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milswrites · 29 days

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The Trials of Aphrodite Part One

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Series summary: Hopelessly in love with Elain, Azriel enlists your help in order to win her over. The only problem? You have been in love with Azriel for as long as you have known him.

Chapter summary: With his pitiful attempts of expressing his attraction to Elain leading him nowhere, Azriel decides he needs some help. Who better to ask than his closest friend?

Warnings: Light angst (pining), Azriel’s childhood is mentioned but doesn’t go into detail.

It was no secret that Azriel has always been a lover.

Once the shackles of his tortured childhood had fallen and Azriel was able to taste the sweet release of freedom, his found family had spent years teaching the male what it meant to dream.

They had shown him the sweet blessings that come with loving freely and dreaming wildly. Reassuring the male that his life was his own, promising Azriel that family was made by choices, not by blood. Encouraging him to make his own decisions, build his own friendships, untethered by the control of his merciless relatives.

That's how he had met you. The male having sought to make a connection that wasn't forged for him by the likes of his family. Azriel's selfish desire to have someone all to himself was what drove him to Velaris that day you had met. Confident that despite his past which had been spent in solitude, he would be able to meet an equal-minded person.

It was fate that brought the two of you together. A chance encounter as you collided in the bustling streets of the lively city and Azriel had spent every century since thanking the gods for allowing that meeting to occur - for bringing him you.

The shadowsinger had been drawn to you from the very moment you had stumbled into his unexpecting arms. His shadows flocking to your glowing aura like moths to a flame. You were everything Azriel wasn't. A bright soul, who had grown up in Velaris nurtured by your loving family. Untouched by the darkness which plagued the male.

Yet it was this difference which set you apart from Azriel's family. This difference which had him craving your presence when his own light had grown a little too dim, needing your warmth and security to encourage the spark to grow in his festering darkness.

You were the perfect antithesis of each other. The sun and moon. Life and death. So it was no wonder that it was all to easy for the shadowsinger to love you. To welcome you into his tarnished life, allowing your gentle hands and honeyed voice to soothe over the the jagged scars of his past.

Azriel allowed all his free time to be consumed by you. The days passing by quickly in each other's contented company. And that is why after centuries of knowing one another it was no surprise that Azriel knew everything about you and you him. How you were both fortunate enough to have been blessed with the gift of reading each other without a single word needing to be spoken.

How it was all too easy for you to notice the way Azriel's longing eyes which had one settled on Mor had now turned their attention to Elain.

All the while yours remained on him.

Azriel may have been a lover, but he was blind to your centuries-old affection for him. His heart and mind always having been stolen by another. First Mor and now Elain. You didn't allow his incessant pining to deter you from your friendship with him. Just like you were Azriel's salvation, he was yours. The deep bond of your friendship had already been tied and you would not allow one silly little crush to sever the tether that tied the two of you together.

It was only one centuries-old crush which you couldn't stamp out no matter how hard you tried.

You were fortunate enough, at least, that Azriel's pining was mainly done in silence. That his hours spent with you weren't marred by him expressing his undying affection for the ladies who captured his attention. It was pure luck, that the man who owned your heart chose to keep his love for another to himself, sparing you from the unbearable pain of hearing about it. Watching his yearning eyes never fail to leave Elain's delicate features whenever the two were in the same room was agony enough.

And so you were content. Resigned to the fact that his unrequited love for you was something you would have to live with if it meant being in Azriel's life. Accepting that you were immeasurably in love with a man who would never feel the same way about you.

It was all too easy then, once you had come to terms with this realization, to fall into your regular routine with the male. To ignore the ceaseless twang of your heartstrings whenever you witnessed his uncontrollable pining for Elain. To pretend that the dreamer inside of you didn't stir up pictures of a day where Azriel would finally notice what's been in front of him the whole time.

Being Azriel's friend was too much of a reward to ruin.

