#so they were like. a Much more significant thing for me than for anyone else bc she loved those chicken statues and i was like 4 when she

[loveydovey-leviathan]

can i request the Obey me brothers and/or the datables reaction to you being jealous ☺️

mc gets jealous

obey me x gn!reader

🍉 from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸. this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and/or support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. | credit 🍉

a/n: the intro is so long in comparison to what i wrote for the characters lmao

cw: the gender of the person flirting with the characters is not mentioned. they don’t leave even after he’s told them to [belphie’s part]

.

The two of you have been spending less time together lately, your personal responsibilities keeping you apart longer than they usually would. But when you realised the both of you hadn’t gone on a date in weeks, you decided to surprise them with one at a popular cafe in the human world.

Once seated at a comfortable corner, you kiss them on the cheek and tell them you’ll be right back with your orders. The trip from the counter to your seats couldn’t have taken more than 4 minutes but when you walk back, there’s a stranger at your spot next to them. By their body language, it’s clear they’re trying to snatch up your obviously irritated significant other.

Maybe it’s because today was finally a free day for the two of you, combined with not seeing them as much as you would’ve liked– but when you finally arrived at your table, you set down your orders with a little more force than necessary.

With eyes as cold as a storm as you possessively inserted yourself by your lover’s side, you asked the stranger in your seat, “Do you need something from us?”

lucifer

A smug little smirk makes its way to his handsome face when the stranger decides not to start anything and walks away.

And while a part of him doesn’t even want to wait until they’re out of earshot– the same part of him that wants to kiss you senseless in front of the many suitors you have– he refrains from doing anything too rash in public.

If he was in his demon form, his wings would ruffle from how you pridefully claimed him to be your lover in front of this “threat”. Not that anyone has the potential to be one when you’re all he ever thinks about in the late hours of the night.

When you sit down next to him once more, still obviously slightly angry after the ordeal, he gently holds your hand and presses it to his lips.

Just in case it wasn’t clear to anyone else in the cafe that the two of you are together.

“There’s no need to be jealous, my dear. I’m all yours.”

mammon

He gets a little flustered when you’re at his side but he soon gets over it and pulls you closer.

“In case it wasn’t obvious, I’m taken. Now, scram.”

Unlike Lucifer, he doesn’t even wait until the person leaves before he gets up to kiss you (on the cheek, he can only handle so much PDA).

“Took ya long enough! Seemed like you were takin’ forever.” “I was gone 5 minutes, Mams.” “Same thing.”

He’s sweet. And needy– but that’s why you love him. Another kiss on the cheek and it seems like he’s already forgotten what happened.

He hasn’t obviously. He’s going to daydream about this for the next 4 months every night before he goes to sleep because it proves you’re just as greedy for him as he is for you.

He’ll tease you about it, of course. “You must really love me if that got ya jealous.” He’ll stop if you ask him too but he’s still going to be giddy about it.

leviathan

He’s so relieved once you’re here because he had no idea what to do. He doesn’t even realise that he’s leaning towards you.

It isn’t until the stranger leaves that he realises that he’s still extremely close to you while in a public cafe.

He instantly gets so embarrassed and wants to leave.

It doesn’t take you long to put the pieces together– so you take your orders to go and pull him outside the cafe and into a nearby park.

“S-Sorry… I know you really like that place.” Now he’s worried that you might hate him for getting embarrassed and potentially ruining the date for the two of you.

When you reassure him that it’s fine and that you can always go to some other place, he calms down enough and the situation completely dawns on him– you got jealous because you thought someone else wanted his affections (which he still isn’t completely sure of btw).

His face is flushed pink when he thinks about it. You love him enough to fight for him.

“What? Oh- uhm.. it’s nothing– just thinking about how cool you looked back in the cafe when you got jealous, hehe.” < is imagining scenarios in his head and totally planning on telling Henry 2.0 about this exciting development in your relationship.

satan

He was about to commit a crime right before you came along.

Usually, he would be better at keeping his anger in check but this is your first date in a while and he’s not about to have some rando ruin it for the two of you.

“Leave.” is all he says to them with a glare sharper than Asmo’s heels.

He calms down as soon as he sees you seated next to him once more.

“They’re lucky you came when you did. The absolute nerve of some people–” he shuts up once you kiss him on the cheek.

While the two of you eat your food, he realises that your actions may have been caused by a spur of jealousy. He’s quick to tease you about it.

“Was somebody jealous? Well, now you know how I feel whenever one of my brothers take you away.”

He thinks you’re so cute when you’re jealous, but he refrains from teasing too much lest you lightly make fun of him when he’s green with envy.

asmodeus

Don’t get him wrong, he absolutely loves attention– but not at the expense of the two of you spending time together.

As soon as you’re next to him, he stands up and pulls you even closer than you already were.

“Ugh, MC~ where were you? I was so bored.”

He’s acting all whiny and needy, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and completely ignoring the other person.

It’s not long before they turn red in the face and storm out of the cafe.

“Finally, they’re gone,” he complains, checking underneath his nails like he was afraid some of their filth might have latched itself to him.

“You’re adorable when you’re jealous, have I told you that?” 

He’s so quick to tease, even though he’s 100x worse when he’s jealous.

Somehow, he’s even more clingy the rest of the date. He's holding your hand, kissing your cheek, pulling you close to him the entire time– his own way of telling you and everyone else that he’s yours and you’re his.

beelzebub

He’s pretty clueless as to what’s happening and what the stranger’s intentions are– but when you come along, his passive face instantly lights up with a smile.

He is so in love with you, that you’d have to be blind to not see the way he looks at you, like your presence alone makes his heart full.

The stranger realises that they didn’t have a chance from the beginning, and Beel doesn’t even notice them leaving.

He notices that you seem angry at something, so he gently takes your hand and seats you beside him again– handing the slightly ruined food to you.

“You look angry. You should eat, it’ll make you feel better.”

He was right, it did make you feel better. Along with him happily eating all the orders you got him.

He won’t bring up the stranger unless you bring it up, but if you do, he’ll just shrug.

“Them? I don’t know, they just came up to me and sat on our table. I don’t mind when people do that but they were interrupting our date. I didn’t want to get angry and make a scene.”

belphegor

Belphie is spoiled. And he is tired.

When someone comes and sits on your seat, trying to flirt when the two of you came in together– he is instantly pissed off.

He wants nothing more than to “make” them leave, but he can’t (at least not in the way he wants to). So he just decides to be upfront instead.

“Do you mind? That seat is taken by my s/o– the one who walked in with me, in case I need to remind you.”

When they still don’t leave, he’s very seriously considering putting a curse on them.

But before he starts the incantation, you arrive in an equally bad mood.

Recognising that it’s two against one, they roll their eyes and leave, muttering something under their breath all the way.

“That was so tiring…” < (he spoke three sentences)

If you offer to go home, he refuses, saying that you both planned this already.

“I’ll try my best to stay awake but I can’t guarantee it. When we get back home, you owe me a nap.”

The sly little bitch managed to turn the whole thing in his favour.

[chaoticbardlady99]

Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me (Spawn! Astarion x F! Ghost Reader) MDNI 18+

Chapter Six: Four Clerics and a Vampire Spawn Enter a Tomb

Synposis: Astarion is struggling to adjust to not having you around for a little bit, but he amends this quickly. Astarion takes a moment to explore his own wants and needs while you are asleep.

CW: Mentions of torture, gore, m! Masturbation, Astarion being a lovesick mess I just had this, “oh Astarion and Tav were never together so he has no baseline for sexual touch.” And my brain went, “HE DOESN’T HAVE A BASELINE FOR SEXUAL TOUCH” and well- here we are. I hope you enjoy! I have put markers for when smut starts and stops for anyone who isn’t into it :)

Disclaimer- put together the picture for the banner, but I do not own any of the pictures. I did take the picture of ‘Birdie’ and Astarion on my PS5

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you for all your support and love!

Chapter 5: Chapter 7: AO3

Astarion sits and stares at your broken, crumpled form. He had closed your eyes already and he had dug a hole to bury the cat that so graciously let you inhabit it for so long. 

  He recognizes the country bumpkin arrow as one of Leon’s. How could this happen? Astarion had searched the area high and low for signs of the Bastard and didn’t find a thing- where the fuck did he come from!?

 Astarion lets himself cry as he buries the cat. 

  He can’t feel your presence around him and that terrifies Astarion to no end. He can’t lose you- you are both supposed to be ‘stuck’ with each other forever. 

  Astarion has hopes, dreams, and stupid fantasies about what kind of life you could live together once they were able to resolve your incorporeal person problems. He really just knows that, as long as he’s around you, life will be fun. Hard sometimes, but nothing that couldn’t be talked about or handled. 

 You have given him a rather large lesson in communication and the importance of it- after about six months, you had both celebrated Astarion directly telling you that something you said bothered him instead of lashing out. 

  It had been something stupid- he can’t even remember what it was. He was jealous of some man that you said was very attractive as the two of you peered over the railing of your inn in a small town around Amn. 

 That all feels so trivial now. You could be with anyone if it meant Astarion could have you back right now. He may kill the person and cry, but that’s beside the point. <

  The sun is suddenly embracing him and Astarion feels his body become reinvigorated. 

 You never gave up on him or finding a cure so that he could walk in the sun. You also expressed having hopes and dreams amongst other what-nots. You wouldn’t give up this easily on him and he sure as hell won’t give up on you. 

  You have to be out there somewhere. If you aren’t around him that you had to be teleported somewhere else and if that means storming the Heavens- so be it.

  Astarion immediately begins flipping through Volo’s book- rubbing the stupid pink tulle tutu material between his fingers. 

 It’s a stupid thing to keep- he admits it to himself all the time- but it was such a hilarious sight to see and you had said you hope one day he sees how much you mean to him. Astarion will mess with the crappy material whenever he needs the reminder that he has worth and you are busy doing something or sleeping. It’s helped him a significant amount during the night time- the happy memory soothing his soul. 

  And he desperately needs that reassurance and soothing right now.

 Thankfully, Volo’s book wasn’t totally filled with bullshit- the back detailing a City that is not that far from his current location.

  It’s about two and a half days away. That’s entirely doable and you are more than likely perfectly safe, exploring the city and, with any luck, you are hoping he’s trying to get back to you. 

   He can’t get himself to stop- not even for a moment. He finds himself absentmindedly humming various violin pieces you have played for him since you learned you could be an incorporeal person. 

  He feels border line delirious and he’s pretty fucking hungry if he’s being honest with himself- the creatures he’s finding as he goes aren’t filling enough, but he doesn’t have time to properly hunt. 

   You would be worried and upset with him for not taking care of himself, but he won’t feel okay again until you are back in his sight and within arms length again. 

  The trek is horribly boring- he has become so accustomed to even your little snores during travel that the silence is uncomfortable and wrong. Astarion can’t even begin to imagine how his heart would feel if he tried to fall asleep and stay asleep without you near. 

  The hour he tried to trance out of sheer exhaustion had been full of every nightmare imaginable, but it was a dream of Leon killing you- taking away the only person in the whole world that Astarion would gladly lay his life on the line for. 

  He should have killed Leon the moment he suggested you become a sacrifice for him to get Victoria back. Astarion would sooner go back in time sacrifice him and the other spawn than hand you over if that’s what it took to keep you safe.

 At least in that reality, you could both be together and he would never have to worry about losing you because he wouldn’t have to worry about fucking Leon. 

  He just knows Leon is involved- he can feel the irritation in his bones grow with each minute he walks. 

  Astarion races through the forest- being mindful enough to not go barreling through some poor soul just minding it’s own business. 

 For once, he isn’t looking for a fight. He just wants to get to you and leave- get far away from this Gods awful place and begin your lives together somewhere far, far away.

  The second day feels even worse than the first- twenty four hours was far too long and he was growing more worried by the second stint of his journey.

What if Leon finds you before Astarion does?

 Astarion is worried that Leon will convince you to sacrifice yourself for his daughter if he gets to you first- something he knows you would do without a second thought. 

  Astarion finds himself begging the universe that, for once, he is good enough for someone to stay for him- wait for him. 

 Worth someone being a little bit selfish for once.

 What if he isn’t? What kind of life could a transient vampire spawn offer you? Would you willingly remain a ghost if you had the choice or would you pass on?

 He attempts to trance again when his thoughts become overwhelming. He continues, however, to refuse sleeping for very long or take the time to properly hunt. 

 He knows what his needs are and he will take the time later. However, time isn’t a luxury he thinks he can afford right now.

 Astarion needs you- he’s doing this for himself more than anything.

 His second hour long trance is much better. He dreams of you in his arms, held tightly to his chest- your hair fanning out on a plush pillow while he leaves gentle kisses on your face and you giggle happily. You are here again and everything is okay. 

  Astarion wakes up crying when he realizes it’s only a trance- a trick of the mind. His lips yearn to know how your skin feels underneath them.

 Astarion needs you back by his side yesterday. One day was unacceptable as is, but two? His world feels tilted. 

   He feels like he can breathe again when he spies the massive Watch Tower in the distance- the black, oddly shaped tower looms over the other buildings and it’s presence demands to be seen. 

  His feet lead him through the gates of the City of Manifest and he makes a B-line to the Hall of Farewells. There are people everywhere enjoying their loved ones, but no sign of you yet. 

  Astarion goes to the front of the line- ready to knock whoever over so that he can talk to the teller. Your life very well could be in danger- Astarion hasn’t seen any signs of Leon in the Underdark, but you can never be too careful and that arrow was definitely one of his shitty homemade ones.

 “Hey! You can’t just cu-“

 Astarion gives the man a menacing, unblinking smile. The man gulps nervously.

 “You were saying?”

 “Ha, uh I was just saying, go right on ahead! You can cut me anywhere, anytime.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, my Boy,” Astarion says with a sneer, “otherwise you may not live to see the light of day.”

 A dawning realization of horror crosses the man’s face.

“That’s not what I-“

 “NEXT!”

  Astarion waves, “that’s my cue- I will find your delicious self later.” 

 He snickers to himself after he turns around- the man was positively green-, but when he goes to look down next to him to be chastised by you as you begrudgingly laugh- he’s reminded once again of his current twisted reality. 

  It’s only been 56 hours and he misses you so much- there is a massive hole in his chest with every step he takes and he is praying to every God that you are here. 

 “Hello! Welcome to the Hall of Farewells,” an elderly woman stands behind the counter, “who are you looking for today, young man?” 

  If you were here? You would have busted up laughing. 

“Young man, my ass!” 

  He can’t help, but smile slightly to himself as a tear begins to fall from his eye. 

“I’m looking for Althaeastra Rothwell? She goes by Birdie,” he gestures to show your height, “about this tall, beautiful, kind, hilarious, plays the violin really well.” 

 “Well- that is more than enough information for me to help you!” The elderly woman states while beaming, “she must be a very special woman and how lucky of her to have such a wonderful partner.”

 “I’m the lucky one, actually,” the words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

  The woman smiles even brighter and Astarion has to try very hard to keep himself from blushing like a smitten school boy.

 Good Gods, he thinks, stop being a grieving, emotional mess and focus. You can be weird and dissect your feelings later once you find Birdie.

  The woman claps her hand and performs some kind of magic on a book that flips pages with the intensity of a storm. Names are jumping from the pages- sorting through nicknames, letters, dates of death, etc. until a bright DING alerts the elderly woman that the spell is complete.

 “Ah yes! Miss Rothwell! She hasn’t been here too long- only a couple days,” the woman muses, “hmm well, it looks like your brother already went off to find her. My guess is that you will find her with him.” 

 Astarion feels his entire body become significantly colder than it already is. 

 No- Leon couldn’t have bested him this time. How did Leon get here ahead of him? He did so many perimeter checks before entering the Catacombs and Leon was nowhere to be found. There should be absolutely no reason for him to be here- unless he had planned to kill you so you are a ghost again? That would make sense and it would force you two apart. 

 “Which brother?”

  The woman cocks her head at him and then a realization seems to be forming in her mind.

 You weren’t supposed to be going anywhere with Leon and it’s likely this woman just directed you to your actual death. 

 “His name is… Leon,” she reads the name uneasily, “she wrote only your name in the registry- specifically put ‘WAITING FOR ASTARION’. Brayden tried to tell her it wasn’t necessary, but she insisted. Your brother came in shortly after and checked the registry.”

 Astarion damn near loses it- screaming profanities inside his head and desperately trying to keep from exploding all together. He can’t protect you from prison so he needs to play nice. 

 Afterwards? Well, let’s just say Astarion may be creating a list of people he wants to Falcon punch in the throat after you are safe and with him again. You most likely won’t approve, but he told you not to go wandering off with strangers! You do not have the combat experience or street smarts to be able to protect yourself. 

  Astarion goes to ask another question when a man comes racing in with a very mutilated, but living ghost. An insignia with a boot print and compass rose is on the front. The man’s black, curly locks are mangled and blue stained.

  The older man is hysterical- begging someone to save his son as pieces of him begin to fall away and disappear. Astarion feels a wave of panic go through his body. 

 “Brayden,” the elderly woman gasps, “Gods help us!” 

  A group of clerics descends on the men and tries to help the man who was evidently giving you a tour. Another group goes racing out the door in the direction the body was found. Astarion makes note of this “Tombyard District” and begins to leave. 

  His body, however, freezes as he approaches the young Ghost laying out on the floor- wheezing painfully and his eyes meet Astarion’s a look of recognition. You must have talked about Astarion a lot.

 Brayden’s eyes seem to scream back at Astarion, “she’s in danger! You need to save her!” 

 Astarion would know that magic and knife work anywhere- Leon got to you and this poor man probably tried to defend you. It disgusts Astarion that he is grateful for a perfect stranger, but anyone who has attempted to keep you safe is okay in his books. 

  He will not lose you to this place and he will make sure Brayden’s suffering was not in vain or yours for that matter. 

  Astarion leaves the Hall of Farewells- realizing that the more he sits there and listens to that man wail for his adult son to stay with him, the more and more hopeless and scared Astarion becomes. 

  Leon was Cazador’s best hunter, but it was because he was an aggressive meathead about the whole thing. It irritated the piss out of everyone. He wasn’t subtle and was more than happy to swoop in and steal your mark if it meant he could get back to the Palace faster. 

  It doesn’t take very long for Astarion to track Leon, but he’s alarmed when the faint scent of his other siblings begins to tickle his nose. The guard at the entrance of the Tombyard warned him against going in this late, but Astarion has a feeling he doesn’t have much time. 

 He stole a Ring of Manifesting on the way there so that after he finds you, you can both run straight to Waterdeep. Astarion had used one of his sending spells detailing what is going on to Tav and Gale just in case you both go MIA, but they are expecting both of you to be there. Admittedly, Astarion is quite proud of himself- you are always on him for not having a plan and this time he actually has a plan!

