behind you. To your amusement, there was no one else on the bus. All the beds were empty and decked out with fresh sheets and puffed pillows, and the privacy curtains drawn back.

You whipped around to face Charlie. ”How were you able to charter a whole bus?”

“Stan has been my driver for years. There’s usually a spare bus at the station.”

“Wouldn’t ever trust Bill or Charlie to operate a vehicle or anything after the nights I’ve seen ‘em have,” Stan grunted from the front. “What’s the address again?”

“27 Primrose Gardens.”

“I’ll take you there if they’ll let my janky bus through those pretty, manicured gardens,” Stan said with a chuckle. The doors shut with a light swish. “Ne’er dropped anyone off there since I started.”

You sat down on a bed and held onto the pole for dear life, watching nervously from behind the curtain as Stan shifted gears. Charlie picked up on your nervousness and shuffled closer.

“Hey,” Charlie said. “I got you.” With that, he looped an arm firmly around you waist, acting like a human seatbelt. His large hand rested on the top of your thigh, fingers gently grazing the fabric of your tights.

You tilted your head. “Thanks?”

“That sounds more like a question than a statement.”

“I do question when you choose to be kind.”

A chuckle escaped his lips. “What does that mean?”

You fell over onto him and onto the bed when Stan took a particularly sharp right turn.

Flustered, you tried getting up.

“Stay where you are,” Charlie said. “Stan says lying down is the safest, at least according to his driver’s manual.”

“Oh, really?” You asked with incredulity.

“It makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?” Charlie lied down as well. “The worst that could happen is that you roll onto someone else. I’d prefer that to kissing the cold floor with my teeth any day.”

Now that you thought about it, it did seem less frightening, being horizontal. The shocks of Stan’s driving seemed to absorb in the mattress. You supposed you hadn’t heard of any horrific injuries on the Knight Bus, so you were inclined to believe this was for the better. You cautiously descended fully on the bed.

Charlie looked at you with one blue eye, the other half his face sunken in the pillow. “Did you have a good time?” He asked.

“Of course I did,” you said. You shimmied around to get comfortable and to let your hands splay out on the on sheets in front of you.

“Do you foresee any more concerts in the future?”

“That’s a possibility.”

“Commit to it. Bill will be out of commission for another eleven years.”

“So, I’m your partner-in-crime for the next eleven years?”

Charlie extended his pinky finger to you. ”Lock it in, (Y/N).”

You hooked your pinky over his and shook on it, but you were barely paying attention to that. There were so many other sights to behold at this angle: the slight slant of strong nose, the quirk of his mouth as he looked back at you, the soft tufts of hair that were basically begging for your hands to comb through, and the glow of sun-kissed skin that seemed unfadable.

“I figured you’d freckle easily,” you said. Without a second thought, you unlatched your pinkies in favour of skimming your pointer finger over a spot on his face. “But your freckles seem to have coalesced into a tan.”

“They’re relentless, very strong-willed,” Charlie agreed. His eyes were heavy, hooded, and his voice was growing thick and raspy with sleep. “They’re not going anywhere, especially not months under the beating sun.”

As your fingers continued to pad his cheek, Charlie’s hand hovered over a wayward strand of hair that’d fallen over your face. He brushed it back and tucked it behind your ear where it belonged. You smiled at the gesture. You watched his eyelashes flutter over his eyes and a peaceful grin, devoid of its usual cockiness, stretch across his face. He was content to be here like this, with you, with your hand on his cheek and his on yours, you surmised.

You studied the gap between your faces—lips, in particular—and wondered if he was thinking what you were thinking: would this gap be better off closed?

Suddenly, the bus screeched to a halt. The resulting inertia threw you off the bed and onto the floor.

“Ow!” You exclaimed, holding the tender point of your elbow that you’d landed on.

“What’s going on, Stan?” Charlie asked calmly, clearly used to these disruptions. You rubbed your elbow, face contorted in discomfort. Charlie lifted you up with ease and back onto the bed.

“Owl near killed itself flying into my window ‘ere,” Stan explained. Near was right. The owl was still flying, pecking petulantly at Stan’s window with a parchment in its mouth.

Stan opened the door and let the owl fly in. It hurriedly found Charlie.