And so when he turned up at your door, face sullen and eyes watering, Elain's name upon his lips, it was impossible to deny him of your comfort. Standing aside to allow your distressed friend to walk inside, Azriel making his way to your sofa before flopping onto the plush cushions, flattening his wings as he laid in misery.

A gruff cry of frustration tore from his throat as you moved to sit in the chair opposite him.

"That bad huh?" you ask meekly, tentative voice failing to represent the tempestuous emotions which were swirling inside your chest at the reason for his visit.

Azriel shot you a flat look, his serious eyes meeting your own anxious ones before he flung his head back in exasperation.

"I actually think I'm destined to remain single forever!" he cried as you uncomfortably shifted in your seat at his statement. You often wondered in his shadows could sense your hidden affection for the male, convinced that they must have some knowledge of your crush on their master as a few of the smoky tendrils made their way over to where you were sat. The dark shadows curling around your legs in comfort, not dissimilar to the way a cat would brush against you.

Azriel, oblivious to his shadows wanderings, continued to vent, "I don't understand how I've been cursed with the inability to speak to females."

"You speak to me alright" you interjected lowly, keeping your eyes locked on the swirling movements of the shadows by your feet out of fear of them betraying your true emotions in relation to the words Azriel had spoken.

"Yes, but you're you" he countered as if it was obvious, shrugging casually as he did so, "But every time I go to speak to Elain it's like the Mother herself is holding my tongue. She's bound to think there's something wrong with me."

"I'm sure she doesn't Az" you reason, doing your best to fill your words with reassurance and comfort. Hoping that if you soothe the male's turbulent thoughts of the woman he may stop speaking about her sooner.

"And then there's Lucien. Why is Lucien always there?" he asked in annoyance, spitting venom upon the mention of the red-haired male's name. You sunk even further into your seat, clearly your well of luck had run dry.

"Why don't you just ask her on a date?" you quietly asked, forcing the dreaded words to spill from your mouth, "She likes you, I'm sure she'll say yes."

His slumped head snapped straight at your words, hazel eyes boring into your own as he began to eagerly question you, "She likes me? You're sure?"

"I mean. . . I guess? I can't say I pay much attention to the women you pine after."

A lie. Having jealously spent numerous hours observing Elain to see if she also feels the same way as your friend does for her. But this was something you'd never mention to Azriel.

"Cassian said I need a wingman," he scoffed at the notion, clearly finding the idea of Cassian trying to do anything romantic unimaginable, "Can you imagine the mess he'd put me in then? He'd probably scare her away. . ."

Azriel trailed off, his hazel eyes clouded over as the male was deep in thought, lightly tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth as he did so. "Your sister," he slowly started to speak, as if afraid that you would judge him, "Is she still with that guy you set her up with?"

"Castor? Yeah she's still with him, why?" you ask, heart beating frantically in your chest as you can already see where this conversation is leading. Dreading the shadowsinger's proposition which was already hovering ominously in the air. Fearing the unwelcome appearance of your inability to say no to the male.

"Well you wouldn't mind helping me would you?" he pondered, the thundering echo of your heart now flooding into your ears, "I trust you more than Cassian, I know you'd be able to do this for me."

It was a cruel fate the cauldron had handed you. And cruller still, was the hold that Azriel had over you. The way he had managed to worm his way into your heart and dictate what you do and how you feel.

It was impossible to tear your eyes from his begging hazel ones, unable to ignore the hopeful anticipation which filled them. Hating the uplifting way your heart twinged with pleasure at the trace of a smile lining his soft lips. A smile reserved only for you.

Your mind screamed at you to say no, listing all the reasons why this was a terrible idea, creating numerous scenarios as to how this could all go horribly wrong. Yet it was too late, your traitorous heart had already spoken for you, pouring the words from your lips before your mind could even register that you were the one to have spoken them, "Alright Az, I'll do it. I’ll help you with Elain."

And it was all too easy to pay no mind to the river of dread which coursed through your body. The pain of your fracturing heart failing to be heard due to the numbness which had found it's home in your body and soul. The warming comfort which came along with Azriel's beaming smile was almost strong enough to make you believe that he loved you. Allowing you to confuse his thankful eyes for affectionate ones.