  The smell of rotting flesh and the sound of people crying over their loved ones rings through his ears. There are multiple funerals occurring at once- mostly Drow and a few Humans. 

 The area is not cozy nor is it an aesthetically pleasing place to rest, the buildings look like warehouses for the bored and lonely and the statues along the streets are even graveyard-esque. It makes him uncomfortable- he doesn’t necessarily care for graveyards anymore. Not that he ever did, really.

 There are alleyways here and there, but only one has Leon’s scent and the other scent is Lavender and something else he can’t pick up on. It has to be you which makes Astarion feel even more sick.

 What did he tell you about following random strangers places!? One time you followed a man with white hair because you thought it was Astarion and you had been missing for an hour and a half. 

 Now you have been missing for probably two Gods damn days!

 The scent leads him to an alleyway and the stench of rot becomes worse- Astarion can practically feel the pull of the weave in the air and the dark art of Necromancy.

 Wonderful, just wonderful. 

  Astarion creeps along the wall- grateful that he listened to your suggestion about wearing solely black armor. It made sneaking around much easier and if he’s about to face a necromancer without a Cleric around then he’s going to need every advantage he can get. 

  A few new scents are in the air- much cleaner than the heavy must that threatens to suffocate him. 

Think before you act, Astarion reminds himself, being irrational is not going to bring Birdie back to you any faster. 

  As he comes around a corner as slowly as he possibly can, he pulls his daggers out with the pointed ends against someone’s throat- he is met with a set of piercing blue eyes and earthy brown eyes. Both individuals appear to be clerics and they both gesture for Astarion to be quiet- that they are not a threat. Two other people become more visible to him. 

 Astarion recognizes the individual symbols on their chest as Uhanam- a lawful neutral God that is about law and intelligence-, Durann- a Lawful Good God that is about healing and listening to laws, and Aluvan- protector of Ghosts. He doesn’t recognize the other God, but she has the same symbol as the poor Cleric who had been severely injured trying to protect you.  

  A door appears further down an alley and a man that smells of Undeath with a beating heart comes walking down the alley. Astarion recognizes him as a Shadar Kai almost instantly. 

  Much to his irritation, the individuals let him pass by them, but he watches one use sleight of hand to maneuver the keys off his belt. The Shadar Kai doesn’t even so much as flinch. It’s rather impressive and Astarion enjoys the shit eating grin the Wood Elf flashes at their fellow clerics. 

  You would really like these people. Astarion will like them as long as none of them attempt to take you away from him. 

 “Alright,” one of the clerics, a blonde halfling woman, releases a sigh of relief before continuing her whispering, “hello- are you friend or foe?”

  “Depends,” he whispers back, “are you going to kill everyone-including the people they have held captive- or are you on a rescue mission.”

 “Rescue and revenge mission- actually,” the half- elf woman with the same insignia as Brayden says, “they tried to kill my fellow Cleric, Brayden- my husband in fact, and they kidnapped the person he was showing around. We just hope she’s still alive- this Lich doesn’t hang onto people very long.”

  Of course it’s a fucking Lich. 

 “For all of your sake,” Astarion snarls, “you better hope she is alive.” 

“Your loved one, I take it?” the halfing says.

 Astarion nods- they need to know there is someone here for you and if they so much as look at you funny, he will kill them with absolutely no remorse to show for it. 

 “That settles it then,” the Wood Elf says, “let’s go save some folks and kick some ass!” 

 It was like being around Karlach- the cleric has a goofy grin and an even goofier vibe.

  Astarion follows them- trailing behind so that he can take more time to search and see you before it becomes a bloodbath. 

 You just have to find her and get out of here, Astarion repeats like a mantra in his head, she is alive, she is safe-ish, she is okay. Everything is going to be fine because it has to be fine.

  The place is filled to the brim with various undead creatures haunting it’s halls. Some creatures he has never even seen before and others look like they are stitched together with mismatched parts. 

  Astarion tries to swallow his panic- no sign of you yet so you may just be caged some-

 “NO PLEASE!” your voice screams through the air and the sound of you struggling against someone rings alongside your voice, “PLEASE! I- DON’T WANT TO BECOME THAT- PLEASE!!!!!!” 

   You cry out in pain and Astarion begins barrelling past the Clerics who are trying to stop him, but they can figure it out. He needs to get to you. 

 Astarion pushes past every individual who comes by him- some try to attack him and he is quick to rebuke them or kill them with one blow. Your screams are becoming more and more panicked- you sound like you are fighting for your life and Astarion wishes you were aware that he is right here- nothing will happen to you.

 He just needs to find you and then you never have to come to this horrible place ever again.

“ASTARION!” your cries are coming from down the hall, “ASTARION, HELP! PLEASE!” 

   Your voice has begun to sound gargled, but he knows he’s on the right floor- the scent of Lemongrass hanging in the air like a blessing. 

  When he finally finds the room you are in, he watches as some kind of magic tries to contort you into something else entirely. You are fighting to prevent it- tears streaming down either side of your face.

“Astarion- please hurry,” your anger and your voice being reduced to a tearful whisper, “I’m not ready to die.” 

  And he’s not ready for you to. In fact, Astarion feels positively homicidal. 

  Within a millisecond, Astarion is shoving his daggers between the Lich’s ribs and it cries out in surprise- Astarion uses an arrow of Thunder and sends the Lich crashing into the wall- one of it’s arms dislocating in the process. 

 The Shadar Kai descend on him and you struggle against your restraints- trying to get away from the ones that are trying to hold you back down and keep him from getting to you. They are unlatching your restraints and dragging you towards another hall. The Lich waiting like a coward behind it’s soldiers. 

 “ASTARION!” you scream, “BEHIND YOU!”

   He sends another Shadar Kai to the Shadowfell thanks to your warning, only to have one of the Shadar Kai holding you cut your throat, an angry growl leaving Astarion,and he cuts through every creature his blade can get it’s sharp edge on. 

   A crash from behind him and the horrific creature that comes racing into the room distracts Astarion and he’s grateful that the Clerics had caught up with him because he wouldn’t have been able to save himself from the oncoming Ghoul running towards him otherwise.

  He makes eye contact with Dalyria, but it’s not her eyes. The sight of his siblings and their fate makes Astarion feel ill- the Lich gestures and suddenly they are collapsing to the ground in a ball of red magic. The blood curdling scream of anger that leaves Astarion’s mouth scares him.

  The Lich looks like he’s about to shit himself.

 Not only had this horrible, unnatural creature taken you and harmed you significantly- it had destroyed his family. The only one he knows and remembers. The only people in the whole world who know what it means to suffer just as well as he does.

  The creature gets back up and the Lich doesn’t have time to dodge before one of it’s unnaturally strong hands grabs it’s face and sends it’s flying away from the hall- it’s skull begins to crack the moment he makes impact with the wall.

  The Lich uses shadow step to retreat down one of the hallways as his siblings run at him again- looking rather pleased that they chased it off.

  He feels angry- it won’t be safe for you or his siblings here or anywhere with that Lich fucking off. Astarion wants to go after it- desperately and end this once and for all, but he knows he can’t. 

  Instead, he returns his attention back to the battle and getting to you as you continue to struggle against your captors. He’s over there in seconds- uses Dimension Door to put you in a safe corner and then using Misty Step to get back into battle. The creature that is his siblings stand protectively in front of you- waiting to destroy anyone who dare harm you. Their eyes meet his and they nod- we’ve got her. 

  He tries not to cry from sentiment alone- they care about him enough to keep you safe so he can focus on killing the other enemies in the room and Astarion never thought he would see the day where that would ever happen. It’s a shame it’s probably too late now to try to start over with each other again. 

  The remainder of the creatures are destroyed and Astarion personally mutilates the individual who decided cutting your throat was a fantastic idea. 

  Once it all calms down and everyone is dead- the Clerics lock the hallway door where the Lich had run away and they gesture for the mix and match of his siblings to follow as they exit the building. 

  The Aluvan Priestess, the Halfing, is the one to assure them that they would reverse their condition, they’ve apparently done it before and he hears your choked sigh of relief. He’s surprised to see the monstrous versions of his siblings look at you with hopeful eyes and you back at them. 

 It must have been a horrible 56 hours. 

 Brayden’s cleric in arms and wife comes over and heals your throat, your wrists, and offers you a clean outfit. You are shaking as you take the clothes and you look at the woman with your lower lip trembling.

“Is Brayden okay? He was trying to keep me safe.”

 The woman nods and smiles, “he’s in rough shape, but nothing he won’t be able to come back from- thank Wyst.”

 That seems to make you cry harder and Astarion is quick to scoop you up into his arms now that the initial shock of everything he has just seen has worn off. You cling to his neck, your arms wrapped around him tightly, and he just rubs soft circles into your back.

 “It’s safe now, Birdie,” he whispers, “I will never ever let anyone harm you again.” 

             *****************************

   It’s later in the evening when you seem to finally be more yourself again, but Astarion can tell that something horrible happened to you at the hand of the Lich. He is refraining from asking- not wanting to upset you or push you too hard. 

  You are drinking the honey mead in your hand heavily- eating bread and cheese along side it. Ghosts can’t get hung over so you took it as an opportunity to try to drown out the events of the last couple days. 

  It’s when you look at him with tearful eyes that he knows you are truly, honest to Gods suffering. 

“Darling?” He gently takes your hand in his, “what is it?” 

 You look up at the ceiling with a trembling lip before looking him in the eyes again.

 “He cut me open,” you choke, “he- he took out my organs and put them in other bodies before putting them back in mine.

“Then he was going t- to,” you shake as you try to get through your next sentence, “he was going to turn me into a Necroplasm. A horrible creature only made of bone and ectoplasm. Lifeless; thoughtless.”

  Your face is back in your hands and Astarion is feeling an incredibly confusing amount of emotions right now.

 He wants to hunt down that lich and destroy the bastard limb by limb, over and over again until he finally shows the last bit of mercy he could- breaking the phylactery. 

 But he also wants to get out of the City of Manifest entirely. His siblings are all separated again- temporarily Ghosts, but incredibly happy to not be melded together while the Clerics search for the remainder of their bodies to reconstruct. He has no idea how it works, but apparently the Gods over manifest are much kinder than the ones who dominate the rest of Faerun.

  Leon is the only one who hasn’t come back, but he’s dead to Astarion either way. He was quite impressed with the amount of damage you had been able to inflict. Once he teaches you how to use a dagger, you could truly be unstoppable.

 However, that’s for a later date when you become settled.

 Gale sent him two tickets to teleport to Waterdeep and you seemed to be relieved that you wouldn’t be staying here- you want to come back, but after you feel more confident in your ability to protect yourself.

  Tav and Gale are getting married in a few weeks- Waterdeep will be good for both of you. It will be familiar and comfortable.

 You can stay together in the room you usually occupy, he will keep watch if that’s what you need to sleep for a while. 

 Anything to make you feel safe again. 

 “I feel so violated,” you sniff and laugh sadly to yourself, “I have the worst luck. The first touch I receive in three and a half centuries and it’s while I’m being cut open and fit to others like a puzzle piece- like a thing.

“I could feel it,” you wipe your eyes, “every horrible thing those people felt before they died. I felt their love and misery for the people they were never going to see again-“ 

  This was not how Astarion wanted this reunion to go- Leon is dead, but it would never feel like enough. 

 Leon took honest, innocent moments you deserved to have and tainted them- all for something that was never going to happen anyway.

 A Lich is a Lich and he’s going to hunt the bastard down- you were just a victim of opportunity in his eyes. 

 “I wish I had gotten there faster,” Astarion whispers, “this isn’t how I imagined this going.” 

 “What do you mean?” You ask, wiping your eyes.

 Does he tell you that he envisioned at least kissing you? If you wanted? Now it feels like it would be pressuring you.

“It’s not imp-“

“No- enough about me,” you say, “I want to know what you’ve been doing and how life in the sun has been!” 

 Astarion smiles softly, “there hasn’t been a life in the sun without you. I barely noticed- I was focused on getting here to you.” 

  “Wait, really?” he nods in affirmation, you smile widely at that, “I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who missed hanging around.” 

  You look so happy looking at him- you are wearing his shirt since your own clothes had been practically destroyed and the clothing that was lended to you was uncomfortable. 

 “I’m going to wash my face and all the ick from these last couple days off real quick- I’ll be back.”

  He couldn’t help but miss you- even a room away when you go to wash off.  Astarion had braided your hair back afterwards. 

  Every part of you is beautiful and lovely- he was so scared he lost you without ever getting to see what would happen between the two of you. He hates how gushy and mushy he’s become over the last two days- at this rate, he’s just going to embarrass himself when you ultimately don’t return his feelings.

“Be my date for Tav and Gale’s wedding,” he blurts out of nowhere.

  Nice going panty dropper- you call that romantic?

 “What?”

  You literally said one sentence and blew up the whole thing, Astarion scolds himself.

  Astarion clears his throat, “I couldn’t think of a better plus one nor anyone I would want to suffer through the cheesy affair with.” 

 “Yes!” You exclaim, jumping up, “one hundred thousand times yes! Oh my gosh!!!!!! We will need to go shopping or thieving- who cares- I GET TO GO TO A WEDDING WITH MY FAVORITE PERSON!!!!!” 

 Oh thank Gods.

  Your once melancholy mood has shifted and Astarion feels a warm glow in his chest. He can already think of what cut would fit you best, what colors, how your hair should look, etc. 

  You ask him so many questions- what color does he think would be best? Will you match with him? What color would be best for both of them? And “GODS ABOVE HOW WILL I DO MY HAIR AND MAKE UP!? I’m out of practice!”

 Oh and you made it very clear- absolutely no tulle or crowns. 

 You both somehow decide on lavender and silver. Astarion figures he’ll wear silver with lavender designs and you will do the opposite. 

“What if I don’t remember how to dance!?” You say, mortified, “I’ll embarrass us both!!!”

 “Oh the horror- to be forced to save my darling damsel in distress from tripping over her own heels,” he teases, pushing a stray hair out of your face, “I’m sure I have more than enough dancing experience for both of us.”

 You look at him and bite your lip- a little bit of worry in your eyes.

“What is it, my Sweet?”

  He struggles to stop his smile at the nice blush that courses under your skin at the term of endearment.

“I- I know you hate parties,” you start cautiously, “are you sure you want to dance and everything? We don’t have to if it would make you unhappy. Just being there with you would be more than enough. Unfortunately I can’t offer not going, I think Tara would murder me.”

  Well that is… unexpected. Astarion’s body feels like it’s radiating with happiness and affection- you are quite literally perfect.

 Pull yourself together.

 “I’ll be fine, my Dear,” he says with a slight dismissive wave of his hand, “besides, this is my first party as a free man- who knows? Maybe I’ll become a party fiend.”

 “Ha! I don’t think you like people enough to do that.”

 “But I like you enough to,” he states, “so if you would like to go to them from time to time- I have no qualms.” 

  Gods when did he become such a romantic? 

  You, on the other hand, look like you might explode and he can’t tell why, but he hopes he hasn’t pushed it too far. Astarion is quickly reassured when a coy, mischievous smile passes over your face. 

“I promise I won’t make you go to too many parties,” you tease, “one too many and one might end up being a funeral.”

“Ah see, that’s my kind of party!”

“Oh my Gods,” you shake your head, giggling, and put it in both of your hands, “you don’t even like cemeteries.”

“You don’t need a cemetery for a funeral if you are creative enough, Darling,” he smiles cheekily, “I do put the fun in funeral after all.”

  You roll your eyes and shake your head with a smile at his Gods awful pun- he learned it from Shadowheart on their adventures and he loves to sprinkle it into conversations. 

“Fair.” 

   Somehow, you eventually end up asleep in his arms in the plush Inn bed like he had dreamed about the other night. You snore softly as Astarion holds you closely to him- making a point of looking at the door and windows frequently enough so there aren’t any surprise visitors. 

  Astarion has never actually cuddled with anyone (willingly, at least). Anyone who’s ever been in a bed with him has been condemned to becoming Vampire spawn (he almost wishes they had all just been dead). It was just sex, nothing more or less. Sure people offered, but it never felt right. 

  This? This feels right and like you were made for him. It’s a miracle truly- Intimacy without any sexual touch and he has the choice to be there, curled up around you. 

  It feels heavenly- better than his trances could have ever imagined. 

  You are both the same temperature so you almost feel warm to the touch. Your eyes are moving back and forth as you dream, he is relieved to see a content smile on your face. 

 Astarion is prepared to be there for you if you have nightmares. You have taught him that just having someone to comfort you is enough. He just wishes you didn’t experience any of it in the first place, but he won’t be keeping you too far out of reach or unguarded so hopefully it will never happen again.

  Eventually sleep takes Astarion too and he’s grateful for the somewhat peaceful rest- until it turns into a full blown fucking sex dream. 

  Astarion tries not to jolt you awake- somehow aware enough of his surroundings to know you are still there. You are still fast asleep- dawn is coming and Astarion is not, which could very well be a problem if you wake up while he’s hard.

   He sneaks away to the washroom- making sure to lock the door. 

 He will just take a bath, cool himself off, and then go back to bed for a cuddle. It’ll be like this never happened. 

(Smut begins)

 He’s never actually masturbated and there is a significant amount of weariness when he thinks about the idea. Sure he’s done it for show, but never in a private, alone moment.

  Astarion has basically been celibate for the last nine months and of course, now that you are a ghost person again, his libido decides to rear it’s ugly head.

 He doesn’t even know if you actually want him that way!

  The water is lukewarm and Astarion leans back against the tub- willing his hard on to go away already. It feels almost impossible to forget his trance- the way your pretty mouth looked around his cock, the way you keened when he filled you for the first time, the dance that takes the act from slow and romantic to something else entirely. 

  Wild, passionate- unrehearsed. 

  Astarion wraps his hands around his cock- desperate for any release he can get at this point. He isn’t going to be able to will this trance or these desires away and he is entirely in control of the act- if he becomes uncomfortable or begins to dissociate, he can stop. 

 “You don’t have to sleep with these people,” you reminded him softly, “Hells- you don’t have to do any of it at all if you don’t want to! Even if you are both naked and you’re already inside the person- you can stop. A good person, a person worthy of you, will respect your needs and be understanding.”

  Astarion can stop. You helped him with this realization nine or ten odd months ago. 

   He strokes himself slowly at first, trying to mimic the movements of the trance- starting with your mouth. You are inexperienced and Astarion imagines teaching you how to suck him off- your wide, beautiful eyes looking up at him eagerly as he praises you for being such a good girl for him.  

  His breath hitches when he runs his thumb over the head and applying a bit of pressure over his slit, his hips bucking upward and his brain paints the beautiful picture of him thrusting into your mouth- guiding your movements by grasping your hair as gently as he possibly can as he gets closer and closer to his peak. 