“Mum’s owl,” he said as he unfurled the parchment. You watched nervously as his eyes moved left to right.

“Stan.” Charlie’s voice was serious. “Turn the car around to St. Mungos.”

>> NEXT CHAPTER

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

@badgerqueen07 @superduckmilkshake @k-k-merlin @kisskittenn @pluiesdefleurs@lilianelena39 @bathwater101 @evilunicorns4minions @noah-uhhh-what @earth-to-lottie @kissingyourgrl @sihtricswife @adalia-jaycee @anuttellaa @weasley-clan @morks-watermelon @nobodysbabydoll @annoyingbean630 @bathwater101

#charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley x reader

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mistressangela06 · 2 years

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#alpha beta omega #permanent sissy #lockscreen #locksmith #no beta we die like men #permanent #permanent denial #permanent directory #permanent magnets #permanent jobs #charstity #charsity

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crossroads-rps · 1 year

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Driving Toward Death is an 18+ supernatural JCINK site that was founded in March 2018 on the belief that roleplay is fun and should always be fun! We are laid back with posting requirements, only requiring one every two weeks, but many members post almost every day. We have a site-wide plot that encourages members to jump in and have fun, but there are also tons of want ads and member-driven plots! Set in the fictional town of Scylla Bay, Alaska, where the town sees very little sunlight during the winter months and the climate is consistently freezing, rumor has it supernaturals run the town, but there also lurks a powerful enemy in the darkness.

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#site ad #jcink #jcink premium #original #permanent directory

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youryurigoddess · 15 days

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Aziraphale’s secret investigation and overlooked Clues

Remember this frame from Good Omens S02E06? Apparently Aziraphale had been using the empty carton box brought by Jim to store things in. It became a new home to at least two out of three “Lost Quartos” — the supposedly lost Shakespeare plays briefly but hilariously mentioned in the Good Omens book — as well as a very mysterious legal document.

Thought probably half of the Good Omens analysts here, including the ever so wonderful @fuckyeahgoodomens, who managed to find some information about the deceased John Gibson from New Cumnock (1855 - 1905).

Unfortunately the most interesting thing about this early 20th century provincial postmaster was his youngest child James (1894 - 1973), a quite famous stage (West End!) and film actor immortalized on screen in The Master of Ballantrae (1962), Witch Wood (1964) and Kidnapped (1963).

After that particular discovery the fandom-wide search seemingly led nowhere and the topic died a premature death.

And I almost figured it out seven months ago.

“But Yuri, you’re so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”, you probably want to shout across a busy London street at this point. Well, let me tell you. Much like Aziraphale, I'm blindingly intelligent for about thirty seconds a day. I do not get to choose which seconds and they are not consecutive.

Only tonight the stars have aligned in an ineffable way.

For those of you who don’t follow this account, some time ago I’ve realized that John Gibson isn’t the only testator whose estate was being investigated by Aziraphale right before The Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeepers Association monthly meeting.

If you watch S2 finale closely enough, you should notice that Crowley not only stress cleans Aziraphale’s bookshop — he also goes through the books and papers on his desk between the last three angels leaving the bookshop and Maggie and Nina’s intervention. A seemingly permanent arrangement of the props post-shooting, visible in detail both on Radio Times tour and SFX magazine photo shoot, sheds even more light on this detail.

The close-ups published after S2 release are legible enough to refer us to a much more prominent historical figure, Josiah Wedgwood (1730 – 1795) — an English potter, entrepreneur and abolitionist. Founding the Wedgwood company in 1759, he developed improved pottery bodies by systematic experimentation, and was the leader in the industrialisation of the manufacture of European pottery.

Long story short, I transcribed the handwritten pages abandoned on Aziraphale’s desk, found out the source and the full text of what could be identified as Wedgwood’s last will and testament, took a walk to visit his Soho workshop, and proceeded to write a lengthy meta analysis about it.

I was today’s years old when I realized that there’s something else connecting those two dead British men.

The Scottish Post Office Directory of 1903 recorded John Gibson from New Cumnock as a “stationer and china dealer” (above) operating from the shop located in the town’s post office building.

Indeed, a close look at his post office shop window in the Henderson Building (below, bottom left) reveals an artful display of fine china and pottery next to postcards printed by Gibson.