His grateful expression was hypnotic, his gods blessed power was enough to hold your anxieties at bay. Able to convince you that you made the right choice.

That all you needed to be content was to make sure that Azriel was happy with somebody else.

Someone who wasn't you.

Part two

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Taglist (let me know if you want to be added):

@a-cup-of-nightshade @yearninglustfully @illyrianbitch @ninaduchess @sarawritestories @annaaaaa88 @antiquecultist @madelyncullen @erencvlt @chaytea06 @dxjaaaa @saltedcoffeescotch @spark1epuffba11s @thestartitaness @amysangel @historygeekqueen @thelov3lybookworm @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @willowpains @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @dreamlandreader @sidthedollface2

(Some of you I was unable to tag! If you check your settings you may find you don’t have your permissions on for people tagging you in their posts! If it’s not that and just my bad spelling please let me know 🫠)

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel #azriel series #azriel oneshot #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar

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ozzgin · 2 months

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Hii I was wondering if u could do a yandere Kazuya x yn x yandere Daitou I’m not sure if u do character x yn x character tho

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader Spinoff

Two yakuza men who have fallen in love with their new foreign tenant. A what-if spinoff to the original story for that love triangle spice. Happy Valentine's Day!

Content: female reader, NSFW, organized crime, obsessive behavior, violence, BDSM themes (choking), threats

Credits: My boyfriend for giving me the Daitou smut idea

[Main Story] [General Headcanons]

Kazuya is sitting on the sidewalk, checking his watch occasionally and tapping his foot. The cigarette seems to have been forgotten, hanging lowly from his lips.

"Sorry I'm late." Daitou speedily makes his way towards his friend, smiling awkwardly.

"Where the fuck were you, man? We don't know how much time we have before the cops arrive."

"Uh uh, leave it to me." The cheeky grin doesn't leave his face as he pulls out his gun and carefully but swiftly inspects the barrel and safety one final time. "(Y/N) needed some help with the mailbox. I couldn't just say no, ya know?"

The blonde man's eyebrows raise for a second, but he quickly recollects himself.

"I see. That's good."

"She asked me to show her the area tomorrow, so I'll be working extra hard tonight. Hehe."

"That's good."

Daitou glances at Kazuya, somewhat wary.

"You okay?"

Stupid question. What's he supposed to answer? Yeah, he loves waiting like a dumbass while his friend flirts with the new tenant, who conveniently happens to be a cute foreigner, who's been unexpectedly nice and relaxed around them despite them explicitly stating they're part of the Japanese mafia. Fucking hell. It doesn't help that this idiot is as obvious as a blaring, blinding cluster of ads smack in the middle of Kabukicho. He can tell from miles away that Daitou's completely fallen for her. Just like that, in an instant.

They've been partners and best friends for years now, so the natural reaction would be happiness, right? Daitou has always been one scary motherfucker. Even the seniors scramble when he's in the room, let alone women. For him to find someone that isn't bothered the slightest by his appearance or background should be a celebratory occasion. Kazuya should be rooting for him. Except, well, he fell for you just as hard. Tough luck.

The Bushido moral code, often used as guidance within their own lifestyle, covers matters such as loyalty and honesty quite extensively. A true warrior remains fiercely faithful to his master or companions. And yet, love interests are more of a grey area, especially if they happen to overlap. Who dictates the proper etiquette for this dilemma? To whom is loyalty directed towards? Truth be told, Kazuya couldn’t care less. He’s always been a man of vice, impulsive and greedy. If he wants something, he takes it.

The trouble starts when the other person is of the same mindset. Two ferocious predators eyeing the same victim.

***

You fiddle next to the tall, dark-haired man. Similarly, Daitou is avoiding eye contact, looking around in hopes of finding something to focus on. It’s the first time he’s come over since the incident. After his little mission with Kazuya, he was tasked to “interrogate” some of the remaining members to get even more names for the hitlist. He’d completely forgotten about his promise to show you the neighborhood. Hands sticky with blood, he was in the middle of his signature act of benevolence, putting the lad out of his misery.