  In this fantasy- you moan around his mouth and you are touching yourself while taking his whole length until he hits the back of your throat. You wear his shirt like you are now- nipples pert, your breasts swaying as he thrusts into you. Your eyes are lustful, hazy, and wanting.

  Astarion’s head goes back by instinct- a breathy moan escaping his mouth and he’s thinking about what it might be like to be inside you. What it would be like to finally connect with someone he adores intimately. 

  He imagines exploring every single inch of you- finding what makes you wet and wanting for him. Astarion will ruin you for any other lover- his tongue teasing your clit and lapping up your juices like a man dying of thirst. 

 Astarion wants- no, needs- you to be crying out his name and telling him how you will only ever be his like he will only ever be yours. 

(Smut ends)

  He reaches his peak much faster than he anticipated- the release feeling like heaven. Astarion pants as he stares up at the ceiling, entirely blissed out. 

 Now that was incredible. He can understand why people enjoy it from time to time.

 His mind continues to think of you and it gets caught on the words the elderly woman had said earlier today- about how you were lucky to have him and vice versa. Astarion let’s his brain indulge for a millisecond before locking the thought back into the “we aren’t going to talk about this right now, self!” box.

 Althaeastra “Birdie” Ancunín. She would want a nice, but simple ring- nothing gaudy, he pauses his thoughts, or maybe she needs one simple ring and one gaudy one. Especially with her ability to pick up music again. What if she has to dress especially nice for an occasion? The ring should at least be able to tell people all the way out in the courtyard that she is spoken for. 

  He pushes his guilty pleasure thoughts aside. You are his dearest and closest companion- he will not screw that up by making you feel like you have to be in a relationship with him or like you have to jump into something right away. You just started your life and why would Astarion be your top pick? He’s a disaster- with or without you. 

  Well, the bliss was wonderful while it lasted. Now he’s just sad.

  After cleaning up- Astarion finds himself leaning against the door frame, jealous of the warm rays of sun that get to kiss your face first thing this morning. You are still asleep and don’t stir when Astarion climbs back into bed behind you. 

  One day, he will tell you his feelings, but for now? Astarion is going to try to go back to sleep.

***********************************************************************

Author note: Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Please let me know if you would like to be on the tag list! I am using the Ghostwalk campaign for NPCs, locations, etc. It is a 3e Campaign and doesn’t mirror 5e Ghosts. I have tweaked some of the ghost powers and such for the sake of the story, but if you would like more information on Ghostwalk and the City of Manifest, there is a PDF online that is free to download :)

Tag List: @n3rdybirdee @fandomarchiveilyd @dajeong @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @bitchstarion @hereliesblackdragon @pebble-bb @preciouslittlebhaalbae @lavvyan @beepersteeper

[k1rishiki]

my cousin started bawling her eyes out today bc she received a turkey carving knife that was older than i am when she was expecting some nora fleming stuff

[sourbinnie]

☆ interrupted tenderness ☆

♡ genre ¿? ♡ -> fluff ♡ pair ¿? ♡ -> hyung line!skz x gn!reader ♡ plot ¿? ♡ -> a member walks in when you're having a moment, how do they react? ♡ warnings ¿? ♡ -> none ♡ request ¿? ♡ -> yes!

maknae line

chan ✉

it wasn't often that you two got caught up in your own little world. you were mostly busy with work and that prevented you sometimes from actually being intimate with him, not really in a sexual way but leaning towards romance. chan really was an incredible boyfriend and supporting him through his journey was one of the best experiences you've ever had the pleasure to be a part of. so when you were in his dressing room as he got ready for his concert, you couldn't help but sigh as you looked at him.

"what's up?" he asked as he got closer to you and grabbed your hands. the sweet gesture of feeling your fingers intertwined. you didn't really know what to say, you were just daydreaming at this point because who wouldn't with a boyfriend like that?

"i just can't help but love you so much." you said as you looked at him eye to eye. you could see the happiness in his smile and then it disappeared as he leaned in for a kiss. you leaned in as well as you closed the gap to meet him and took his lips in yours.

"hyung? are you- i'm sorry, never mind!" jisung said as he opened and closed the door in a second. but then he opened it again to yell. "it's like seeing your parents kiss, never do that again."

the whole time chan couldn't help but look down embarrassed, he couldn't believe his kids' behavior sometimes. he leaned on your shoulder as he hid himself and you couldn't help but laugh the entire time, not feeling any shame at all. your boyfriend might be a shy little embarrassed ball but you loved him just like that. 

minho ✉

now he didn't really give a single fuck. he would steal kisses from you in front of the whole world without a care in the world. but sometimes he wished you two would have more private moments where he could actually show you the affection he craved so much to get in return. so when he finally got to be alone in the dorms, he invited you over and you two were laying on the couch just enjoying each other's company. you worked just like that at times where no words were said but it felt better than anything.

"i missed you (y/n)." he said as he got closer to you and laid his head on your lap. you stopped looking at your phone, leaving it to the side to bury your hands on his hair as you messed it up. "if you were anyone else, i would kill you right now."

"luckily it's me!" you said with a little giggle as you moved your hands from his hair to his face. grabbing his cheeks on your hands as you squished them. 

"if i did that to hyung, he would slaughter me." seungmin said from the kitchen and he got a death glare from minho. he really thought that the dorms were empty yet here he had one of his members looking at you two just now.

"not a word from you." minho said and seungmin did a gesture like he sealed his lips shut. you couldn't help but laugh at the interaction as you went back to bothering your boyfriend in the nicest way possible, of course. it's not like he could stop you anyways.

changbin ✉

now he wasn't really someone who got embarrassed easily. well at least that's what he liked to think, that he was just shameless especially with you. of course there were certain limits to the things you did in public but he couldn't resist you from time to time and he liked to show you off. you were his precious significant other for a reason and he wouldn't change you for anything. as he tried to come up with lyrics for one of his tracks, you were sitting in his lap and laying your head on his shoulder.

"are you comfortable?" changbin asked and you nodded, you were about to fall asleep at any moment so how could you not be comfortable? still changbin worried. it's like he needed to know all the time how you felt and that was very sweet of him.

"binnie you know we need to go home soon." you said as you kissed his cheek and that made him smile. he still got shy when you showed affection but that made you fall for him a little bit more each time.

"hey bin, are you done with the track? oh! sorry (y/n), didn't see you there." chan said as he got closer and saw you sitting on his member's lap. "i'll just go and we'll talk about it tomorrow changbin."

chan took a few steps back and then left with a little smile on his face. changbin knew that smile, it was more than happiness, he was proud. he truly did find the partner he wanted for the rest of his life and his bandmates knew that, you were a part of the family now and there was no turning back. 

hyunjin ✉

he was a sucker for showing his affection and love towards you everywhere. most of the time though he resisted and fought himself to not do it because he was scared that you would get sick of it. obviously you didn't and every chance you got to get closer to him, you would. he would appreciate your little love gestures for him but the displays of love in public would be the ones he remembered the most. like right now, he held you as he hugged you from behind and you felt so safe in his arms.

"thank you for coming by today." he whispered in my ear as you were standing in the set of one of his music videos. you just smiled as you looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes and his words always made your heart melt.

"you don't have to thank me, i always love visiting you." you said as he leaned in for a kiss. you couldn't help but feel yourself lost in the moment as you two kissed, totally forgetting where you were standing.

"hyunjin, (y/n), the children are watching!" felix said as he covered seungmin's eyes with one hand and jeongin's eyes with the other. you couldn't help but break the kiss off as you laughed.

hyunjin was so embarrassed but he didn't care as he met you for another kiss, shameless in his actions. earning a gasp from almost everyone on set but not caring about the eyes that were watching. he loved you so much and he didn't want to be ashamed of showing it anymore. 

[lokis-army-77]

Premium Air

mondern!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 1.1k

It's a few days after April Foos, Eddie isn't expecting you to pull a koke but you have something up your sleve.

Warning: noting! unless you count cursing

Thank you to my beta readers @munson-blurbs and @lofaewrites

Masterlist

You loved seeing the harmless little pranks that people would play on their significant others on social media and with April first already behind you, you knew Eddie wouldn’t suspect a thing. 

It was a bright Wednesday afternoon, you were at Robin's for a much needed girls day when you decided to put your little prank into action. 

"Hey, Rob, you wanna watch as I give Eddie a mini heart attack?" You ask as you wiggle into a more comfortable position on her couch.

"Oh my god, yes!" She excitedly shuffles over to you, leaning her whole body over your right side. 

You're both a giggling mess when you send the first text message. 

Hey, so my tire pressure light just came on, do I need to go have it checked?

It takes a few minutes but he eventually responds.

Is it still driving alright? 

Bring it to the shop when you get home from Robs, I'll fill it up before I leave work.

Yeah, it's driving just fine. The screen says it's my front passenger side tire.

You'll be fine to drive back home, I'll fill it up then, baby.

You leave it be for around thirty minutes as you and Robin think of what you should say next.

So Robin said I should go get it checked out and we were worried I wouldn't be able to drive all the way to your shop so I came to the one by her house.

I didn't know air was so expensive 😫. 

It was no more than a second later that your phone started to ring in your hands. Eddie's contact photo lighting up the screen. You swiped it away and you could feel Robin beginning to silently laugh 

Sweetheart, answer the phone.

Another call that you decline.

What do you mean expensive? Answer your phone!!!

Don't worry, Eds, the guy gave me a good deal! I think it's bc he thought I was pretty.

What do you mean by a good deal? Sweetheart, how much did you pay?

You and Robin can hardly contain your laughter. Tears are running down your faces. 

"I feel so bad, but it's so funny!" You cry. 

Robin nods along, "Don't, it's totally hilarious." She wipes her tears away and points at your phone, "Don't acknowledge those questions yet, say something about how he didn't notice the pretty comment."

You get to typing, fingers gliding over the keyboard.

Wow, I would have thought you'd be upset at another man...

Baby ,that is the last thing I'm worried about. HOW. MUCH. DID. YOU. PAY.

Well he said it was like premium air so it was on the more expensive end but apparently it won't seep out as fast as regular air.

You can see the read receipt and the three little dots as he begins to type. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest as the typing stops and he calls you again only for you to ignore it once more. 

Robin is beside you, howling as she holds her stomach. "This is the best thing I have EVER witnessed in my life!"

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, ANSWER YOUR PHONE. HOW MUCH DID YOU SPEND? BECAUSE PREMIUM AIR ISN'T REAL

So the guy said it's usually 250 for all 4 but he said he'd give me a deal and give me all 4 for the price of 3... is that not how much it usually is?

You need to tell me what shop you're at. Are you still there? Put me on the phone with this fucking guy

Eddie, I'm not putting you on the phone with him.

Sweetheart, why in the world would you take your car to someone else??? I'm literally a mechanic. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN FREE!! 

Are you mad at me?

No, I'm not mad at you baby. I just need you to put me on the phone with the shop owner or someone, anyone. Air in all 4 tires is never gonna be over like 5 bucks...

I told you I'd take care of it, why didn't you just listen 

You almost double over, laughing harder than before. You could tell you were stressing him out, that he was trying to keep from freaking out. 

"Oh my god!" You cackle, "I think it's time to break it to him or else he might actually have a heart attack or maybe an aneurysm. 

Eddie calls you one last time and this time, you answer, sushing Robin as you press the speaker button. 

"Thank fuck, Sweetheart, put me on the phone with the asshole that scared you." His face was gruff, the growl of irritation bringing a shiver lust down your spine. 

"Eddie, baby, calm down." 

"I'll calm down when I get you your money back," he huffs. You can hear the sounds of his shop muffled through the speaker. 

You can't help the giggle that slips past your lips when you make eye contact with Robin. 

"This is not funny," he stresses. 

The giggles continue to bubble up, "I know I know, but I can't help it. I love you so much."

"I love you too, now please let me talk to the guy, I really don't wanna ask again." 

Robin takes your phone at that point, clearing her throat and proceeding to do her best impression of a blue collar man.

"Hey, this is Rodger, at you just got pranked garage, how can I help you?"

"Yeah, you can help me, I-" Eddie stops mid sentence. 

You've got your hand covering your mouth as you try, and fail, to cover your chortles.

"Wait a second... Robin?" All the building anger in his voice disappears as he slowly realizes what's happening.

Robin begins wheezing as you grab your phone back, "We got you!" You gleefully exclam into the phone.

"We got you good!" Robing teeters back on her legs, almost falling from the couch.

You can hear the shaky sigh of relief fron the receiver on the other end. "Thank God. Baby you had me going crazy over here. I was about to drive to every garage in town to find you."

"I'm so so so sorry, baby. I really am but we didn't do anything for April fools like we usually do and I just knew you wouldn't be expecting this."

Eddie lets out the longest sigh of relief you've ever heard. "Shit, sweetheart, I'm getting too old for these pranks."

"You're 35." You deadpan.

"And it's all down hill from here."

You can't see it but you know he has a shit eating grin on and you roll your eyes. "I'll make it up to you when I get home."

"You better."

[littlejuicebox]

The wish spell worked.

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader/Tav

Summary/Setting: 10 years post BG3. Follows my HC for spawn Astarion arc. See my other fics for more information, but otherwise the title speaks for itself. :)

Rating/Warnings: PG / allusions to sexual behaviors / fluff / in-game spoilers / lightest bit of angst if you squint but not really / this is self-indulgent af and idc / so sweet it will rot your teeth

Word Count: 2.2 K

A/N: HAPPY 400 FOLLOWERS POST! Thank you to everyone who likes my stories and provides encouragement. I love you all! I originally wanted to post this as a New Years Eve/Day special, but I couldn't get it quite right by then. After several reiterations, this is what we finally have! Hope it was worth the wait and multiple edits for you guys! :)

-----

If anyone had told Astarion Ancunin a decade ago that he would one day hold Gale Dekarios on a pedestal nearly as high as the one on which he held his darling Tav, the immortal elf might have actually died from laughter. The strange irony and wicked life lessons of fate were not lost on the retired rogue. Unbelievably and annoyingly, Astarion eventually found himself indebted to the wizard in a way he could never repay. 

The wish spell worked.

It had taken years for Gale to feel absolutely ready to cast the spell. Astarion waited — exasperated, impatient, and impetuous — for what felt like the longest ten years of his ageless lifetime to be given the gift of mortality. 

More than once, in the pale elf’s tearful fits of frustration, he accused the wizard of intentionally stringing him along or simply not having the skills to perform such a spell and not wanting to admit it. More than once, you had to calmly remind your husband of the great lengths Gale had gone to find information regarding the act and the even greater risk to both the vampire and the wizard if the spell was not cast perfectly and mindfully. 

It had been a long decade, waiting for that impossible possibility, but the wait had been more than worth it.

Just over ten years after you met that silver-haired rake on the beach, Astarion was miraculously returned to his living, breathing, heart beating, mortal elven form. Surprisingly, not much changed about his appearance. Most notably, his eyes turned a gold-flecked green, and his complexion took on a constant soft pink undertone, permanently tinged by the circulation of his own blood by his own heart. That beautiful undertone caused a delightful blush to creep across his cheeks and ears whenever you teased or aroused him, and you took an even more significant liking to both these behaviors, just to watch that gorgeous rosiness creep across his skin. 

And while you dearly loved that blush, your favorite part of the change had certainly been the steady beating of his heart. You would rest your head on your lover’s chest for hours to savor the sound if he let you, wrapped tightly in the new found warmth of his long limbs.

While you became obsessed with Astarion’s steadily thrumming heart, he’d become obsessed with his reflection. As soon as he’d been able to see himself, your husband had taken to having you sit on his lap while you primped and preened. He would stare into the looking glass with you for long lengths of time, his limbs coiled around your waist and chin often resting on your shoulder as he studied the mirror with a besotted, hazy smile on his face. 

After a few weeks of this, you finally asked your silver-haired husband why he seemed positively obsessed with this new behavior. Astarion’s response had floored you.

“Darling, in my over 200 years, I never imagined I would have a love of my own, nor did I ever imagine what we would look like together. I couldn’t have envisioned such a thing even if I thought it a possibility or wanted to. I simply couldn’t envision myself at all. But now seeing it? I want to commit everything to memory exactly as it is… because it’s the most precious vision in the world to me.”

And really how else could you respond to that apart from kissing your sappy, bleeding heart of a husband and allowing him to continue the practice?

Of course, the two of you behaving as innocent love birds hadn’t been the only thing Astarion wanted to see in the mirror. On more than one occasion, he’d easily charmed you into the throes of passion in perfect view of a reflective surface. Your husband’s darker, more carnal half had become obsessed with watching you two in the act and it certainly thrilled you to know he was trying to commit those sensual sights to memory. You were quite happy to oblige. 

As such, you’d soon found yourself carrying the byproduct of one of your many erotic couplings.

“That was a big one.” Astarion murmurs, and you see a smile creeping across the reflection of his face in the mirror as he glances down and runs his long fingers across the swell of your abdomen. His arms are looped around you as you sit front of the vanity mirror, placing the final touches on your appearance. 

You agree with a gentle hum, moving a hand to your pregnant belly and rubbing circles on the stretch of skin, hoping to calm the young life stirring within. You coo softly to the rolling babe as you finish your primping, “Surely you aren’t thinking about breaking out of there yet, my little love. You have a few more months to go.”

Astarion’s now-warm hands cover yours as the little one seems to do somersaults in response to your voice, causing you to wince slightly as they jolt against your ribs. He presses a tender kiss into your shoulder and chuckles, “This one is strong like their mother and impatient like their father… we may be in for a spot of trouble in a few years, my love.”

You laugh in response as you stand with a pitiable amount of effort and quite a bit of assistance from the supportive arm of your husband. “I believe you’re right… but surely we’ve taken on scarier and more difficult things than a stubborn babe.”

Astarion hums in agreement before pressing a kiss to your swollen stomach, which is hovering just in front of him now, “Surely, darling. Now let us all go say hi to Uncle and Auntie Ravengard. I’m positively famished.”

-----

You are almost out of breath as you walk the final steps toward the entry of the Duke’s home. Astarion had practically begged you to take the carriage all the way through Wyll’s estate, but you waved him off, adamant that a bit light exercise would be good for the baby. The walkway was fully paved, how hard could it be?

As it turned out, you’d severely overestimated your abilities. Though it was just under a quarter mile to the front doors of the manor when you’d decided to exit the carriage, you were no longer the young, lithe woman that traversed the wilds with a petulant vampire a decade ago. The weight of your belly slowed you down more than you would admit. Astarion implored you, more than once and with growing concern and exasperation, to return to carriage. You refused each time, forcing the driver to follow behind at a snail’s pace.