There are multiple ways to connect this surprising link with possible S3 plot points, obviously, but it’s getting late, so let’s just name the two most important ones.

You’ve probably heard of the Holy Grail, maybe from Monty Python or Good Omens S01E03 1941 flashback. Depending on the version of the story, if can be a cup, a chalice, a bowl, or a saucer — but almost always a dish or a vessel connected personally, physically and metaphysically to Jesus (unless you’re partial to Wolfram von Eschenbach’s idea that the Grail was a stone, the sanctuary of the neutral angels who took neither side during Lucifer's rebellion).

A slightly more obscure dish related to the Son of God appears in the sixteenth chapter of the Book of Revelation as a vital part of His Second Coming. The Seven Bowls (or cups, or vials) of God’s Wrath are supposed to be poured out on the wicked and the followers of the Antichrist by seven angels:

Then I heard a loud voice from the temple telling the seven angels, “Go and pour out on the earth the seven bowls of the wrath of God.” So the first angel went and poured out his bowl on the earth, and harmful and painful sores came upon the people who bore the mark of the beast and worshiped its image.

The second angel poured out his bowl into the sea, and it became like the blood of a corpse, and every living thing died that was in the sea.

The third angel poured out his bowl into the rivers and the springs of water, and they became blood. And I heard the angel in charge of the waters say, “Just are you, O Holy One, who is and who was, for you brought these judgments. For they have shed the blood of saints and prophets, and you have given them blood to drink. It is what they deserve!” And I heard the altar saying, “Yes, Lord God the Almighty, true and just are your judgments!”

The fourth angel poured out his bowl on the sun, and it was allowed to scorch people with fire. They were scorched by the fierce heat, and they cursed the name of God who had power over these plagues. They did not repent and give him glory.

The fifth angel poured out his bowl on the throne of the beast, and its kingdom was plunged into darkness. People gnawed their tongues in anguish and cursed the God of heaven for their pain and sores. They did not repent of their deeds.

The sixth angel poured out his bowl on the great river Euphrates, and its water was dried up, to prepare the way for the kings from the east. And I saw, coming out of the mouth of the dragon and out of the mouth of the beast and out of the mouth of the false prophet, three unclean spirits like frogs. For they are demonic spirits, performing signs, who go abroad to the kings of the whole world, to assemble them for battle on the great day of God the Almighty. (“Behold, I am coming like a thief! Blessed is the one who stays awake, keeping his garments on, that he may not go about naked and be seen exposed!”) And they assembled them at the place that in Hebrew is called Armageddon.

The seventh angel poured out his bowl into the air, and a loud voice came out of the temple, from the throne, saying, “It is done!” And there were flashes of lightning, rumblings, peals of thunder, and a great earthquake such as there had never been since man was on the earth, so great was that earthquake. The great city was split into three parts, and the cities of the nations fell, and God remembered Babylon the great, to make her drain the cup of the wine of the fury of his wrath. And every island fled away, and no mountains were to be found. And great hailstones, about one hundred pounds each, fell from heaven on people; and they cursed God for the plague of the hail, because the plague was so severe.

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens analysis #aziraphale #aziraphale’s bookshop #set design #good omens props #the good omens crew is unhinged #john gibson #josiah wedgwood #fine china #pottery #holy grail #seven bowls #second coming #yuri is doing her thing

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fluentmoviequoter · 2 months

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Do You Want to Keep a Secret?

Part 2 Here - Do You Want to Keep Another Secret? >

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!reader

Summary: After Luca asks Street to stay out of the house for a while, Street gets tired and curious and accidentally crashes Luca's "book club."

Warnings: secret girlfriend, "book club" joke goes on way too long (Bridgerton slander; I haven't and won't read it but know Street wouldn't like it), fluff, brief mention of alcohol consumption, the one and only Duke!!!

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“Street, wait up, man,” Luca calls.

Street pauses by the door of S.W.A.T. HQ and turns to look at Luca. 20 Squad had an early day and Street’s been eager to get out of the station and relax. When Luca waits for Deacon and Hondo to walk by before he begins talking, Street narrows his eyes in suspicion.

“What do you want?” Street asks.