It was around that time you decided to be the one picking him up instead, for your grand tour. Your knocks on the door remained unheard, however, so you decided to politely make your way in.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not-”

You froze in place. A man (you assumed at least based on the few visible traits left), tied up on the chair, canvas bag roped around his head. Daitou’s hands were secured around his throat. In the few seconds of silence, you could hear a muffled wheezing, as the stranger’s chest heaved in short convulsions.

“-intruding.” You mumbled, regaining your speech.

He messed up, didn’t he? Daitou sighs and slicks his hair back. He can’t blame you if you’re now terrified of him. He had to come over for some tenant checkups and you’ve been maintaining a safe distance from him during his entire visit. What can he possibly tell you? “Hey, I know I threatened to chop you up and you’ve now witnessed firsthand I’m a legit murderer, but, uh…I have a crush on you? Dinner at seven?”

You’re terrified alright, but not of his deeds. Rather, your newly discovered perversion as a consequence of the gory scene. It’s not that you relished in the torment of another. It’s the other details that left you reminiscing. Daitou’s imposing frame, the unbuttoned shirt revealing his traditional tattoos glistening in beads of sweat, his flexed, brawny arms, and large hands. You’re scared of your shamelessness. It can’t be normal. Yet you can’t stop thinking about it. Just a glimpse into this memory and your cheeks become burning red.

“I’ll be on my way then”, the yakuza announces politely.

Though he immediately stops in his tracks, and you realize you’ve unconsciously grabbed onto his sleeve. Uh oh. What now? You mumble an apology without releasing your hold. Being this close to him makes your heart drum inside your chest.

To hell with it.

“I might say something terribly inappropriate right now, but…”

“Sorry?” He stares at you, dumbfounded.

“Do you have anything planned after this?” You ask quietly.

“N-no?”

“Would you mind staying over?”

“Huh? Sure…w-what for?” His mouth is dry, and he searches your eyes in confusion.

“You know…” Choke me until I pass out and such, you think to yourself sarcastically.

He turns to face you, lips pursed awkwardly.

“You’ll have to be clear with me, Miss (Y/N). I’m not good with all this tiptoeing around and I might get the wrong idea.”

Your ears perk up hearing his final words, a deep blush now spreading over your flustered features.

“What wrong idea?”

Daitou fidgets with his glass prosthetic nervously.

“Well, uh, a man can only dream, ya know? Especially around a cute girl like you.” He reveals with a stutter.

“Suppose I’d be willing to go along with anything on your mind. What then?” You twirl your hair, gazing shyly at the floor. Not even you can believe the audacity leaving your lips.

The tall man steps before you, towering above with a certain gleam in his eye. It’s yearning. Your knees weaken.

“Don’t tease me, please. I can hardly control myself around you as it is.”

You release his sleeve and instead cling onto his shirt with both hands, looking up through your lashes.

“I’m dead serious.”

He ponders his next move with a click of the tongue, then cups your cheeks between his hands and lowers himself until his hot breath tickles your nose.

“Are you? There’s no going back after this. Can you handle it?” His voice is suddenly deeper, raspier.

Before you can respond, you feel yourself lifted and you yelp, surprised, instinctively wrapping your limbs around the yakuza. In between the greedy kisses that leave your lips bruised and swollen, you don’t notice the movement back towards the seating area.

As you pull away to gasp for air, he throws you onto the couch, flipping you over in the process so that you’re kneeling away from him. Your nails dig into the soft fabric of the sofa. You hear Daitou unbuckle his belt and you squeeze your legs together, heavily aroused. He presses his palm gently into your back, arching it. You sense his fingers grazing over your core and you whimper.

“G-go on, please.” You beg, swaying your hips tentatively. “I really can’t wait anymore.”

“As you wish, Miss.” He reassures you with a grin.