“Gods, I hope this child does not take on your stubborn streak. I will be constantly overrun in my own home.” Astarion huffs, dabbing at the few beads of sweat on your brow with a silken handkerchief as he helps you climb the small flight of stairs at the entryway of Wyll’s home. He rolls his eyes as you laugh, breathlessly, and lean into him for support as he presses a kiss at the meeting point between your cheek and ear. “But, my sweet, as much as I would have preferred we stayed in the coach, you know I adore the way you look with your cheeks all flushed after a bit of… exertion.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes at your husband as he traces his hand over your flushed cheek, his expression practically brimming with desire. The flush on the tips of his ears is a telltale sign of his salacious thoughts. If he had it his way, he’d be dragging you into the carriage right there for a quickie. But, he knew you two were nearly running late for dinner with the Duke and forced himself to push all desires aside. For now.

Wyll and his beautiful wife, Euphemia, greet you with a flurry of excitement and hugs. Their two twin toddlers run around in the entryway, a nursemaid trailing behind them.

Wyll wears a kind, soft smile as he addresses the both of you, “Dinner should be just about ready… shall we make our way there? I hope you two don’t mind. We are having work done in the dining room — my beautiful flower insisted upon remodeling — so dinner will have to be served in the Great Hall.”

As the four of you head towards the larger of the two dining areas in the Duke’s estate, Astarion wraps his arm around your waist and runs his hand along the side of your nearly bursting belly once again. There is a subtle pause at the doors of the Great Hall, and your husband’s eyebrows crinkle in a silent question before you gently press a kiss into his cheek and whisper, “Happy Rebirth Day, my love.”

Today marked one year since Gale successfully cast the Wish Spell. 

The oak doors burst open to reveal the faces of everyone you hold dear, all of them shouting, “Surprise!” in unison. Wyll and Euphemia are laughing with delight as the four of you enter the room. Astarion is obviously shocked and overwhelmed as he takes the scene in, but a toothy smile is plastered across his face nonetheless. The elf could not believe that the significance of the date had slipped his mind, nor could he believe that you all went through such great lengths to plan a spectacle on his behalf. 

Everyone showered your husband with a plethora of well-wishes and congratulations. The food was heavenly, and the silver-haired elf dined to his heart’s content. Just as Astarion loved to watch you both in the mirror, you adored seeing him eat and savor real food. You’d pursued cooking as a new hobby in the past few months, just to watch the delight on his face as he tasted any number of delectable things you placed in front of him.

“Have you thought of any names for the baby?” Karlach asks through a mouthful of food as she continues to tear into the lamb shank in front of her.

You smile knowingly. This topic has piqued everyone’s interest and they all turn their gazes in your direction, “Yes, actually… Astarion picked it out. It works well for a boy or a girl, and I think it’s an excellent choice.”

The elf smiles shyly, that subtle flush of his cheeks and ears crawling across his face as you turn your gaze to him and urge him on, “Go on, my love, and tell them the gorgeous name you picked.”

“I… I decided we should name the baby Gale.” Astarion reveals, his hand immediately moving to graze against your swollen stomach as he meets the flabbergasted expression of the wizard sitting across the table with a round-eyed, nervous gaze, “If… that’s okay by you.”

Gale coughs in surprise, nearly choking on the wine he’d just sipped from a goblet. For a moment, you watch as he blinks away tears. You are beginning to truly believe he might leap across the table and tackle your husband in a hug when he rapidly nods instead.

The wizard’s voice cracks with emotion as he speaks, “Y-yes. Thank you, Astarion. That is such an honor.”

Ten years of friendship between two men that once seemed entirely at odds with one another, honored by a namesake given to a precious babe. Fate was a truly remarkable thing.

“It’s an honor you are quite deserving of, Gale.” You respond, reaching your hand across the table to give the wizard’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “May our child have just as much heart, wit, and skill as their namesake. We will be truly blessed.”

A cake with candles is brought about at the end of the meal and placed in front of Astarion as everyone sings an off-key birthday tune. While your husband always seemed to thrive on being held at the center of attention, you noticed with a bit of amusement that his ears and cheeks were flushed pink as everyone focused their eyes upon him. 

While the others continue to sing, you lean closer to your husband and whisper, “I know we will never surpass the wish you made last time, my Star. But go on and make one anyway.”

Astarion’s gaze roams around the room, taking in all the friends he collected this past decade. Then he turns to you and grins, pausing to etch every bit of this moment into his memory before closing his eyes and blowing the candles out to a cacophony of inebriated cheers and whoops.

The elf wished for the only thing he could: a healthy child and a long life with his little love. Fate had already gifted him with more than he could have imagined for himself back in those dark, dank dungeons he once called home. Astarion found himself in want of nothing but the health and happiness of the woman beside him and the safety of their offspring. 

Though he knew it was another selfish ask, and he’d been blessed far more than he had ever expected, Astarion prayed to the gods that he once never thought would answer to grant him this last wish. And just in case they did not hear him the first time, he would be sure to make the same wish every year, until his very last. 

[rallentando1011]

certain ineffable things

(rise Donnie x touch starved gn reader - little bit of angst, mostly fluff) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lazy circles drawn on hips.

Tender pats on the shoulder or head, conveying much more than mere words.

Nudges of encouragement or of endearment or at least conveying that someone else was there.

Various affectionate displays - all luxuries experienced in the most painfully infrequent intervals.

 At least, they were to you.

Home definitely wasn’t the place to be seeking out stuff like that - your upbringing had all but made certain of that - nor was anywhere with your colleagues or friends. Any time anyone so much as got near, your skin seemed to crawl and spine shivered and-

In short, it seemed an endeavor destined to fail.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t like it. The physical contact part, that was; the yearning and all that was inarguably awful.

But the occasional touch or elbow rub or hug just absolutely made you melt. Only when you felt like it though. And normally only when you initiated it. And typically only with a certain purple clad significant other-

A hand grasped onto yours.

You snapped back to the present, sitting in Donnie’s lab where you’d been idly passing him tools and utensils as needed and he’d been discarding them back into your palm, and where a misunderstanding where each of you thought the other to be passing them something and extended two empty hands made quite the startling connection of the two.

“Sorry!” Your hand retracted as if repulsed by his. “Sorry.”

He jolted on his own accord before looking over at you. “You alright?”

“Are you?”

Donnie blinked. “You shuddered as if I transferred a few thousand volts which, considering my current field of experimentation, is feasible. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all.” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. What a way to get dragged out of a soliloquy. “It just, uh, caught me off guard is all. What about you? You just about leapt out of your seat.”

“All’s good on my end.”

“Yep. Same here.”

“Alright then.”

A terse moment passed. Despite how fervently you hoped he’d turn back to his work 

and drop the upsettingly awkward conversation, Donnie’s softly confused gaze stayed fixed on you. 

It made your stomach churn in a manner halfway between flustered and unbearable - that was to say, leaving sounded like a viable option.

“You know what? I might go get a snack or something; it’s been a minute since I had anything so...”

“Right. Want me to have S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. fetch you something?”

“No!” You took a deep breath upon realizing you were near shouting. “No, that’s quite alright. I don’t mind moving around a little bit.”

“Oh. Okay.” Donnie remained wide-eyed and immobile, tracking you curiously even as you moved for the door. He probably kept that up as long as he could, as long as you were in his sight before going back to work, not that you knew for certain, of course. You had squared your shoulders and rushed out as swiftly as possible, only easing up when you reached the kitchen.

You set straight to work on that snack and a warm drink to help you recuperate.

With a sigh, you prepped a kettle on the stove, leaving it to boil as you ventured mindlessly to the pantry.

After retrieving something to munch on, something easily poppable, you returned to an eagerly whistling kettle, the contents of which you quickly emptied into an eagerly awaiting mug. You plucked a tea bag from the cabinet adjacent to the stove and dunked it in, setting a timer.

As the tea steeped, you tried not to do so in your thoughts. Swimming and swarming uncomfortably through your brain with unpleasant reminders of how unfairly you’d behaved earlier, how unfair the circumstances around how averse you felt toward simple contact were-

No, not going there right now. You busied yourself with snagging pieces of your snack, losing your thoughts under the fervent sound of crunching and grinding and-

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Right. The tea.

Steeping over and tea bag tossed, you gathered your bearings and paused in the doorway. On one hand, you could go back to the lab and talk things out like a sensible person. On the other hand, cowering away in Donnie’s room was also there.

“Psh.” You shook your head lightly at yourself and trudged your way to his room, ever the craven.

You sipped at your earl grey contentedly, navigating around stacks of thick books and planters filled with rich soil and plum-colored tradescantia. Donnie, ever the botanist at heart.

Following the oh-so-perilous journey across his purple-fluorescently lit room, you settled on his mattress. Something struck you as funny in a deprecating sort of way when you sat - going into his room uninvited and making yourself at home on his bed seemed less intimate than simply coming into contact with him. Maybe you were just desensitized to eradicating his personal space but still quite opposed to doing the same with his personal bubble.

Yes, it was funny. Pathetic, too, but ironically funny nonetheless.

You couldn’t remember the last time you purposefully came into contact with someone and liked it. Like, genuinely, when was the last time you were touched?

Yes, sometimes it happened out of necessity - someone helping fasten on a bracelet’s clasp or zip up an outfit or something of the sort - other times it happened by accident - like earlier - but other than that, you hadn’t the foggiest idea of when you’d last sought intentional contact with anyone. All you knew was that it had been a painfully long time which made it a painfully sore subject.

The quiet shuffle of steps made a sudden appearance, ones you could recognize as Donnie’s without even looking up. So you didn’t.

A weight settled a considerable distance away from you on the bed, the sounds of the anxious pops of phalanges and the wringing of wrists making it even more apparent it was him.

You took a long, slow sip of your tea, savoring the last bit of warmth cascading down your throat before deftly discarding the empty mug on his busied nightstand.

You shuffled.

Talking, right? That was what was supposed to, what needed to come next, right?

Hashing it out verbally, coming to a resolution, going back to sitting in the lab with hardly a word exchanged and certainly no skin brushing by skin.

How do you ask someone why they scarcely touch you without sounding inappropriate or impotent? Not exactly a normal thing to ask. Or feel.

And how do you describe the niche feeling of wanting to feel any kind of contact but only under the most specific of circumstances?

Daunting, it was. All of it.

“Do you want to talk about earlier?” Donnie broke the silence.

The shake of your head was nigh indiscernible, but he perceived it nonetheless.

He twiddled his thumbs.

You cleared your throat.

He looked up from his lap.

You cautiously extended your arms out. An invitation to skip the words and go straight to the resolution.

Hesitantly, his hand met yours, the feeling electric, burning as his digits slid across yours to take gentle hold of you.

The two of you met eyes and, upon seeing no disapproval, continued with the utmost care.

You couldn’t recall which one of you moved to lay down first, but the other quickly reciprocated the shift, both of you ending up facing each other on silken violet sheets.

Legs tangled lightly for the purpose of pulling each other closer.

Tridactyl hands lightly glided to your sides, as if handling something delicate.

Yours made their way up, joining together behind his neck.

“I’m being so honest right now: if you want to stop, we’re stopping,” you voiced quietly yet surely.

Lazy circles on your hips drawn by his thumbs drew you in, drawn by thumbs that had increasingly more bravado by the second.

“Seriously, any moment you’re done, we’re done.”

A low hum sounded his amusement.

“Not as in done done, like done with this specific-“

“Respectfully,” Donnie interjected lightheartedly, “shut up. I’m good if you’re good.”

“…”

The silence this time once again carried an awkward air, but it was decidedly less insufferable.

Another second was spent before he cleared his throat, not wanting to misinterpret your silence. “You’re good?”

“Mmhm.”

“Then it’s good.”

With that, you decided his advice to shut up was the best idea you’d heard all day and did so, nuzzling your face into his neck sleepily. The reverberating churr and tighter hold you received in return were exquisite.

Oftentimes words proved to be the best and most concise way to convey a message; however, sometimes actions took that distinction, able to show as opposed to tell certain ineffable things.

[loveundrwrld]

rich yandere x con artist/scammer reader (gender neutral)

cw: blackmailing, unhealthy relationship (on both sides, lol), implied stalking, etc.

you, a young, attractive person struggling with finances, have a clever way of getting by. 

it was simple- you flirt and attract rich, lonely people. the dumber the better.

once you get your hooks into them, you move into their place as their significant other (letting you live in luxury apartments and mansions rent-free.) you ask for expensive gifts. you “borrow” small items from his house that you can sell, like watches or rings.

and, if they have not caught on to you at that point- you do your final trick- you cry and say you desperately need a lot of money, for one reason or the other. you say you need it for college tuition, or you say that your mother desperately needs surgery. 

and then, once you get the money you’re looking for- you find one way or another to disappear from their life. make them think that you run off with someone else so they won’t want you back. you use a new fake name, each time- so they wouldn’t even know where to look for you even if they did.

you set your eyes on a new target and you initially think that he’ll be an easy con. even more so than usual. you set your sights on rich yandere, a nepo baby heir to the fortune of a successful company.

he’s very sheltered, very inexperienced. it seems that he’s never dated anyone before you. it's no surprise, then, that he falls for each of your lies so easily without any questions.

all that you have to do in return is kiss him, tell him you love him, and let him hold you. very simple for someone who’s used to that sort of thing and more with people you barely know.

he moves in with you very quickly- letting you live with him in a big, beautiful mansion far faster than even you expected.

when you try tell him your planned out sob story, he just shushes you, kisses you sweetly, and gives you whatever you want when you ask. there’s no need to stress, baby, he’s there for you.

after a while you start getting cocky, forgetting to apply your typical level of caution. you ask for far more money than usual with your scheme. and far more often.

surprisingly, rich yandere never seems to care at all. and never seems to notice when your stories don’t add up together. 

actually, now that you think about it, he never even asked how you were doing in college even after he gave you all that money for “tuition” . . . 

after a while, you start to think . . . it’s only a matter of time before he catches on, right? and then, you start to subtly drop hints, to make your ‘mysterious’ disappearance in his life make sense. you start to mention a man you know and seeming just a little too interested in him.

you quickly see a new side to him. he stops you in your tracks one day and grabs you by the shoulders using your real name. “does he treat you as well as i do (reader)?” he asks. “remember how much money i gave you? he could never do that for you.”

frightened at being caught in your lies, you calm him down in the meanwhile and plan to escape the house at night to make your disappearance.

to your surprise, however, you notice that he's installed new security cameras right outside your shared room some time ago . . . almost like he was expecting this exact turn of events.

and if you try to escape again, well . . . he's quick to remind you. "no one else would like it if they heard what you did to me. if i tell them what you did, things could be very bad for you, baby, considering how much money you took . . .”

but, of course . . . if you don't leave him, nobody else has to know. so you won't leave him, right?

[kairiscorner]

question of the day: who would fall the hardest if they ever fell in love?

well... i've got 4 candidates in mind, and i think... (1/4)

miles g. morales — guilty of falling hard for you.

summary: miles morales always struck you as an apathetic guy, one who wouldn't particularly take relationships too seriously; until you both fell for each other, you realized... he did indeed fall for you, but he fell hard, way, way too hard for you. pairing: miles 42 x gn!reader genre: fluff !!

miles g. morales was, to you, such a cold, apathetic guy who always looked calm and composed in everything he did. he seemed like a guy that, you believed, wouldn't care too much if he was in a relationship–that he would put himself before his significant other; though you didn't have any evidence to back it up, save for how distant he seemed to you at first. but oh, were you wrong.

miles g. morales wasn't really all that insensitive as you thought when you got to know him, in fact–he was more sensitive to your thoughts, needs, and wants more than any other boy had ever been for you. it took a while, but the longer you spent around him, the more obvious was the fact that he truly, truly cared about you, from the bottom of his heart.

miles g. morales was the boy who'd stay after class, waiting for your class to finish so he could meet up with you and just be around you. ask him to explain why he's always risking his ass getting scolded for loitering outside your classroom, he can't give you one straight answer. "we had free time", "i had no where else to go", "i... left a pencil in that classroom. yeah."

miles g. morales would never admit to your face that he does indeed stare at you sometimes when you're not looking. whenever he sits close to you in class, be it behind, next to, or diagonally across to you–he always finds every angle of you to be a perfect angle to stare at and admire. don't be mad that he's looking, though, he can't help himself; you're way too mesmerizing for him to handle.

miles g. morales whose sketchpad gradually became a book full of... you in it. it started off as simple, small doodles of you; little cartoony you's that he found adorable and kept drawing when he wasn't focusing on anything else. but as time went by, he found himself focusing on you and your features more and more, almost as if he couldn't rip his gaze away from you.

miles g. morales had also noticed that whenever you speak, he hangs on to every word you say. he thought it would've creeped you out at first, how he can remember all the little details you'd tell him when you're telling him about something that happened in your day or how he remembers all the names of your pets, friends, favorite restaurants, favorite bands and artists–he hangs on to every word you utter, and he can't help it; your voice is just too tantalizingly sweet and attractive that he can't not listen to every word you speak.

miles g. morales was the boy who would use his intimidating appearance to his advantage and defend you against assholes who wouldn't take 'no' from you for an answer. he'd stare them down and glare at them, remind them for you that you said 'no', and if they didn't get the message the first time... they'll have to get through him to get to you. "i'm not gonna back down just because they're bigger than me, because i don't fear them. i don't fear them because, for all their brawn, they sure don't have any brains. and whatever happens after, i'll make sure you don't get in trouble; i'll shoulder the fault. i'd do this for you, every time."

miles g. morales would never wish to get in trouble or have beef with anyone else, but if it was you that others were bothering, then he'd willingly do everything he can to keep you safe and unbothered. he doesn't care what happens to him, so long as you stay safe, so long as it isn't your face being beaten in. you insist he shouldn't do these things for you, but... he can't help it. to picture you in danger makes his heart feel heavy; to get rid of that heaviness, he does these things for you, because he... he loves you.

miles g. morales doesn't dream at night, or at least didn't dream for a long while–or maybe he did and just forgets what he dreamt of the previous night–but when you two became much closer friends, he began to see glimpses and images of you in his dreams. in his wildest dreams, he was able to tell you in all kinds of scenarios that he felt weird around you–a good kind of weird. he'd feel a kind of warmth in his chest, accompanied by the pitter-pattering of his heart when your eyes lock with his, and he feels this urge in the corners of his lips to smile widely when you smile up at him. and, he'd never tell you this, but... in those dreams, he'd tell you how he really feels, and you'd teach him how to handle those feelings by placing your hands on either sides of his cheeks and pulling him close to your face–your nose feeling so soft against his own when your noses brush together–and with the feeling of your hot breath against his own lips... he wakes up.

miles g. morales wakes up to the reality that you probably only see him as a very good friend, a friend you used to think wouldn't care about those who love him but was proven very, very wrong. the friendship bracelet you made for him sits there by his nightstand, next to a cutely frame photo of the two of you at your birthday party. you designed that photo frame for him, and despite how a guy like him probably wouldn't care for cute things... he finds comfort and solace in a bit of cuteness in his life; he just wishes he could express that to you, you, who is cuteness personified. he wears that friendship bracelet every day–and wears it proudly. he doesn't hide it under his sleeve nor tuck it away when you're not looking; he's always got it on and shows it off by just having it on him. he loves having mementos of you on him, it gives him a feeling he hasn't had in a long time... and he hopes that, by some miracle, you'd feel that feeling for him, too.

tags !! @ii01vq @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @solecitoszn @toneystank-3000 @popeheywardssecretgf @lovefrominaya @onginlove @meowmoraless @euphovlq @anikaluv @conitagray @q2ie @zalayni

[rayroseu]

Now that I think about it, maybe the reason why Malleus' Magic is so powerful, because before he was born he was copiously sustained with powerful magicians like Meleanor, Maleficia, and Lilia.