“I can’t just want to talk?” Luca defends.

“If you just wanted to talk, Deacon and Hondo overhearing wouldn’t have been a problem. Spit it out, man.”

“Fine. I’m going to be home late tonight and need the house tomorrow night.”

Street opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. Luca tugs nervously on his backpack strap, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Street.

“There’s something that I need to do tomorrow, and I just- go ride around or visit friends, whatever you want to do, but I really need the house to myself,” Luca explains.

“What do you need to do?” Street inquires.

“Something that I can’t do with you asking questions.”

“Why-“

“Streeter, please.”

Street nods slowly before agreeing to find somewhere else to be tomorrow night. Luca’s the best roommate and friend he’s ever had, so despite all the questions he wants to ask, he’ll give Luca the space and privacy he needs. As they leave HQ, Luca turns left where Street turns right, and Street only becomes more curious about where Luca is going and how he’s spending his nights.

“Book club?” Street asks.

“Dude, do I look like I’d host a book club? Or be in one?” Luca replies.

“No offense, but kinda. You’ve got that soothing, welcoming personality, and you love people.”

“Who’s in a book club?” Deacon asks as he walks into the situation room.

“No one,” Luca answers.

“Luca disappeared last night, didn’t get home until well after midnight, and now he needs our house tonight. Won’t tell me why,” Street explains.

Deacon looks over at Luca, and he nods once. Luca thinks Deacon probably figured out exactly what has been taking Luca’s free time, but he trusts Deacon to keep it quiet and not push like Street.

“Well, Street, you’re welcome to come over for dinner since you’ve been evicted,” Deacon offers.

“Temporarily evicted,” Street corrects. “And, thanks, but I already found a way to kill a few hours.”

“Luca, enjoy the Street-free house,” Deacon adds as he leaves.

“Hey!” Street yells. “Wait, Luca, is Duke staying?”

“Where are we going?” you ask.

Luca told you during your date last night that he’d pick you up from work today because he had a surprise. Seeing your boyfriend two days in a row is unusual, but you’re certainly not complaining. The permanent smile on your face since you met is proof that there’s never too much time with Luca.

“We’ve been dating for a while, but we don’t spend time alone,” Luca begins. “Not that I don’t enjoy our date nights, but I thought it might be nice to have a night in for once.”

“That does sound nice,” you agree. “But we both have roommates.”

“I don’t have one tonight. Street agreed to let me have the house to myself for a while.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Not much. He asked a lot of questions, though.”

“You know, you’re not the first boyfriend I’ve had who didn’t want me to meet his friends. You are the first who said it was because of his friends and not me, though.”

“I’ll introduce you when the time is right. And we’re not starting with Street, that’s something that needs to be eased into.”

“Then who would you introduce me to first?”

Luca smiles, and when he reaches the last stop sign before his house, he turns to look at you.

“Deacon, probably,” he answers. “I think he already knows I’m seeing someone.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Deacon’s crazy intuitive, and the only one who has any idea what it’s like to be in a committed relationship.”

Luca turns into his driveway and races around the front of his truck to open your door and help you out. His house is cute, you think, but the work he’s doing in the neighborhood is even better than the house. As he opens the door, you hear a dog bark happily.

“Is that Duke? I get to meet Duke?” you ask excitedly.

“Yes, you do. He’s the best roommate I have.”

“When I meet Jim, I’m telling him you said that.”

“He already knows.”

Luca opens the door, and you step inside before being greeted by Duke. He’s just as kind and gentle as his owner, and you fall in love with him in a moment. As you kneel and pet him, letting him sniff your hand to introduce yourself, you’re glad for a quiet night in. You know Luca well, but you expect to see a different side of him away from the public eye, and the dangers he watches for outside.

“This is the best date you’ve ever taken me on,” you tell Luca as he helps you stand.

“I’ll remember that next time I get reservations at an expensive restaurant,” he jokes.

“You know I’d be happy with your cooking, or a food truck, or a microwave dinner as long as I’m sharing it with you.”

“Don’t get sappy yet,” Luca warns playfully.

You already feel comfortable in Luca’s house, and as you follow him into the kitchen you catch a glimpse of what the rest of your life will be like. Your favorite meal is waiting for you, and you hug Luca tightly to thank him. The night is perfect, and it’s just beginning.