He adjusts himself and carefully makes his way in. You don’t have time to enjoy the feeling; following almost instantly is his belt looped around your neck, tightening under his grip as he pulls the ends towards him. Your head is forced back, and you groan. You can hear the leather stretch and creak over your assaulted skin, the constriction briefly cutting your oxygen intake. Hot drool trickles down your chin and your eyes almost roll back in pleasure.

“Look at my little Miss (Y/N), taking it like a champion.” He bends over and bites your earlobe playfully. “Does that mean I can be as rough as I want?”

You nod erratically.

The grip around your throat intensifies and your vision becomes blurry.

“Hey, don’t pass out now.” He inserts two fingers in your mouth, pulling you by the cheek and tilting your head to look him in the eye. “Not before you show me that you understand your situation. You’re mine. Is that clear?”

He drags his fingers downwards, aiding your response as you struggle to contract your muscles.

“Attagirl.” He concludes, satisfied.

In the morning you wake up with a dreadful soreness, and you can quickly see why. Your body is peppered in bruises. Daitou is smoking by the window and promptly flicks his cigarette out once he realizes you’re no longer asleep.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” He begins, remorseful, and squats in front of the bed. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“I will need a day or two to recover before the next time, but otherwise I’m fine.”

He beams with delight upon registering your words: next time. You can’t help but snicker at his childish enthusiasm. It’s a mystery how Daitou can switch between ruthless killer and cute partner with such ease.

Although it’s no secret, really. It’s you.

***

“Thanks for driving me home, Kazuya.”

You smile and unbuckle your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle. Daitou has been busy with work for the past days, so Kazuya took his place in looking after your needs.

“Huh?” You rattle the grab handle one more time to make sure. “It’s still locked.”

The blonde raps the wheel impatiently with his fingers. Is he to silently accept his loss? Does it even count as a loss when he hasn’t even had the chance to present his piece? Daitou has been quiet about it, but he can read that bastard like an open book. Something definitely happened between the two of you and the mere thought drives him insane.

Ah, this is so unlike him. There are few things he cares about. His pride, his Family’s honor, his freedom. Women aren’t exactly on that list, yet somehow, you’ve snuck your way to the very top of priorities and he’s realizing it just now. It’s becoming harder to ignore his maddening urge to have you. Out of all the things…He’d give Daitou the world. But not you. He can’t. He can’t.

“Kazuya? Are you listening? You forgot to unlock the door.”

“Say, (Y/N) …ever fucked in a car before?”

“What?” You ask, baffled.

“Come here for a moment.” He swiftly slides his seat all the way back and pats his thigh.

“Are you out of your mind?”

He answers your inquiry by pulling out his handgun and lazily pointing it towards you.

“I’m only going to ask once.”

You clumsily climb over the center console, straddling the yakuza with a slight pout.

“Someone’s in a sour mood, that’s for sure”, you complain. “It’s not even loaded.”

“Even I’m not crazy enough to risk shooting my Princess.” He smiles apologetically, throwing the gun on the backseat. “I thought it’d be more threatening that way.”

He removes a strand of hair from your face, gazing at you intently. His hand lingers for a second, before sliding its way down, tracing the side of your body. You shiver.

“Can you truly blame me when there’s such a pretty girl right before my eyes?” The blonde exhales and focuses on your shirt instead. “Won’t you let me prove myself?”

From this distance, despite the dim lights, you can discern his features in agonizing detail. His long lashes, his fleshy lips, currently parted, the luscious locks of hair casually thrown back. Kazuya has always been effortlessly handsome. It’s not just his good looks, but his overflowing charisma. He always knows exactly what to say and do. A devilish power to have over people, and you’re presently his victim.

His slender fingers play with your first button and cheekily undo it. You can only observe it, entranced. Your legs are weak, and your arms are stuck in place, resting limply over his broad shoulders.

“May I?” He glances up at you with a pleading expression. “I won’t be able to hold back afterwards.”