The egg is born through love but only through magic can that egg finally hatch (that's where Lilia exhausted his magic). Maybe a fae's power is determined to how much magic can their parents "exhaust" in making them born(?).

So, essentially, His magic consists of the magic of powerful mages.

1) Meleanor (as his biological mother),

2) Maleficia (her magic was life support while he was incubated),

and 3) Lilia (who hatched him).

So when we fight Malleus, we are not just simply fighting "Malleus" himself, but rather a lethal culmination of Meleanor, Maleficia, and Lilia's raw power.

That's why it feels so impossible to defeat him because we're essentially fighting three powerful magicians at once, it's just in the form of "Malleus Draconia."

All these magicians have high-profile powerful magic, and all of them are faes too. I often assumed that Malleus was rich in magic because he's a Draconia but no, Meleanor used her full magical strength as well but the story didn't showcase her casting some world altering magic like stopping time and encasing human souls inside a magical barrier— Only Malleus did...

Maybe there's really no person who can defeat him as STYX theorizes... Not even Maleficia. While its true she's powerful, but based on this interpretation, she can fight Malleus, but fighting Malleus is also the same as fighting her magic, mixed with Meleanor's and Lilia's (and Levan's even though we don't know how powerful he is).

Levan is Malleus' father but so far the story doesn't imply nor mention any significant magical contribution he did to Malleus. The only thing mentioned in the story about Levan's influence was that Malleus is a kind/gentle person because of him.

I like to interpret he's powerful too! So maybe, its not just Meleanor, Maleficia, Lilia, but also Levan.... if he got the chance to bless Eggmalleus some magic before he lost. So its actually FIVE HIGH CLASS MAGICIANS were fighting against if we fight Malleus ☠️☠️ That's why he's truly "god-like".

I really like the fact that Malleus is undefeatable even by raw power or raw cleverness (like using technology). I know that's still going to be a big part, but its more intriguing for me to how TWST will handle stopping Malleus without obvious offense.

They'll only need to rely on one thing that humans are really great of practicing (more than faes): communication. Maybe the solution may be as simple as talking to Malleus that he needs to stop lol Because really, at this point, thats the most staple choice we have, anything else takes too much time💔😔

Not in the accusing way, but in a kind and understanding way. But, I know that's unlikely to happen knowing how "cringed" NRC is towards displaying kindness (which is often their downfall lol). But remember, the resolution at the fairy gala event? Where everyone was antagonizing the Diurnal Fairies, assuming they'll be stubborn and that they're thieves so they should take the stone without asking them, but then it turns out once they got caught and Silver talked with them apologetically and with understandingly, the Queen understood it and let the stone go...

Maybe Malleus would act like that Queen too?? After all, no one still talks with him about how "indeed, it is painful to suffer and lost, but there's merit in their existence, so we don't need to cut them out of our lives, because even those painful experiences helps us achieve our true dreams." or just a simple "You won't be alone even if Lilia passes away. I'm sure Lilia will be more happy to live his life and live it longer because he'll be remembered by Malleus even if he's just a memory now." or maybe a blunt "The world doesn't revolve around anyone, so Malleus has no rights to dictate how we should live our lives" lol

I feel like Malleus is just a person who never really thinks about other interpretations unless its been said to him... That's why I'm wishing that Book 7 resolves his overblot by not fully painting him as a "catastrophic dark fae" (like what the humans viewed Meleanor), like there'll be a balance between depicting him as a villain but also as a flawed person.

But yes I do agree that the biggest hurdle in defeating Malleus, may not just be his overpowered magic, but also his defiance in believing that he can understand humanity and humanity will understand him 😭😭

[drizztdohurtin]

BG3 Tiefling Purring Headcanons

okay guys i'm so fucking serious right now I was working on my general tiefling headcanons post and I got to the purring part and I was like.... I literally have to make this its own post because I have SO MUCH to say

if anyone gets particularly inspired by any of my headcanons and decides to write something involving it, PLEASE send it to me so I can read it, or tag me in the comments or something <333333

NSFW under the cut -- MDNI

SFW

purring is a reflection of emotions the majority of the time, but it can be done both voluntarily and involuntarily

i think of it like a deep rumbling at the bottom of the throat where you feel your two collarbone bumps, and you can physically feel the rumbling if you were to put a hand on their chest or neck

some have louder 'default' purrs than others, but if they focus on it then they can manipulate the volume

my overarching concept for their purring has to do with the idea that it's mainly used for comfort

my absolute favorite purring hc that I've thought of is that it's used to soothe their babies!

if a parent tiefling is holding their distressed, crying baby, they will automatically purr to comfort them

I also think that they will use it to comfort other people that they're very close to when they're really upset

going back to the baby thing, I believe this kind of purr will almost always be an instinct...

okay bear with me for a second.... you know how people who breastfeed (STAY WITH ME) their bodies automatically know what nutrients to put more or less of in the milk based on their baby's needs? it's like that.

no matter the sex of the parent, their body automatically knows how it should purr to best comfort their baby (think of pitch, volume, and the resonance of the vibrations)

but I think this instinct goes away after their child is around the age of 7 or 8 -- and it doesn't apply to what I said earlier about purring to comfort people they're close to

NEXT: they purr to comfort themselves <3333

It sorta depends on the person, some might be quicker to do it than others, doing it even when they're just mildly upset, and others only doing it in the most extreme circumstances

NEXT ☝ obviously it's also a sign of extreme comfort or contentment <33333

I love a good fluff moment, thinking about one of our beloved tiefling NPCs cuddled up with their significant other and they're just so deep in their happy place that they start to purr

generally, I think of the concept of purring to be an emotionally intimate thing - so it's not to be done for just anyone

they use it for their babies, their loved ones, and anyone else that's very close to them,

it'd be rare to do it for just anyone, even if they're a friend... they'd have to be a very, very close friend

because of this, each type of purr will sound different in some way

Alright, let's take this party down below

NSFW

speaking of being extremely contented, they might purr in bed heh

because purring is an intimate thing, purring in sexually intimate situations would only happen in established relationships

they also might purr when they're trying to initiate sex, but this would be accompanied by feeling up their partner/giving them suggestive kisses or bites on their neck, or something similar

this "suggestive purr" would be light and hushed, hard to pick up on by anyone outside of a radius of 2-3 feet, as it's meant only for their partner to hear/feel

☝ take a minute to imagine your tiefling lover walking up to you and giving you a kiss, feeling the lightest flutter of a purr from their chest as they press a few gentle kisses to your temple, cheek, and jaw, then giving you bedroom eyes... maybe nuzzling their nose against yours or against your neck........ good god.

now, purrs of pleasure during the act having a much wider range of pitch and intensity

I offer you a brief description of a blurb that I often see in my head before falling asleep: Rolan going down on reader/tav, instinctively purring because he loves doing it so much (fear not, I will definitely talk more about this in my rolan nsfw headcanons &lt;333)

the general takeaway is that when they feel great pleasure (physically, mentally, and/or emotionally) you might earn a purr from them

the caveat to that, though, is that they would only be able to do it when they're not exerting a lot of energy, as it would be hard to purr and breathe heavily at the same time - their body would prioritize breathing

because of that, I really only see this happening if they are having slower sex, maybe something very intimate, or just lazy? like early morning sex or sleepy sex

really just anything slow, including giving and receiving head <33

That's all I have to say for now but I hope you enjoyed this because ☝ I certainly did

Masterlist here

[baeshijima]

— it's the small things with you that matter most

just some day-to-day snippets depicting how it's like to be in a relationship with alhaitham.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 4.4k wc, fluff, (attempts at) humour, slight crack, established relationship, idiots in love

A/N : HAPPY BDAY BELOVED HAITHAM !! smitten clingy sappy menace haitham is my lifeline huhu 〒▽〒 (this is also just me once again advocating cute/energetic readers with haitham TヘT)

(can be read as a standalone or viewed as the post-happenings of [how to woo the acting grand sage 101] ^^)

Navigating through a relationship with Alhaitham isn't as hard as one might think.

The transition from friends-who-pined-for-years to lovers was a lot easier than you’d like to admit. While there were some significant changes to adjust to (read: Alhaitham's sudden surge in displays of affection), your dynamic pretty much remained the same.

And while you've had your fair share of ups and downs, most of your more serious fights happened before you got together. Considering how long you both have known one another, it wouldn't be an understatement to say you know the other like the back of your hand — understanding minuscule hints and mannerisms anyone else wouldn't notice — and so, most disputes are settled before they can even surface.

Most of your fights wouldn’t drag on for long as you're both pretty open to discussing the root cause and where you both were in the wrong. That and the fact it's hard to be apart from each other under bad terms, as you've come to realise after the particularly bad argument you had two months ago (Kaveh demanded you both stay at your house so that he didn’t have to witness your intensified displays of affection after reconciling).

More often than not, your subject of disagreements are petty, typically resulting in revoked privileges of affection from the victim. That usually results in both sides being depraved and cranky (well, more so than usual in Alhaitham’s case) until the revoked privilege is, uh, unrevoked,

Well, it’s a good thing you both rarely argue!

--

“How could you?!” you cry out, lower lip tugged between your teeth, fists clenched and body trembling. The air between you comes to a standstill, your ears ringing from the built up pressure. “I trusted you!”

Alhaitham merely chuckles, cold and unforgiving. “That was your own mistake.”

Your eyes widen when he raises his hand, breath hitching at his enclosed fist. “Wait... No, don't—!”

And then he deals the final blow, destroying the last card remaining in your deck and effectively winning the match with a smug grin tugging his lips at your misery.

A heart-wrenching scream tore from your throat soon after.

“ARGHGHR—!”

“Well,” Tighnari sighed sympathetically from over your shoulder while Kaveh pats your back at your complete and utter defeat, “I guess that means it's Cyno and Alhaitham in the final round.”

“I won't lose,” is all Cyno says as he nods in your direction.

You nod back, empty and positively dead inside. “Go for it, Cyno.”

“Hey,” Alhaitham cuts in, turning to you with a deadpan. “Shouldn't you be cheering me on? You know, your lover?”

You don't face him. Instead, you cross your arms and scoff before turning your head to the side. "Hmph! As far as I'm aware, you're a traitor; not my lover."

“Wait, [Name]—”

In the end, Cyno did in fact win tonight's game night.

(As a result of this utter betrayal, you refused to indulge Alhaitham in any affection for the rest of the week.

It's Monday.)

On a surface level, most would think you're the clingy one in this relationship. They're not particularly quiet about their fascination, and it's not like you actively try to hide your affection for the absolute love of your life. In fact, sometimes when you hear those whispers and murmurs you often find yourself looping an arm around his own, crashing into him for a hug, or placing a chaste kiss against his cheek.

(It's pretty fun seeing their embarrassed reactions and awkward coughs.)

But, in actuality, the clingy one in this relationship isn't you; it's Alhaitham. Your friends — Kaveh especially — can attest to this.

Take now, for example.

“Mmh,” you groan, vision bleary as a drowsy haze weighs down on your limbs. It’s warm — invitingly so — and the temptation to drift back into deep slumber seizes the corners of your consciousness. Despite the comforting lull on the cusp of coaxing you back into sleep, the heavy arms wrapped around your midsection reminds you of your original predicament. “Haitham please. I have to—”

“No.”

“But I really should be going—”

“No.”

You sigh at his insistence. When you try to remove yourself from his arms he tightens his hold, the sheets rustling at the abrupt movement. And so you try again, only to find yourself rolled over onto your back with him hovering over you on his forearms in an effort to hold you in place. 

Warmth radiates from his torso to yours, the previous invitation to sleep more rearing its head once again. Unlike the frown lines and pout settling on his features, the drowsy droop of his eyes fighting to stay open has your heart weak and thumping wildly. You quickly avert your eyes from his earnest ones in hopes of protecting your resolve.

“I can’t stay in for too long,” you mutter, gently patting his back in hopes of appeasing your lover. It doesn’t work in your favour, however, as it only seems to spur him on and bury his face into the crook of your neck. As a result, you sense your already-waning resolve crumble at his shows of affection.

“Are you saying you don’t want to stay in bed with me and have a lazy day?”

“You know that’s the farthest thing from the truth.”

“Then stay,” he grumbles into your neck, bitter and half-asleep.

In all honesty, that offer is extremely tempting. If it weren’t for the fact you took a sick leave just the other day, you wouldn’t think twice about staying in bed where it’s all warm and cosy; not to mention it’s where your Alhaitham currently lies, trying to persuade you with his top-notch linguistic skills.

Unfortunately, the world is a cruel, unfair, unjust and dark place.

“If I was off like a certain someone,” you make sure to stress, and his fingers twitch slightly against your skin, “then I would. Unfortunately, I'm not.”

“Then just take a sick leave,” Alhaitham instantly counters. He nuzzles his nose into your skin, and a light shiver trails down your spine when he begins to litter warm kisses down the column of your throat. “I'll be all alone if you leave, you know.”

You blink once, twice, yet tufts of grey and teal remain in your sights. “...Are you guilt-tripping me into staying in bed?”

“I'm merely stating the obvious.”

Yeah. You’re not cut out for a life filled with mental battles.

“You...” A defeated huff escapes you at his matter-of-fact retort, and you could have sworn the floppy strand atop his head perked up at your surrender. “Alright. You win. Happy now?”

“Very much so,” he agrees with a smile into your skin. You spend whoever knows how long like this — lying flat on your back, running your fingers through his hair and gently massaging his scalp while Alhaitham holds you under his physique, subjecting you to his morning affections and early sun-kissed confessions.

Eventually he stops, only to roll over, prop himself up on his elbow and gaze down at you. Such tender eyes would be inconceivable to anyone who’s ever so much as spoken to Alhaitham, but knowing you’re the only one to be a victim of such expressions just makes it all the more flustering.

“What is it?” you whisper. Reaching out, you gently brush away loose strands of grey hair obscuring his eyes and tuck the longer ones behind his bare ear. His hand reaches up to grab hold of yours before bringing it down to press lingering kisses against each of your fingertips.

“Nothing,” he says in response, but a soft, sleep-induced smile tugs the corners of his lips, “just admiring you.”

“…Are you trying to make me fall in love with you again?”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe…”

He chuckles at your response before pulling you into his chest, arms and legs intertwined as he presses a long kiss atop the crown of your head, imprinting unspoken affirmations containing his everlasting love for you.

“Good.”

(“Y’know, back when I could only wonder what it would be like to date you, I always thought I would be the clingy one. Sometimes, reality really is more surprising than fantasy.”

“Are you saying I’m clingy?”

“Well,” you look down at your waist encircled by Alhaitham’s arms before locking eyes with him again. “Just a little?”)

“Ugh, it’s so cold...”

“I feel fine though.”

“Yeah, well, this isn't about you, okay? Y'know, some people aren't immune to the cold like yo— mfhm.”

“Stop talking,” he says as he fixes his scarf that's now wrapped around the lower half of your face and neck. Upon ensuring there's no gaps exposing you to the cold air, he begins his nagging, “What did I say about dressing warm? I told you you would complain about the weather but no, you said you would be fine. You even said your coat was thick enough to drown out the chill and so you only brought that. Where did that get you? Cold.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” your whine is muffled slightly through his scarf, but you've heard enough of his reprimands to last you another lifetime. “You're right, I'm wrong. Like most times.”

He breathes a sigh, eyes softening at your half-covered features, “I'm only like this because I care for you.”

“I know. Still doesn’t make it any less annoying.”

“That’s—”

Whatever Alhaitham was about to retort with vanishes, instantly forgotten when you lean forward and wrap your arms around his waist. It’s faint, but you hear his heart rate pick up — soft palpitations drumming against your ear with a brief stutter before settling into a steady rhythm.

There’s a calm ambience that settles as you bask in his familiarity. His arms wrap around you not a moment later and he relaxes in your embrace with a soft inhale and exhale against your temple (you don’t have the heart to tease him for his heart being anything but relaxed in fear of ruining the mood).

Perhaps it’s the familiarity, or maybe it’s the cold weather and warm scarf, but a question you’ve been pondering for a while seems more than fitting for this occasion as opposed to any other.

“Is there anything you dream of or desire for the future?”

There’s a minuscule pause.

“Where's this coming from all of a sudden?”

“I dunno. I guess the cold is making me feel a bit nostalgic,” you mutter into his shoulder, leaning into his warmth. A contemplative hum resounds above you and rumbles deep from his chest, firm arms pulling you closer into him — further into your solace.

“What I desire most for the future...” he begins in a whisper, causing you to lean into him a little more to hear him clearly, “...is to lead a peaceful life with you. One where we can grow old and still be content in each other’s arms, no matter the hardships we encounter or the amount of time passed. That’s the one and only future I desire more than anything.”

Butterflies pool in your stomach, ardour fills your lungs. Ah. You blink, mind blanking and throat constricting at his soft tone and words. I forgot he can speak like this.

“Are you crying?” he asks, baffled. It’s only then you realise he’s staring at you — dual-coloured irises wide and bottom lip trembling ever so slightly.

Hastily, you turn your head and rub away the fluid collecting along your lower lashes. “I-It's because your words made me emotional! How could I not react like this when you just say something like... like that?!”

“I was just being honest.”

“That’s what makes it emotional!” you cry out. Through tear clouded eyes, the scenery becomes blurred and the colours of nature begin to smudge together; an incomplete canvas stark against the perfection before you. “Because you’re so honest with your feelings and know exactly what you want, hearing you say something like that and considering our future just... makes me really happy, y’know?”

Amidst your light sniffles, a wave of bashfulness hits you. Alhaitham seldom speaks of such things he is unsure of, even more so when they are matters pertaining to the future. He’s someone who has a clear destination paved before him, paying no heed to needless quibbles nor detours and only focusing on what lies ahead. And so perhaps it is the realisation that he harbours the same sentiment as you — the one of growing old and awaking to the other for countless mornings to come — is what brought upon this flustered feeling; one that reminds you all too much of your early-stage crushing way back when.