“I’m so tired,” Street complains.

“Go home,” Chris answers. “That’s, like, the entire point of having a place to live.”

“I can’t. Luca said I can’t come home until later.”

“Why not?”

“Wouldn’t tell me. Deac probably knows.”

“If he didn’t say why, it must not be too important.”

Street looks up from his drink and snaps. His eyes are glassy as he points at Chris and agrees, “You’re so right. You’re so smart, Chris.”

“And maybe you need a ride home,” she suggests.

“I’m not drunk,” Street argues. “Just tired and I want to know what Luca is doing.”

“I’m not going to tell you that you should go home earlier to find out, but if you’re uncomfortable staying out any longer… Where else are you supposed to go?”

“Luca would kill me.”

“I love you,” you whisper.

Luca’s hand slows in its trail from your hip to your ribs and back down. His touch is both calming and electrifying, and you can’t imagine a life without Luca. He pulls your legs over his lap to bring you closer. What started as sitting on his couch to talk quickly turned to quiet confessions and cuddles, which you would like to be a nightly occurrence. Luca kisses your cheek before promising that he loves you.

“I’m never going to want to go on another date with you unless it’s just like this one,” you say.

Luca turns to look at your smile and cups your cheek before he agrees, “I’m sure we could work something out.”

“You’re gonna have to tell Street then. Duke already loves me, so we’re over halfway there.”

“Or I could just get him, like, arcade passes to keep him busy.”

“Luca.”

‘We’ll talk about it later,” Luca whispers as he leans in.

His hand moves from your cheek to the back of your neck as he kisses you. Already halfway in his lap, you lean forward and press your chest to his to return the affection. Your hands move to Luca’s shoulders, and you grip his shirt gently as you push yourself closer to him.

The door opens, and you pull away from Luca quickly as someone asks, “Is this why you didn’t want me to come home?”

“Street, what are you doing here?” Luca asks as he gently moves your legs off of his and stands.

“I forgot?”

“Any other night I would believe that,” Luca says.

He’s standing in front of you, but you peek around his side and wave. You introduce yourself and say hello to Street as he waves in return.

“Why are you back?” Luca asks again.

“I got tired, and Chris kind of convinced me that it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to come back early. I swear, Luca, I had no idea I was going to be interrupting.”

“Because I didn’t want to tell anyone yet!”

You stand and lay a hand on Luca’s back in an attempt to calm him down. Although you understand why he wants to wait, things don’t always work out like you want.

“I’m sorry, Luca,” Street says.

“Uh, Street?” you interrupt softly. “Do you want to keep a secret?”

“You want me to stay quiet about this? Absolutely; you don’t have to worry about that." He looks to Luca and adds, "I really am sorry, man.”

“Not exactly,” you say, though you look at Luca as you say it. “Want to start a book club?”

“I knew it,” Street says through his teeth.

“You guys want to come over for dinner?” Luca invites.

“Are you cooking?” Hondo asks quickly.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Then, I’m in.”

“Sure,” Deacon agrees. “I just have to be home by nine.”

“Nobody envies that, Deac,” Hondo teases.

“I’m down, too,” Tan says.

“Sounds good,” Chris adds.

“Alright. Come over whenever you’re ready, but food should be done in about an hour,” Luca calls over his shoulder.

“Bring your own silverware, I’m not doing dishes,” Street demands.

“Sure thing, playboy,” Victor says.

“Hello?” Street asks as he opens the door.

“Kitchen,” you call. “Are you aware that it’s still your house?”

“Doesn’t mean you have to feel uncomfortable or stay confined to Luca’s room.”

You smile and when Street raises his hands in question, you ask, “Are you ever going to let them know that you’re not a playboy anymore?”

“And lose all my credit and the best nickname I’ve ever had? Not likely, future Mrs. Luca.”

“Now that is the best nickname I’ve ever had.”

“Streeter!” Luca calls.

“Second best,” Street whispers before leaving your side to help Luca.

“How well do you think this is going to go, Duke?” you ask as you follow him into the living room.

“This is the only book that I could find seven copies of,” Luca explains as he dumps a bag of paperbacks on the coffee table.