You bite your lower lip, distracted. Whether or not this is a wise choice, you can’t currently tell. You squirm in his lap and suddenly feel the pressure coming from below.

“Go ahead.” You finally confess.

He doesn’t hesitate and slithers his hand underneath your shirt, popping the rest of the buttons open. Like a hungry animal that has stumbled upon a feast, he sinks his teeth into your neck, leaving mean, wet kisses on his way down.

One hand is greedily kneading your curves, encouraged by your soft whimpers, while the other strokes your thigh in anticipation. With a bit of readjustment, he finds the right spot between your trembling legs. You jolt at the sensation of his cold fingers.

“My, you’re already dripping. How lewd.” He whispers between breaths. “Do you want it now?”

He nonchalantly slips out and undoes his own pants. You lift yourself expectantly and let a moan escape your lips upon feeling the erection throbbing right below.

“Well then, can’t forget our manners, can we?” He announces, visibly excited. “What should I do?”

You glare at him, feverish.

“Stop teasing me.”

“Come on, be a good girl. Tell me what to do and I will do it, Love.”

Why, this…You lower yourself to his ear and answer in a lulled whine.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you to fuck me.”

Words enough to send the blonde man over the edge. He abruptly clutches your thighs for support, easing himself in before continuing with increasingly aggressive thrusts. Husky whimpers roll out of his mouth, desperate and starved.

“Oh, I’ve waited so long for this. My darling, perfect little (Y/N).” He presses his forehead into your chest, indulging in the moment. “Now say that you’re mine. Please. Please say it.”

“I’m…ah…I’m all yours, Kazuya.” You manage to blurt out, growing dizzy.

“That’s my girl. Such a good girl.”

Once the deed is finished, you flop your head over his chest, trying to catch your breath. Kazuya smoothens your clothes meticulously, holding you with one arm for support. Can’t leave a lady all disheveled, after all.

“Won’t Daitou be upset?” You point out, somewhat anxiously.

His muscles are tense for a second and he furrows his brows.

“That’s one strange way to thank me for making you come at least twice. Mentioning another man’s name.”

“I’m just…” your words trail off.

“What? Worried? You think I can’t handle it or something?”

Far from the truth. Both Kazuya and Daitou are violent, dangerous men. Given their stubbornness, you’re rather certain they’d end up killing each other. Not your favorite outcome.

“I don’t want either of you to get hurt.”

He sighs loudly.

“I’ll tell you what. Under normal circumstances, I’d probably dismember whoever had the guts to even entertain the idea of meddling with you. But…just because it’s Daitou, I might be willing to share. Nothing more than that.”

Kazuya ruffles your hair and chuckles.

“Aren’t you glad I’m such a diplomat, Love?”

“More like batshit crazy, both of you.” You retort, stretching.

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dancingbirdie · 6 months

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Hello there! I adore your fics and how you wrote Astarion! I was hoping you could write something around the succubus scene? I know you get comforted by Astarion later on in the game regarding it, but due to his own trauma and backstory I would have liked to see him stand up for Tav and protect them during that scene itself, instead of just standing by while Tav is being manipulated 🙈

If you could do something around that, it would heal me! 😂🙏

Hi, anon! I hope you enjoy. I really liked your prompt, but I'll admit it did get a bit darker than I had originally thought I'd write it.

Please take note of the content warnings before you read! As always, comments and reacts are appreciated.

No Self-Sacrifices

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader/Tav

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings/Tags: Discussion/description of dissociation, implied sexual assault, mentions of Astarion's past, descriptions of violence, blood, mild gore, death, angst.

*****

“Why don’t we play a game?” the Raphael-look-alike called to you seductively from the ridiculously lavish bed. “You win, I give you everything you desire. But you’ll enjoy yourself more if you lose.”

Astarion began to sense that all too familiar, uneasy feeling coiling itself tight inside his chest. The premonition that something was about to go utterly, horribly wrong. He risked a glance toward your allies, Lae’zel and Halsin, but they appeared just as woefully confused as you did. As if you all weren’t aware of the trap you’d just walked into.