While the sudden urge to hide your face away from the eerily silent man is strong, Alhaitham is stronger. And quicker.

“Then what about you?” he finally asks, your arms away from your face and held in his grasp. His thumbs trail along your lower lash line and wipe away any stray tears that may have escaped your attempts.

You blink at his words, dumbfounded at the redirection, “Huh?”

“Is there anything you dream of or desire for the future?”

Your lips parting in understanding, you waste no time in answering the question with a cool glimmer against your reddened eyes and an attempt at a thumbs up while in his hold, “A comfy life with endless good food.”

“...”

Wow. The wind is really loud today, huh?

You faintly register the dull ache tugging at your cheeks before noting the lack of distance between you both. With a blank stare, Alhaitham pays no mind to your drawn-out whines of protest, opting to eye you with his signature “disappointed-but-not-surprised” expression.

“Shtop pinching my cheeks.”

“And if I don't want to?”

“You're gonna stwetch 'em!”

“And? You'd still be cute regardless.”

Your face scrunches at his words, and his hand falls from your face. “Ugh, and what do you know about cuteness?”

“Enough to know that no matter what happens, you'd still be the cutest to me.” A self-assured smirk curls his lips, seemingly proud of his statement.

“Wow...” you marvel, and he seems to take your awe in stride. Your next words, however, have him immediately regretting his admittedly sappy confession. “Does that mean you'd still love me even if I became a slime? Wait, no, a fungus?”

Your lips are forced into a pucker.

“Don't push it.”

(Alhaitham would, in fact, still love you even if you somehow became a slime or a fungus. Maybe.)

There’s something so pleasant about not having to constantly deal with troublesome matters — more so if there’s troublesome people involved. Within the confinements of his own space, Alhaitham breezes through the paperwork needed to be signed and turned in for the day.

Despite the initial repulsion he felt when being nominated as the (Acting) Grand Sage, he has to admit the tedious work reaped various benefits after stepping down not too long ago; one of which being an increase in his pay for having been of such high standing. His goal to live a peaceful has never looked brighter than now — he's back to his easy job, his nine-to-five shifts, a lavish house to call his own (while pointedly ignoring the existence of his roommate), a quiet life with little-to-no disturbance, and now more mora under his name and secured for the unforeseeable future.

In short, life is perfect for the scribe, and nothing else could shake his peaceful life—

The door swings open and bangs against the wall. His once messily strewn papers now flutter in the air and leave you to stand in the centre of the commotion. Chest heaving with a grin splayed on your lips, you’re about to say something until you take note of the room's less than tidy state.

“Aha... Oops?”

Alhaitham can only stare blankly as you sheepishly glance around his office and the mess you created with your whirlwind of an entrance, your hand gingerly rubbing the back of your neck when avoiding his pointed gaze. You quickly fumble to gather the loose sheets that landed around you, and he spies two boxed-up meals hanging from your arms.

Right. Nothing else could possibly shake his peaceful life until you stumbled into it all those years ago, a bumbling fool whom he came to adore more than he thought possible. You, who brought him a world of unimaginable vibrancy and beauty. You, who reduced him into a state of irrationality and impulsivity just to bear witness to your heart-pounding smile (the one that never fails to send his heart madly aflutter, and yet make him believe you could single-handedly be the cause of world peace). You, who he would undeniably, undoubtedly, pluck out the stars for if it would protect you from sorrow and heartache for the rest of your life. You, who has his heart, body, and soul in the palm of your hands.

Well, if anything, you’re a key figure in his peaceful life and future life plans; to him, you’re his precious person — and he has no intentions of changing that.

--

After recollecting the scattered sheets and being on the receiving end of Alhaitham’s nags of “Don’t you know how to knock and enter like a normal person?” and “What would have happened if you dented my wall?”, you settle down with the freshly boxed-up lunches.

With your regular lunch meet-up underway, you ramble about your day while he listens, adding a comment or two here and there where he deems appropriate. It’s the usual routine; its familiarity brings you comfort like no other, and one you couldn’t imagine a world without.

Your mouth freezes open, the spoonful you were about to eat remaining stagnant midair. Alhaitham doesn’t seem to take any notice — well, if him chewing his own food in content with his small hums had anything to say about it. Oh. And the fact there’s an extremely pretty smile currently tugging his lips.

(Haha. Who gave him the right to be so breathtaking? Not you, but you’re not complaining. You’re actually thanking life for allowing you to bask in such a sight every day.)

“You have a pretty smile, Haitham.”

The words slip out before you even realise, but it’s not like you have any intentions of taking them back. And so you roll with it and perch your chin atop your palm, watching as Alhaitham freezes, cheeks flushing at your sudden compliment.

When he glances up, lips pursed and eyes narrowed cutely with embarrassment, he asks, “Do I?”

“Mhm,” you hum before reaching out and squishing his cheeks, much like he always does with you. Another laugh escapes you at his widened eyes, and you lift the corners of his lips into a mock smile with your fingertips. “So you should smile more.”

It takes him a moment to process your words but, when he does, a soft chuckle fills the air between you. He reaches up to enclose your hands in his, a gentle smile appearing naturally on his lips. “I only need to show you my smile, though.”

His response renders you silent, the tender affection seeping through his gaze consuming you whole. Sometimes, you forget Alhaitham is capable of such expressions — the ones that make it seem as though you hung up the stars and lit up the night sky.

Unsurprisingly, your heart flutters.

Hehe, that's my Haitham.

“What's got you looking so smug for?” he asks, one brow raised yet his smile remains.

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you in my life like this.”

“You really...” he mutters, though you don't hear the rest when you find yourself trapped in the chair, his hands gripping the armrests and caging you in. “Keep being this cute and I might never let you go.”

“Are you implying you'll let me go one day?” you tease in an effort to ignore the warmth bubbling from his words.

What you don't expect is for him to lower his head until his nose brushes against yours, a smug grin of his own decorating his lips.

“Of course not,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “I'll just keep you in my arms for the rest of our lives.”

Your mind draws a blank. “...You wouldn't.”

“Would you like to bet on that?”

“Not particularly.”

That regular lunch meet-up resulted with you having a sore forehead.

Today was a long day. All you wanted to do was to return home once your hours were over, but it seems the world was vehemently against the notion of you cuddling up to your awaiting lover (who is very much impatiently waiting for you. On your bed. On his day off). From being bombarded by scholars to the research papers that only seem to increase in height and stacks, it’s a miracle you even made it back home within the same night!

Fumbling for your key, your mind juggles between wanting to eat or going straight to bed. Upon walking through your front door and up to your bedroom, your mind is made up.

Light spills from beneath your door, the warm hue making your body relax as you enter your bedroom to see Alhaitham resting against your headboard with a book in his hands. His gaze was already on you when you opened the door, but the thick veil of drowsiness dismisses any ideas of teasing him for it. All you want is to sleep in his arms, if you’re being completely honest here.

“You’re finally back,” he states, tone softening when taking in your fatigue. You merely reciprocate with a drowsy nod before trudging over to your bed and flopping into his awaiting arms. Alhaitham huffs when you nuzzle into his chest, his book long-forgotten in his lap. “Shouldn’t you get changed and washed up?”

His words cause you to further bury your face into him. “Don’t wanna. Too sleepy.”

“That doesn’t mean you can sleep as you are now.” A sigh escapes him when you ignore his words, his fingers gently tracing hearts into your lower back. “Just change out of those clothes at least.”

“Chest... Too comfy...” The ministrations of traced hearts come to a halt. Not even a second later do you feel a dull ache push into your skin. “Ow— hey! What was that for?!”

“Oh, great,” he drones with an abundance of nonchalance, blank stare countering your wide frenzied one. “You’re awake it seems. Now you can go get dressed and wash up without issue.”

If he didn’t have such a sturdy physique, you would’ve given his chest a good whack. Well, you still did, but it doesn’t have the same effect when he isn’t phased by the action. And so you roll off Alhaitham with a pitiful whine before trudging to the bathroom in hopes of evoking some deep-rooted, immeasurably painful guilt for depriving you of your well-deserved sleep.

(Spoiler: it doesn’t. You’re pretty sure you heard him snort instead before returning to his book. Asshole.)

When you return, you’re a bit more awake than before. Despite wanting to just sleep, you figure reading something would be the quickest route to dreamland. And so you scour through your various bookshelves in search of something to read (courtesy of Alhaitham leaving his books lying around your place and making you buy two more just to organise everything). A spine with a miniature dragon embossed in glimmering gold catches your eye, its calligraphic title resurfacing memories of when you first bought it.

With eager steps you make your way to the bed and plop down beside Alhaitham, who glances at you with a raised brow at your sudden surge of energy. He doesn’t dwell on it for long though, as he re-engrossed himself in his book with you pulled against his side.

Silence enveloped the bedroom, only disturbed by the sounds of pages turning, thoughtful hums, scoffs of disbelief, and soft gasps.

Another scoff breaks you from your concentration. Glancing up, you see Alhaitham scrutinise the page he’s on with a half-scowl. He doesn’t seem to notice your change in focus, so you ask, “What’s that you’re reading?”

“‘Are we real or is life a hoax?’” he deadpans, and you don’t find yourself surprised one bit. He glances down at the book in your hand, attention diverted from the (probably) infuriating text. “And what about you?”

“‘I was mercilessly sacrificed for the greater good of the Archon War, but I’ve somehow returned back to the moment before my death and now Morax is in love with me?’” You hold up the cover depicting a woman and, who you assumed was the artist’s rendition of Morax — a cloaked figure with wisps of long hair and stunning gold eyes — kissing the back of her hand. “That’s the title of this light novel!”

Alhaitham takes a couple of seconds to just stare blankly at your grin before retorting, “Don’t let anyone from Liyue hear what you’re reading.”

“Well, it’s not like they’re meant to be historically accurate anyway,” you grumble, re-opening the page you were previously on. “And besides, do you know the sheer number of Liyue people who bought this and left good reviews? There’s so many! And there’s also...”

Alhaitham leans back as you continue rambling about the reviews, plot holes, exciting moments, emotional moments, the insane (you made sure to stress) build-up to the confession, and so on. A warm smile tugs his lips as he listens to your voice, paying half a mind to the questionable contents of the book in his hands.

The night drones on, your voice slowly dying out along with it.

“Hey, Haitham?” you call out between slurred mumbles, your eyelids steadily growing heavy. When you hear a light hum from overhead, you continue. “Can I tell you something?”

“What is it?”

“I love you.”

And then you're fast asleep, soft snores and even breaths escaping you as you fall limp against his warm chest.

Much unlike your peaceful figure, Alhaitham's brain malfunctions. There's a familiar constriction gripping his heart — stomach sent aflutter as his racing thoughts increase in tandem with the heat rapidly consuming him. Through a shaky sigh he reclines his head against your bed's headboard, his book now obscuring his face doing little to hide the blooms of crimson searing his skin.

“What did I say about you being cute...”

The night ends with you getting some much needed sleep and Alhaitham getting no sleep at all.

(When you question him on his dark circles the next morning, he merely fixates you with a deadpan stare at your gleaming, well-rested face before gently pinching your cheeks.

“And just who do you think's at fault here, hm?”

“You, for not sleeping?”

“...”)

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[brujahinaskirt]

Okay, I obviously made the above post as a leetle joke, but since it's getting not insignificant traction, I do want to offer a more serious note.

I love this about Arthur. It's probably my favorite thing about him, but let me use this fresh new RDR2 meta post to clarify exactly what I mean. Despite the aspects of his personality & appearance that are traditionally hypermasculine, and despite how often he is annoyed with people (especially incompetents or people who meddle with his plans), Arthur is decidedly NOT annoyed by the social performance of femininity or by traits that are/were frequently stereotyped as feminine. Ever. Regardless of subject. I might go so far as to say he seems to canonically prefer hanging out with women and with "feminine" men.

Your long-winded, bullet-pointed analysis is below!

The Girls. Most noticeably, Arthur actually sits down to talk with and actively confides in the camp Girls (Tilly, Mary-Beth, Karen) more than anyone else around. These three are the most traditionally "girly" (single, 20s, active, pretty, unattached, highly social, feminine, chatty) members of the gang, though of course they are still criminals and don't perfectly adhere to all period-typical standards of feminine comportment. He doesn't mock the girls** like he sometimes does with other auxiliary members of the gang (like Uncle and Pearson, playful or not). Notably, he doesn't even gently tease Mary-Beth for writing her "silly" romance novels, a highly feminized hobby which she speaks about in a self-depreciating manner, much like Arthur speaks about his own artistic hobbies. Rather, he talks to her about writing like a peer and encourages her to write more by going out of his way to get her a nice pen. Crucially, there is no canon romantic or sexual interest in any of the girls on Arthur's behalf. He just feels the most comfortable in their company and seems to value their advice/opinions on life the most. To me, this is much stronger proof than his forever-burning torch for the cultured & ladylike Mary, which is (or was once) rooted in romantic desire. ** Unless the player persists in Antagonizing them, and these lines (while sometimes shockingly cruel and offhandedly sexual in nature; see Arthur teasing Tilly about pursuing Javier) are largely about goading them for laziness or, in Karen's case, her alcoholism. That said, many of the Antagonize lines strike me as clumsily tacked-on & poorly rooted in canon, which could indicate: (1) an Arthur who is deliberately trying to be disruptive (a generous interpretation), or (2) writers instructed to add throwaway content that will make a certain type of childishly misanthropic gamer (think 13 y.o. boys) squeal in glee with relatively low impact on the overall story.

Campmates. Following the above point... who doesn't Arthur hang out with much? The manly men of the gang; the very people social mores suggest he ought to be hanging out with. Bill, Micah, Joe, Cleet, and even Dutch. (To some extent, this includes John and Sean, but I'd say John sort of lives at the edges of gang life anyway, and Sean is, well, Sean.) Conversely, which male gang members does Arthur hang out with a lot? Sweet little bookish Lenny, a wordy, positive-energy, breezy intellectual who has just barely become an adult. Introspective, soft-voiced, long-haired Charles, who is traditionally masculine by some standards (strong, usually calm, can be standoffish) but decidedly NOT so when his appearance/demeanor is judged by the white Christian American male standards that began to dominate masculinity concepts in the later decades of the 1800s.

Algernon. Oh, my, Algernon. Arthur clearly dislikes Algernon's fancy, loud, outrageous clothing. But weirdly, he seems to like Algernon, not just tolerate him. Arthur in fact goes through significant personal discomfort to avoid hurting Algernon's feelings (the awful hat, the POST.MAN. sobbing), and he immediately says yes to having tea with him without any awareness of a coming business proposition, though half the time Arthur clearly has no fucking clue what Algernon is talking about. I am left to conclude that on some level, he just enjoys hearing Algernon talk, which is word-for-word what he says while listening to the Girls argue about romance novels ("I just like listening to you [all] talk." Hello????). I mean, for God's sake, he meets the man while he's choking to death on a nut at a fancy party, and the second thing Algernon does is tell him he looks like a guy who wears a corset. If anything was going to set off the boiling defensiveness of a dude who worships masculinity, thirty seconds with Algie would have done it.

Margaret, Mistress of Fucking Danger. It's pretty clear Arthur doesn't like Margaret. But that has little to do with Margaret's femininity & cross-dressing (this doesn't faze him at all when Charles Châtenay does it; more on that below) and everything to do with Margaret's deceptiveness and highly selective memory. It's not until the bullshittery unveils itself that Arthur starts getting visibly pissed off at Margaret. Conversely, Arthur does seem more positively disposed toward Sally Nash. (That said, this quest has a lot of problems and poorly aged lines that are depressingly easy for a politically motivated jerkoff to soundbite and miscast as Rockstar being pro-bigot. Cue 800 heterobnoxious gamerbro ARTHUR MORGAN ULTIMATE ANTI SNOWFLAKE SIGMA MALE OF THE WEST YouTube videos.)

Albert, my beloved. Rather than goading him to man up, Arthur tries to persuade Albert (whom he very obviously likes) to pick safer animal photography subjects, e.g. horses, and doesn't insult him for his lack of wilderness knowledge (an aspect of traditional manliness that is highly relevant to Arthur's lifestyle). You'd think he would tear into him for this shortcoming, given that they share so many of the same interests and passions, and IMO his genuine eagerness to serve as Albert's protector and facilitate his art is highly convincing evidence that Arthur does not necessarily view masculinity as a net positive.

Arthur is a basic goddamn boyfriend-hater. He pretty much harshly disapproves of every husband, boyfriend, male partner, etc. in the game and is very, very vocal about it... except one extremely unlikely candidate: Beau Gray. Weak, dandy artist Beau Gray, whom Arthur takes one look at and promptly hands the only gun to Penelope. Arthur is curt and impish to Beau at times, but helps him in his relationship troubles willingly (without collecting repayment), and seemingly for no other reason than the fact he can see that soft, fearful Beau is genuinely head-over-heels in love with Penelope. Is he projecting his own young love for Mary onto them? Maybe/probably, but Beau could not possibly be more different from young Arthur, and Arthur seems to believe this difference will make him a good husband for Penelope. A good husband, in Arthur's view, seems to simply be a man who ardently loves his beloved, regardless of his ability to provide for/protect her, and whose only goal in life is to live that life at her side. This is completely antithetical to mainstream late-1800s views on what constitutes a good husband and what it means to be a man.

Châtenay. Arthur shows us some of the most obvious delight and mirth he experiences in the game when he's hanging out with Charles "Allo Boys" Châtenay, who is straight up in drag a third of that time. This baffles Arthur a little, but doesn't disgust or repel him. I've written about this mission elsewhere at greater length because it is one of my favorite disasters, but it's worth mentioning here too.

Trelawny. Arthur clearly enjoys Trelawny despite his grumbly claims to the contrary. Most of these "claims" are just Arthur's established way of affectionate teasing (he does much the same with Uncle and Pearson, both of whom he genuinely likes). His authentic gripes about Trelawny are all about a perceived flightiness/lack of loyalty to the gang, not about his flamboyance. And even these gripes are half-assed, in Arthur's usual way.

Bluegills & Daisy Chains. One of the most genuine moments of softness we have with Arthur in RDR2 is when he takes Little Jack out of the camp to go fishing. Arthur's usually a much truer version of himself when he doesn't have to play the Big Bad Gang Lieutenant role, but this moment of escape is especially important, and not just because Arthur reveals his fondness for children and his natural understanding of how to talk to them. I notice this: Arthur tries to gently teach Jack about fishing, and Jack is completely fucking uninterested. Jack prefers to make flower chains for his mommy. Arthur doesn't scold him for his drifting attention or his lack of attraction to masculine past-times; on the contrary, Arthur goes out of his way to encourage and protect Jack's natural sweetness and innocence. That's a wild stance for a murdering outlaw to have re: the "next generation" of his family. Hell, I've encountered far too many 21st century dads in my own family who flip their shit when their tiny sons prefer hanging out with women & partaking in "womanly" hobbies like art, cooking, and flowers rather than hunting and fishing.