“Bridgerton?” you read. “Luca, did you think maybe there was a reason there were so many?”

“It’s good enough for a TV show,” Street says.

He picks one up and begins reading the blurb on the back, and you watch his face go from curious to confused to disinterested and disgusted.

“Not good enough for a S.W.A.T. team,” you explain. “And now poor Street is scarred for life.”

“Good thing we’re not reading it,” Luca says. “They’re going to figure out far before they gain any interest in the book.”

Street shudders as he steps back from the books, and you laugh before returning to the kitchen. Luca is making dinner, but you claimed dessert and two different options are cooling on the counter. The doorbell rings and Street walks to the door as Luca arranges the books. You run into Luca’s bedroom to hide and wonder if Street will be able to keep a secret long enough to pull off the book club gag.

“Hey, Deac,” Luca greets. “Come on in.”

“Is your girlfriend here?” Deacon asks.

“How do you do that?” Street exclaims.

“Dude,” Luca sighs. “Yeah, she’s here.”

“The book club bit is a nice touch,” Deacon applauds. “Worst book you could have chosen though.”

“I agree,” Street says dramatically.

“Annie couldn’t finish these books.”

“Understandable.”

The doorbell rings again, and Deacon and Street quiet as the rest of 20 Squad enters the Luca/Street abode. With all of them talking over one another, you can’t tell how the conversation is going.

“Why is there an extra book?” Hondo asks. “Did you miscount for this joke or is that part of it?”

“No, there’s seven of us,” Luca answers.

“Me, you, Street, Tan, Deac, and Chris. That’s six, my man.”

“Plus, my girlfriend.”

Hondo, Tan, and Chris freeze. Luca expected a louder reaction, so the stunned silence is a surprise.

“Are we going to stand here in suspense, or do we get to meet her?” Deacon asks finally.

“Hi,” you say as you walk into the living room. “I’m-“

Halfway through your introduction, 20 Squad finds their voice again and Hondo, Chris, and Tan begin speaking over one another again to ask you questions. Street steps up and raises his hands to stop them.

“I can answer any questions you have about her. Because I’m a great roommate, and Luca’s best friend, and I already know her,” he says proudly.

“What’s her favorite book?” Luca asks.

“I can say with absolute certainty that it is not Bridgerton,” Street answers. He looks at you quickly to ask, “Right?”

“That is correct,” you affirm.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Deacon says as he shakes your hand. “Sorry Street was the welcome committee.”

“If I get to see Street, I get to see Duke, so it’s a win,” you tease.

“Okay, okay, let’s go back,” Hondo interjects. “How long have you been together?”

“Almost six months,” Luca replies.

“Six months? And we haven’t heard a thing? Luca, what did we do to deserve this?”

Luca glances at Chris, who is pulling you away from Deacon and talking so quickly you probably can’t understand anything.

“The interrogation I knew she’d get, mostly. No offense, Hondo, but when we’re all together it’s a lot to take in.”

“I get that, man, but you could have told us. We’re family.”

“I’m telling you now. With food.”

“Touché.”

“She’s going to be around for a long time, though,” Luca promises.

“I’m happy for you, man. Just let me know before you pop the question, would you?”

“I do have a ring,” Luca murmurs.

“Next book club, she ain’t here and we talk about that little piece of information,” Hondo declares before leaving Luca to join the small circle around you.

After everyone leaves, and you accept an invitation to join Annie and Deacon for dinner next week, you fall back on the couch and lean against Luca. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and tugs you closer to him.

“You were right. They’re a lot, but it’s clear that they care about you, Luca. I’m glad you have friends – family – like them,” you say.

“And now they’re yours,” Luca replies, “for as long as you stay with me.”

“I like that sound of that.”

Duke jumps onto the couch beside you, and you pet his head. Luca imagines how different this will be when you have a ring on your finger and smiles.

“There is just one thing I’d like you to do,” you request.

“Anything.”

“Pick a better book next time. Something by Michael Connelly or Doyle, anyone-“

Luca cuts you off with a kiss, and you both pretend not to hear Street tiptoe behind you to eat more brownies.

#hanna writes✯#dominique luca x reader #dominique luca #swat x reader #swat cbs #fem!reader

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