"...and be a god damn man." This seems like classic masculine bluster on the surface, but what does this keynote line mean in the context in which Arthur says it? Well, it's complicated. This statement serves as (a) Arthur's goodbye to John, (b) Arthur's final call to action for John, and (c) Arthur's last wish for his brother's life. But it certainly does not mean standing and fighting or being tough; i.e., "dying like a man." In that moment, it means abandoning all masculine bluster and revenge fantasy, and running away: leaving violence and fighting and brotherhood and all that crap behind to simply be there (alive, present) for your wife and son.

The Best Women People. Who are the best people Arthur knows, by his own crystal-clear declaration? Abigail and Sadie. Sadie's a rough-and-tumble, super-violent gunslinger and Abigail's a stubborn thief & a former sex worker (in the time Arthur has known her), but they are also, critically, two wives: the most traditional feminine role for a woman of the time period (and indeed perhaps most of human history once the concept of "wife" subsumed that of "mother"). It's also important to note that Arthur doesn't truly give up on Dutch until Dutch abandons Abigail, which serves as Arthur's point of no return. The other men left in the gang at this point specifically note that she's "just a woman" and not worth going back for. Arthur is straight-up shocked by all of this; he obviously considers her among the most worthwhile and value-having members of the gang, and certainly one of the most core members of the gang. Without any hesitation or doubt, the instant it's clear Dutch is cutting Abigail loose, Arthur declares: "That's that, then."

tl;dr: Arthur unironically prefers hanging out with women and queens and I love that for them.

[decolonize-the-left]

.....does anyone else get the vibe that the limitless expanse of the internet, media, and consequent ability to interact politically, spiritually, and apathetically with people locally and globally maybe had an influence not only on the individual's relation to the collective but also their ability to participate in it and see their significance to it?

Can we talk about it?

Like I feel like as some who was a frontline activist and now is a disabled social activist who dabbles in radicalizing liberals... The wall I and my peers continuously keep running into is the collective feeling that someone else will do it.

"it" being whatever action.

For me it's signing a petition, protesting, donating, community organizing (both online and offline).

We get tons of interest on stuff. Interest which very rarely translates to doing more than showing a poster to the friend theyre with before trashing it, reblogging a post, or hitting "interested" or like when we post local events.

And on All these platforms posts gets to a point of "enough" responses where ppl just stop responding and sharing, too.

On Tumblr you see this a lot with donation posts and people constantly having to make new ones. Cuz they're getting notes, but not tangible assistance that will help them. And the reblogs stop because there are so many notes that ppl start assuming that the goal was met or will be met soon.

But that isn't what's happening. And like I said this isn't just with donation posts or money so the answer isn't "well ppl are broke" which would be an easy and sensible answer.

Honestly, I've been thinking that with so Many people easily accessible online with so many opinions and varying levels of popularity and followers that it's easy to lose yourself in them. Especially now when so much of life takes place online.

It's so easy to think you're just one of those many people. ....So surely nobody would notice if you were being a little facetious, right?

Gonna be real, it seems a lot to me like a lot of people are trying to hide their lack of integrity through the anonymity offered online.

And like sure maybe nobody would notice if it was just a few people being facetious about supporting something but it's SO MANY (in my experience? Upwards of a thousand once) and Everywhere. Online, offline, and apps.

And the thing that makes it weird is that every one is assuming that people are being more helpful than they are. That more people are showing up.... Even though they themselves are not showing up either. Like I said reblogs for donations stop, shares stop, and only a handful of ppl show up to events irl. You can literally compare reblogs to the signatures when a petition is being shared.

Wanting to show up isn't the same as showing up.

"People" are not coming to change or show up to the revolution. It's you. You are the people. You are the people that need to show up. Not just as a notification on my screen but actually, because you think someone else will have enough integrity to show up for you but they don't.

Your integrity matters.

You matter so much. I don't know what it is behind this mass behavior that has y'all acting otherwise but I'm telling y'all right now that YOU and the choices that YOU make matter. The events that you choose to spend your time at and how you spend your energy and protecting your rights matters!

That isn't some "im just another drop fighting an endless battle in the ocean" kind of deal.

I'm telling you from experience: there is no ocean! We are in a fucking drought and every drop matters.

Show up. Nobody else is doing it on your behalf.

.......or is it just me? Has anyone else noticed this

[rollinouttahere-writes]

helloo!! Can we please have dark chocolate number 13 with Ace pls \(//∇//)\ thank you!!♡♥︎♡♥︎╰(*´︶`*)╯🍫♡

Yandere Ace x GN!Reader

1.1k words

Prompt:

I’m so happy to have you here with me, I will never want anyone else. You have more of a hold on me than you’ll ever know.

It’s been a few hours since you’ve last seen Ace. An eternity in his book, barely a breath of fresh air in yours. During your precious alone time, you elected to stay in his cabin and tidy up the place. His tendency to just throw shit and leave it wherever it falls left the room in a chaotic state, and that got on your nerves given that this is where you spend almost every waking moment of your day.

Going out amongst the other people on the Moby Dick always left a bad taste in your mouth. They would give you pitying glances at best, but never lend a hand to help. They ultimately cared more about Ace’s well being than yours, and since your presence was directly tied to his mental state, your fate was sealed.

You never asked for any of this. No one wants to get dragged off onto a pirate ship because the captain of it got too attached. You had a glimmer of hope that you may be able to escape after the Spade Pirates were forcibly disbanded by the Whitebeard Pirates, but as already stated. They weren’t much help. At first they couldn’t even get close to you without Ace trying to kill them, but eventually he grew on them. Then they were helping keep you on board, lest he spirals. 

The relationship you had with Ace could be very draining. That fun, rambunctious side of him that had originally drawn you in was only a part of him. A front that he put on. In reality he was an intensely depressed individual that had become much more comfortable showing that side of himself to you.

In normal circumstances, this would be a heartwarming show of trust. Typically this would be a steady step in the right direction to build a healthy relationship, but nothing about your relationship was healthy. The exposure to his depressive episodes felt suffocating more than anything. While he would be sobbing into your chest and clinging to you for dear life, you would be forced to comfort your captor out of pure guilt from seeing him look so broken. You felt more like an emotional support animal than a human significant other some days.

Going back and forth between hating and pitying him was dizzying. Not to mention the bizarre form of codependent love that had been thrown into the mix. You never knew what direction your emotions towards him would go any given day, just like you never knew what kind of a mood Ace would be in.

It was exhausting. You felt like you needed a vacation to recuperate at the end of every day, but you of course never got one. So you would have to settle for the moment of peace you’ve been granted in this messy cabin.

The door is suddenly kicked open and you internally curse. Your quiet moment is done and over with now. You should have cherished it more.

Strong arms lock around your waist, heave you up, and spin you around. Ace seems to be in a good mood today, which is a plus. “(Y/N), I missed you!”

“It’s only been a couple of hours, you’re acting like it’s been months,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

“What? A couple of hours is a long time, it felt like months.” He had mercifully stopped spinning and was looking around the room. “Where’d all my stuff go?”

You rolled your eyes, “All I did was stuff your dirty clothes into the hamper. Don’t know why you even have that thing seeing as you never use it.” It had a fine layer of dust that would gather over it in between your sporadic uses when you got fed up enough to clean.

“Not everything was dirty, most of those were still good!”

“It’s not “good” if you have to do like three sniff tests to determine that! Just wash that shit!” You were squirming to get out of his grasp, thoroughly irritated from bickering about you cleaning up his laundry.

Ace laughed and shrugged, “Maybe I’ll do it later.” Yeah right. He walked towards your shared, unmade bed and tossed you onto it before throwing himself on top of you. Oh. He’s feeling cuddly today. Great. Well, as long as he doesn’t start crying it won’t be so bad.

A kiss was placed against your cheek with enough force to squish your face, and then he unceremoniously flopped down, further squishing you into the mattress. Instead of using your chest as a pillow like he usually does, he nestled his face into your neck. His arms snaked underneath you to keep your bodies fully pressed together.

The man was a walking furnace, so you were already beginning to sweat. Such a thing didn’t bother him, but it was uncomfortable for you. Not that your discomfort was enough to deter him, you would be stuck in this position until he’d gotten his fill. This was far from the first time you’ve been subjected to this, so you knew what he wanted. One of your hands plucked his already partially dislodged hat from his head and tossed it aside so you could run your fingers through his messy hair, the other one rubbed slow circles on his back.

Ace hummed in contentment from your ministrations, and his body sagged more than it already had against your own. His hair was tangled, a common occurrence for anyone primarily living at sea. Your fingers worked meticulously to undo all of the knots. You weren’t particularly gentle with it, but he wasn’t flinching from every tug so you can’t imagine it was that harsh either.

For a while, nothing is said. Ace enjoys your company, while you feel obligated to acquiesce his wants and desires.

“I’m so happy to have you here with me, I will never want anyone else. You have more of a hold on me than you’ll ever know.” The words are spoken in a hushed whisper directly into your ear.

There it is again. That pesky, traitorous feeling of affection. The flutter of your heart from being so desperately wanted- needed even. Your impulsive inclination to comfort someone so clearly in need even though it’s absolutely not your job to do so. You wanted to “save” him almost as badly as you wanted to save yourself.

It made you question if he was the only one with serious psychological issues here. Have you always had this savior complex, or was it a recent development brought on by your living situation? 

This wasn’t something you wanted to think about today. You sighed and clutched Ace closer. Maybe it would be for the best if you just turned your brain off for a little while? Thinking too hard on your circumstances has never done you any good.

[slavicviking]

Long Jump, Huge Leap

wc: 5k | Pre-Season 3 steddie

[Ao3]

Whoever said Eddie Munson doesn’t like sports is wrong.

One can dislike a candy bar, a type of soda, a likewise mundane thing that comes down to preferences. No, no. What Eddie Munson feels towards sports cannot be condensed into such a simple term. His body itself outright refuses to take part in any sport activity – sweat immediately pooling at his pits and back and ass, legs acting disjointed, arms too long and too weak to do anything of significance, except for maybe making a fool of himself. With that particular element of his P.E. experience helps his mouth which, funnily enough, is the only part of Eddie that runs quicker than anyone, especially its owner, can catch up. Not that the rest of his group feels exceptionally impressed with the skill presented.

Hawkins High doesn’t need a furry mascot for laugh-inducing entertainment when it has Eddie Munson.

“Munson, you’re in Hagan’s team.”

“Oh, for fuck’s-“

“Do not fret, little ol’ Thomas, I sincerely vouch to not dare touch the balls you play with-“

And as the usual song and dance goes, the ball is thrust directly into his stomach.

Several bruises left on his body and ego later Eddie decides it’s simply not worth it, he skips P.E. entirely – avoids it as if it were the ninth circle of Hell. It may as well be, he thinks. Uncle Wayne seems persistent to convince Eddie to try again but after a long and, frankly tiring, conversation the subject is dropped.

Until now.

Eddie stretches out his legs in front of him, the uncomfortable plastic chair digging into his spine and reshaping his already barely-there ass into a flat tire. It’s psychological warfare, it must be, because how else can one explain furniture that defies its primary function so well. Principal Higgins knew well what she did when she chose them to be placed in front of her office. Her own personal little torture chamber.

“The Principal is ready to see you now, Mr. Munson,” the secretary, a pretty blonde in her twenties, tries to smile at him but all that comes out as a result is a grimace stretched thin over her face. It dims further when Eddie stands up making the most noise he possibly could have with the chair sliding across the parquet.

“Sorry,” he says because he is actually sorry. For all his bold persona and jumping on tables, he hates the idea of bothering someone who absolutely does not deserve it. The secretary is nice, he can say that with confidence he’s gained over sitting in that damned red plastic chair too many times to bother counting. He also knows he can be a lot when seated in it – constantly twitching and shifting, mind all too self-aware of the pre-attached uncoordinated body.

Principal Higgins doesn’t look pleased to see him but when does she ever? Eddie personally believes they see each other often enough to be on first-name basis, or at least have this unspoken camaraderie between each other. He thinks the name Margaret would fit her. Tiffany? The only obstacle of their everlasting friendship he can think of is the boundless hatred she has for him. And he has for her.

“Mr. Munson, I’m glad you could join us,” she says, voice syrupy-sweet, so much so it clogs Eddie’s ears for a moment. She has a maroon sweater on today and Eddie thinks it complements the stark bags under her eyes very well. A white blouse ironed to the bone peeks out from underneath it, sleeves rolled up. It’s then that he notices Coach Collins sitting in the chair usually reserved for the culprit’s legal guardian. This is not a usual part of their – Higgins’ and Eddie’s – routine and so it throws him out of the loop a little.

“Please sit,” Higgins points to the only empty seat in her office. Eddie is glad, for what’s it worth, that the chairs here are leagues better than whatever monstrosity his ass still feels the imprint of awaits in the waiting room.

“It wasn’t me,” Eddie says what he always does as he sits down. The Principal doesn’t look any more or less impressed with the line than usual, only letting out a silent sigh.

“Mr. Munson, your attendance ratio in Mr. Collins’ class is abhorrent.”

 Ah. Rough and straight to the point, just the way he likes it.

“I might have missed… a couple of days,” Eddie admits, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. His eyes roam the intricate designs on the carpet. Surprisingly enough they look exactly the same as the last time he’s seen them.

“More like a whole semester, son,” Coach finally decides to take part in this excruciating exchange.

“Normally that amount of missed classes is enough to fail the grade but Mr. Collins was considerate enough to offer you a deal,” Higgins pointedly stares Eddie down as if wanting to force him to slide down to his knees and thank the Coach for the opportunity. As if ‘Mr. Collins’ didn’t turn his head at all the harassment Eddie has faced in his class to begin with.

“Uh-huh.”

“Sport’s Day is coming up. We’d like you to join us this year, Mr. Munson,” she adds, implying she very much would not like him to be there at all but some predestined script requires it. “I believe some teamwork could do you good.”

Yes. Because being stuck with the school’s entire jock population on the football field is somehow better than ten or so of them in a P.E. class. He’s going to die, for sure .

The thing is, he knows they are giving him an excellent out. Sport’s Day is sort-of mandatory, though he’s only attended it once himself. It’s a big event for the school that, in theory, is a great opportunity to let a bit loose and get to know each other. Except, as it often is, a certain part of the Hawkins High population deems themselves as better than others and what should be all fun and games turns puckingly nerve-wracking if you dare to not be pristinely perfect and screw up. Eddie had one attempt in 1982 and hasn’t stick in a foot or arm onto school grounds that day ever since.

“Right,” he says in the end, voice a little strangled. They both clearly take it as him agreeing and, well, he doesn’t really have a choice, does he? Unless he wants to repeat Senior Year again.

He doesn’t.

He really, really doesn’t.

So one full day of excruciating pain it is.

-&-

It’s hot as fucking balls.

The event hasn’t started yet but Eddie can already feel the sweat pooling all over his body. Students stand in small groups all around the yard and it takes him a long while before he spots the Corroded Coffin.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Eddie Munson?”

“Yeah, yeah, yack it up,” he rolls his eyes at Jeff, eyes scanning the area for a semi-hidden smoking spot and finding none. It’s too risky, anyway. He lifts the hem of his shirt to fan himself. “Not like I had a choice.”

They all know about the quote unquote ‘olive branch’ handed out to him by the school but he can feel they’re surprised he decided to follow through with the spectacle anyway.

A long queue forms in the middle of the court, Coach Collins and Jenkins right at the top of it all along with Principle Higgins, each with a jar filled with differently colored strips of material in their hands. Even with no say in the matter, Eddie feels his hand sweating the closer he gets to the harbinger of his doom. Soon enough he will know who is going to make his life hell the next ten or so hours.

“Team yellow,” Collins tells him and gives him the appropriately colored ribbon. Eddie does a apathetic ‘woohoo’ with it before sliding off the side where his new team members reside. He ties the material loosely around his neck because he lives to disrupt the norm. Because fuck Collins.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to go there, dude,” Hawkins’ personal eye-candy, Steve Harrington, tells him upon arrival. Even in this horrid damp weather he keeps smiling for some unknown reason, no strand of hair out of place. He has his basketball uniform on – a simple gray shirt and, oh God, tiny shorts that expose those legs- Eddie snaps his head up so fast he’s surprised it hasn’t cracked and rolled off yet. Perhaps that would be the more merciful solution. A yellow ribbon is residing around Harrington’s sun-kissed bicep.

Great.

“Yeah, well, I’m not a great fan of rules,” he bites, hoping Harrington will just leave him be.

“I know. It’s your whole shtick.” So. That’s a no. Harrington shrugs.

“But sometimes rules are there for a reason,” he says and hooks his finger under the ribbon around Eddie’s neck to tug at it lightly. “To, like, not die.”

However eloquently phrased, Eddie begrudgingly admits – to himself, in his head, never out loud – that there might be a good point hidden somewhere underneath all that hair spray. He wonders if it were Hagan in Harrington’s place would there be a more hands-on approach to this warning. With Eddie being left strangled.

Quite possibly.

He’s not going to test that theory.

“Whatever his majesty wants,” Eddie says as he dutifully unties the yellow ribbon from his neck. And because he never knows when to shut up, he adds, “You don’t have to pretend to be nice, dude. I know me being in your team, like, disrupts your mojo, or whatever.”

Harrington is noticeably not smiling anymore. He doesn’t cross his arms though it looks like he really wants to. There’s a pinch between his eyebrows. It should not be attractive but, alas, Eddie is but a weak man.

“It’s supposed to be fun, man.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Eddie ends up mumbling, feeling out of energy all of a sudden. The queue of students doesn’t seem to be getting any shorter, not that it matters much because all his friends have been scattered throughout all the other teams. He moves to sit on the grass at the edge of their little Yellow group, legs spread out in front of him. The grass is dry under his palms as he leans back, and he wishes he could light an inconspicuous smoke. Even more so when a body slams into him.

“Jesus Christ, what the f-“

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” a girl yelps. “I was trying to tie my shoe but I have, like, no coordination so I kind of fell over you? I didn’t mean to do that, I’m so sorry. Balancing on one leg is so much harder than it looks. Like, honestly, how do cheerleaders even do that thing where they-“

“Whoa, hey, it’s fine,” Eddie jumps in before the girl – Robin Buckley, turns out – faints from lack of air. A yellow ribbon hangs limply off her wrist. Maybe it makes him a bad person but there is a sense of relief knowing he will not be the only ‘uncoordinated’ one on the team. Harrington is going to have an aneurysm for sure.

Robin blinks down at him, lips pulling down in a frown. “Oh, it’s you.”

Okay? Mean.

“Yes?” Whatever imaginary comradery Eddie hoped for seems off the table all of a sudden. Well, that’s a bummer. “Why the long face? Not happy to see a fellow nerd on the team?”

“You stepped on my sandwich last week.”

Ah. Well. That would do it, he supposes. The lunch break speeches… they sometimes get a little intense. Eddie gets a little intense, is what the rest of the Hellfire Club would probably say. Eddie’s shoes have been known to slam face – sole? – first into the best of what the Hawkins High cafeteria had to offer; which is not saying much, to be completely honest.

“My humble apologies,” he tries a little bow and hopes it comes off sincere. Buckley looks less than convinced. Tough crowd, what can he say?

“Alrighty, I think that’s all of us,” Harrington’s overly cheery voice thunders somewhere from above him and Eddie, like a moth drawn to a flame, has no other option but to look up. With his hands power-posed strategically onto his sinfully slim waist and the sun positioned perfectly behind him, Steve Harrington seems to have taken it upon himself to alter Eddie’s brain chemistry, braincells leaving left and right, leaking right through his ears, never to be seen again.

“You’re drooling,” Robin’s monotone informs him from his right and he promptly slams his mouth shut, even though he knows the claim is wildly exaggerated. Buckley may be the best or the worst person he’s ever met – he desperately needs to befriend her.

“First up is the relay-race. We need four people. Anyone up?”

Harrington is met with painful silence and that does dim the cheery smile a little bit. Eddie wonders if that is where the famous King Steve comes out of the hiding, all scary sharp teeth and disregard of basic human decency. He himself stills, for once not wanting to draw any attention to himself, feeling like a student who doesn’t know the correct answer which, not to brag, if you asked Higgins or any other teacher in Hawkins High, is something Eddie excels in. Curiosity, though, is a fickle thing and he’s fallen victim to it more times than he can count, and so when the uncomfortable silence drowns on, Eddie can’t help but take a look around to meet the Team Yellow, so to speak.

Fred Benson peers at him from his thick glasses. A group of scared freshman cower together. There’s a couple of band kids other than Robin Buckley who forgone glaring at the back of Eddie’s head in order to chew on her lip nervously and stare at the ground. Not a jock in sight.

Steve Harrington couldn’t have landed a worse team if he tried. Surprisingly he doesn’t look like he’s about to piss himself over it. Huh.

“Alright, well. I volunteer myself then,” he raises his hand. “That leaves three. Hm? Come on, it’s gonna be fun!”

Eddie can’t help it. He snorts. It’s loud and ugly.

“Well, I guess we have another volunteer,” Harrington preens and Eddie has to see who is idiotic enough to- It’s him, isn’t it? Harrington pulled out the classic teacher move and Eddie fell right into the trap.

“You do not want that, Harrington,” he tells him, trying his best not to show how much the intense eye contact from the jock affects him. It does not. It affects him even less when Steve juts out his bottom lip and tilts his head to the side like a goddamn Golden Retriever.

“Why not?”

“You’re going to lose?”

“It’s not about winning, it’s about teamwork,” Harrington trudges on stubbornly, sounding eerily sincere even while basically quoting every fake-cheery pamphlet in existence. It doesn’t matter how much Eddie tries to convince him it’s a bad idea – a terrible, awful, horrible idea – he doesn’t budge an inch like the stubborn asshole that he is.

“I’ll go last,” he informs Eddie and the other two unfortunate ‘volunteers’ once they reach the track.

“Hey, Harrington,” cuts a familiar voice and there’s Hagan suddenly all up Harrington’s business. “Ready to lose?”

To his credit, all Steve does is raise one eyebrow. “Did Hargrove tell you to come here, or what?”

Eddie appreciates balls on a man, literally and metaphorically, so this cheery but assertive combo is doing things to him that he is not proud of. There is a reason he avoided Steve Harrington for most of high school, and it wasn’t only because of the King Steve jock persona. Eddie may not have a good taste in men but he does have eyes.

“Whatever, man,” Hagan finishes off their little pissing contest in the meantime, strutting right back to Billy, both arms adored by blue ribbons. Harrington’s nostrils flare with each breath before he closes his eyes for a second.  

Eddie isn’t known to make wise choices. One would argue bad decisions run in his blood, screwing things up his very own a generational pattern.

“Uh, you okay, man?”

Harrington’s eyes snap open. Eddie should have never opened his mouth. With Harrington’s intense eyes on him, he feels like Icarus, flying too close to the sun. Steve smiles. Eddie is going to crush and burn any minute now.

“Yeah, sorry,” he keeps his voice light but there’s underlying tension that hasn’t been there before. His eyes appear almost glazed over when he looks over to Billy Hargrove. Eddie’s gut-instinct wants to pin the strange interaction on some jock-code that he is simply not familiar with but that’s not all there is to it. Eddie has fallen victim to the rumor mill many a time during his prolonged high school career and so he tries not to lean into them too much, even when the juicy news of a fight between the former and new king of Hawkins High broke out. One look at Harrington now and he knows, deep down, the impressive shiner on Steve’s face last fall has truthfully been Hargrove’s doing.

Doesn’t matter, really, because Harrington, emanating a true father-at-vacation energy, claps his hands together with too much enthusiasm. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

Getting the show on the road, so to speak, is Abby, a freshman, who does not at all look very confident. Eddie cannot, for a fact, tell if the time passes too fast or too slow as the whistle toots and Abby is on the go, then Nigel, and then-

Eddie leans forward, bends his knees. Suddenly there’s a weight in his hand. Someone is screaming for him to ‘ go, go, go’ !

And Eddie does what he does best. He runs.

By the halfway point, his lungs are on fire, his legs feel like jello. His hair flies out of his bun and he can barely see but, he muses, he might as well try and actually finish something for once. And it’s not because Steve Harrington happens to be waiting on the other side. But maybe that’s a bonus. Who can tell?

The second his hand touches Harrington’s and passes on the stick, his legs give out from underneath him and he falls on his ass with a deeply unsatisfying thunk .

“Nice job, Munson,” says a blurry hand with a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” he says, or tries to, though it comes out slurred. A big swing of water helps.

“You okay?” Robin leans over him before taking a whiff of L’eau d’Eddie and promptly taking an out.

“Aw, I knew you cared, Buckley.”

“I just don’t want you to hurl all over my shoes,” she simply says.

Somehow they are not last. Eddie doesn’t know whether he helped at all or is it simply the power of Steve Harrington’s godlike legs that did all the heavy-lifting, but they finish off in second place, right after Hagan.

Eddie would never admit it out loud, not under threats of death, but it was…kind of fun. Satisfying.

“Eddie, you were amazing!” Harrington runs up to him, sweat pooling over his forehead and neck and Eddie has to stop himself from offering to lick it off.

“Hu-?”

“You never mentioned you’re this fast!”

“Because I’m not? Have you hit your head on the way here, or-?”

Something weird happens with Harrington’s face for a split second but it’s so quick Eddie doesn’t have the time to properly analyze it before he’s smiling again.  

“Not this time, no,” he forces a chuckle. “But you had fun, right?”

Eddie sighs, flops down on the ground to make it extra dramatic. Eyes closed, he reaches out with his hand to make a tiny gap between his index finger and thumb. “Maybe a little.”

A small laugh rings above him, this time genuine, and he hates how he can feel a lazy grin tug at his lips.

Eddie misses at least one round while he lays on the grass. It’s a blissful fifteen-thirty-forty minutes and he revels in it with every whiff of a colder breeze but by minute forty-two the ground doesn’t seem nearly as comfortable as it used to right after the race. The sun assaults his eyes the moment he opens them and he swiftly sits up, trying to shake off loose twigs and dry grass that have gotten entangled with his hair.

Team Yellow has seen better days. While Eddie lounged in the grass they have become a mass of sweat and red heat-swollen cheeks. Whatever disciplines he’s missed, he is glad he has. They are not last on the leaderboard, though – by what miracle, he cannot figure out.

“Eddie!” Steve Harrington, of course, has been spared the same treatment as his team. Hair slightly whipped by the wind and rosy cheeks, he looks as though he just about stepped out of a salon. A tattered yellow-white-blue volleyball sits against his hip. “Just the guy I was looking for. You willing to give it a try?”

Eddie is not.

Not under any normal-adjacent circumstances anyway but Harrington is, consciously or not, giving him his best rendition of puppy eyes. That and Eddie can feel a heated gaze located on the back of his head coming coach’s way. No matter how tempting, he cannot afford to screw this up.

So, in the driest monotone he can muster, Eddie says, “Been waitin’ for that my whole life.”

“Cool,” is all Harrington says before his achingly warm fingers wrap themselves around Eddie’s wrist and tug him towards the court. Buckley is already standing by the net, sending Eddie a miniscule smile of encouragement when he settles on her left, Harrington just behind him.

“Was worried you were a goner by now,” Gareth calls from the other side of the net, a green ribbon tied to his wrist.

“Nah, you know me, Gare-bear,” he flexes his non-existent biceps. “I'm prime material for the next super athlete.”

Someone – Harrington – chokes and coughs behind him. Eddie refuses to look, contribute to the hot and sticky flush of embarrassment that settles over his organs like slime. He has a reputation to uphold, though, so when Gareth raises his eyebrow, silently asking if he is okay – in this team, with King Steve, here and now – Eddie simply rolls his eyes and conspicuously whispers ‘Little Miss Primadonna’, their little nickname for King Steve back in the day.

He doesn’t like how instead of feeling lighter he just feels sick afterwards.

A resounding whistle starts the first set.

Eddie has forgotten how violent and competitive volleyball can get. He jumps away every time the ball comes anywhere near him, Harrington’s sweaty body miraculously appearing right there and then to save the day. It’s maybe the first time today that he can see blips of annoyance on the jock’s face but then as soon as it appears it smooths out and Steve graces him with yet another smile.

“You don’t have to be afraid of the ball,” Harrington off-handedly tells him in-between sets.

“Yeah, well, you tend to start feeling a little bit wary about it after you’ve been hit in the face a few times,” Eddie can’t help but bite back. Harrington looks sad all of a sudden, as though his friends haven’t been the ones to attempt their best at making Eddie’s face concave. He can’t help but yelp when a hairy mass – Steve’s arm – settles over his back and shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Harrington teases but there’s a sincere note in his voice. “I won’t let any balls come near you.”

Harrington – blessed, innocent, Harrington – is thankfully too straight to realize the innuendo he accidentally made but Eddie is most definitely not, face red as he mumbles under his breath ‘I mean, some balls are fine.”

Thankfully he does not hear that either.

Steve keeps his promise with surprising accuracy; no volleyball flies anywhere near Eddie and Harrington is always close by. Which should not bring as much comfort to him as it does. Especially considering Eddie still is unable to figure out why – why is Harrington this nice? Why does he care about Eddie at all? Part of him worries it’s all an act, a grand performance by one King Steve, with a grand finale that promises pain and humiliation right at the crescendo.

Nothing happens.

Well, they lose. Spectacularly. One game, then another, then a third one.

Amid this disaster and despite them being the singularly least athletic team possible, Steve Harrington remains an encouraging and patient captain. Not once does he yell or complain when the majority of the team scrambles away from the ball instead of towards it. Surprising, when Harrington has spent years under the wing of Coach Daniels as the Hawkins High very own basketball team captain.

“You’re good at this,” Eddie thinks out loud, promptly pursing his lips because he did not mean to actually say it. It is in particularly bad self-preservation taste to give a jock more ammo.

“I promised,” is all Steve says with a wink. And for a second, a blink-and-you-miss-it, his eyes go up and down along Eddie’s body, and- But that’s impossible. Harrington is not- He wouldn’t have-

It’s a preposterous cherry on the wild-buck cake he’s been offered today. There must have been a ball hurled his way at one point or another, punching him into another dimension that is similar enough yet decidedly feels a little bit off at every step. He’s rooted in his spot like the idiot that he is. What finally breaks him from the self-induced coma is what caused it in the first place - his ears catch the melodic tune of a Harrington laugh and, just like that, from feet above the ground he falls back to Earth, popping like a balloon with a gun.

For all Buckley piss-poor attempts at appearing done with it all, she sure looks chummy with Steve Harrington all of a sudden, and he does with her as well. It was foolish, stupidly childish, to assume the jock’s attention was for Eddie and Eddie alone.

Harrington pulling out his patented charm with Buckley the same way he did a second ago with Eddie feels like a light stab in his chest. What twists it is them looking Eddie’s way, red cheeks and mirth in their eyes, and letting out a short but audible laugh.

“I’m telling you, dingus.”

 “God, shut up,” but Harrington laughs as he says it, even when he elbows Robin right in the boob.

Dead-set on keeping his eyes on the ground, Eddie tries to move past them. He doesn’t get far.

“Hey, Eddie, I’m trying to convince Robin to go for tug of war,” Harrington tells him for some fucking reason.

“No way, dingus.”

“She’s stronger than she looks,” he adds, poking Buckley in the bicep-less arm. “From carrying that tuba around.”

“Trumpet.”

I haul up the amp at every Corroded Coffin show, Eddie wants to say – would that impress you?

He’s pathetic. He’s fallen from the high pedestal he self-appointed himself at – above the bullshit popularity contest and suffocating do’s and don’ts of small-town’s high school lore – right at the feet of the walking and breathing representation of everything he resents about how the world works, and-

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles.

A good smoke is exactly what Eddie needs right now. Fill his being with nothing but puffs of smoke. Students and teachers and even some parents roam around the school grounds but his trusty spot behind the gym is free of the intruders. Two cigarettes in, he refuses to feel sorry for himself any longer.

He’s not going to dwell on something that was a pipe dream to begin with. Not too long anyway. Whatever. He’s fine.

He is .

Steve seems wary of him when he gets back but he brushes it off as well as he can and gets in line behind Fred Benson instead. It’s long jump time.

“Robin’s pretty cool, right?” comes a voice behind him. Eddie yelps.

“Jesus Christ, warn a guy.”

Steve has the audacity to look a little sheepish, hand going to scratch at the back of his neck. “Sorry, man.”

Silence.

“Turns out we have some things in common,” he says, then. And stares. For a long time.

“Okay?”

What does he want Eddie to say? You have my blessing? Congrats?

Steve looks slightly discouraged from continuing his ventures but seems willing to trudge on, for whatever reason. “Maybe-“

“Munson, you’re up!”

Oh, thank God .

Eddie may not be the fastest or the strongest but he has years of avoiding bullies under his belt. That is to say, if he wants to avoid someone, he will find a way to become, well, not invisible, but unreachable at the least. It does not help that at this point he understands Harrington’s newfound obsession with him even less. Maybe for a second Eddie could have thought that – well, that doesn’t matter.  

By hour eight and with only one event left, Eddie feels pretty confident he’s going to survive the whole thing after all and not even be on the losing team somehow. That is until Coach Jenkins announces the farewell match.

“Dodgeball! Yellow against blue,” and whistles loud and clear, no room for complaints.

It all goes surprisingly well until it doesn’t. Until there’s a ball flying his way. Until he faceplants into next week.

Of course it’s Steve Harrington who insists on patching him up in the nurse’s office. “I’m the captain,” he says before anyone else can offer. Not that they were people scrambling to do so, really.

“I’m sorry,” Harrington adds when an icepack settles on the side of Eddie’s head once they arrive.

“What for? ‘Far as I can tell it wasn’t you who threw that,” Eddie narrows his eyes. “Right?”

“No, of course not, Eddie, I would never-“ Steve stops himself and Eddie wants so badly to point out that he ‘would ever’, in fact he ‘did ever’, but that would be a lie. King Steve never stooped as law as the likes of Tommy Hagan or other low-esteem high school bullies. King Steve was always above it all, too high and mighty to bother with mundane shit such as head shooting a nerd with a basketball in P.E. or offering a swirlie. Doesn’t make it right, doesn’t make him any less of an asshole for standing by and watching it happen.

But Harrington hasn’t been King Steve for a while now, has he?

It’s morally questionable. It’s confusing.

Eddie thinks he might be having a concussion.

“I promised,” Steve says instead, and Eddie is really even more convinced a visit to the ER is going to be necessary because- “That I wouldn’t let any ball come near you.”

Ah.

A strange oath to so stubbornly hang onto all things considered.

While Eddie struggles to find an appropriate response Steve decides to take it upon himself to start cleaning the scraped knee with a feather-light touch and precision that comes as a surprise. A minute stretches into five, into ten, as he works, clearing his throat at the end.

“I’ve been told that I’ve been,” he makes quotation marks in the air. “acting like a weirdo.”

“Ah. Well. Who am I to disagree with the King?” Eddie juts out his bottom lip and Steve snorts. Clamps a hand to his mouth, embarrassed, though a glint in his eyes betrays him.

“What’s so funny, Harrington?”

“Nothing. Just – I really do have a type,” Steve shrugs.

“Women that are probably too good for you?”

“Mmm, that, too, but also,” he grabs one of the loose strands that have escaped Eddie’s bun and twirls it between his fingers. Heat rushes to his ears fast and warm and he can barely make out what Steve says next. But he does and- “Cute pout. Curly hair. Beautiful brown eyes. Super smart.”

Eddie swallows. “Steve.”

“Not ‘Harrington’ anymore?”

“If this is a joke-“

“It’s not,” Steve’s hand quickly links and tugs at his. “I promise it’s not.”

“I’m a little lost, dude, not gonna lie.”

“The whole day, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. You’re… pretty, so pretty. And Robin insisted that you like me, too,” Steve slows down, disentangles his hands from Eddie’s. “But – did I misread this? I- Don’t leave me hanging like that, man.”

Eddie can see the growing panic in Steve’s eyes, desperation in his voice. He can’t help it, his mind comes to a shattering halt.

“Wait, hold on, I- You’re being serious?” Steve nods. “Okay, shit. I-uh. Fuck.”

“This was a bad idea, wasn't it?” Steve fists his hand in his hair, making a mess of it and oh, Eddie cannot allow that, not unless he’s the one that- “I’m so sorry, Eddie-“

One hand on a grey shirt, one with rings getting tangled in-between strands of puffy hair, two pair of lips collide for just a split second. Only a quick pause follows before they are reunited again, and again, and-

“Does that mean,” Steve asks, breathless, between peppering kisses. “that you’ll go out with me?”

“Keep the kisses coming and you have yourself a deal.”

Steve leans away and smirks. Eddie can’t help the little embarrassing whine that leaves his lips. “We stopped. Why did we stop?”

“Told you it’s all about teamwork.”