“What’s the game?” he heard you ask. He could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.

“It’s a surprise! Off with your clothes,” the devil commanded.

There could be no doubt as to what would take place. Surely, Astarion thought, none of his companions could be so blind as to not see what was about to happen.

Astarion watched as you bit your lip, hesitating. How you looked wildly about the room, as if you were searching for any last-minute way to avoid this. With his preternatural senses, he couldn’t help but be aware of how your heart rate spiked to a frenzied pulsing as you stood there, terrified of what was to come.

He watched in horror as your shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. Defeated. Resolving to go through with this. And as you began removing your clothes, his vision turned nearly as red as the fiend on the mattress before you.

“Good, little thief, good,” the monster crooned, totally unaware of Astarion’s brewing rage. “Keep going like this, and you’ll get to live. You’ll be crying out my name soon, you’d better know it. I am Haarlep, Raphael’s personal incubus…”

The incubus - Haarlep - prattled on while Astarion continued to seethe with barely-contained fury. His fingers twitched, itching – almost of their own accord – to reach for the crossbow strapped to his back. He began shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, restless. He caught the glare Lae’zel was leveling at him from his periphery and turned his head slightly to meet it.

She gave a slight, but obvious, shake of the head. A silent command to stand down. Then he felt the tadpole squirm in his brain, while a voice that was distinctly Lae’zel’s echoed in his mind.

Don’t act rashly, vampire. We need to gather more information before we strike.

Astarion nearly laughed aloud. The audacity of this Githyanki, willing to let her comrade be violated in such a way. After all they had done for her. For this party. And yet, part of him knew he shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, he had known plenty of “heroes” who had let equally horrible fates befall others without so much as lifting a finger to help them.

“It matters not to me.” Your deadened reply to Haarlep brought Astarion back to the present moment. He recognized that tone of voice. Knew when someone was trying to dissociate. To disconnect their mind from their body. He knew all too well what that feeling was like. And it was nearly as horrible to watch as it was to experience it for himself.

“Very well, I will be Raphael himself,” Haarlep continued. “All of him. Now, on the bed. Lie back.”

Astarion made his decision when he saw you begin to take stilted steps toward the bed. Covering yourself with your hands, trying to maintain some modicum of modesty as you climbed up.

With Haarlep’s attention solely on you, he reached behind him for the crossbow. His index finger felt for the trigger as he pulled it around before him. One swift flick, and an arrow was suddenly lodged in the incubus’ left pectoral.

Chaos erupted as imps suddenly appeared throughout the room, responding to Haarlep’s distressed cry. You toppled off the bed, head knocking onto the floor, as the fiend raged above you, trying to right themselves and extract the arrow from their chest.

“Tsk’va,” Lae’zel cursed in Gith, hefting her sword over her shoulder and barreling toward the first enemy in sight. “To battle it is, then!”

Halsin shifted quickly into his bear shape and let loose a formidable roar, charging for another group of imps across the room.

But Astarion only had eyes for Haarlep. He stalked slowly toward the bed, unsheathing the twin blades from his back as he did so.

You watched as he gave one brief, wicked smile before utter carnage ensued.

*****

“Kainyak! Your foolishness nearly cost us all our lives,” Lae’zel spat venomously toward Astarion while she wiped her blade free of the fetid black imp blood. “I should strike you down now for acting with such stupidity.”

To his credit, Astarion barely seemed to acknowledge the Githyanki’s formidable censuring. You watched as he slipped his daggers back into the sheaths at the small of his back and readjusted his armor. He picked up his crossbow and shook it free of blood before strapping it back between his shoulder blades.

“You still have all your limbs intact, Lae’zel,” he replied airly. It was a stark contrast to the way he was standing, body as taut as a bowstring. “And wasn’t that bloodshed so much more satisfying than watching the incubus violate our dear party leader?”

Lae’zel’s mouth snapped shut, but she continued to glare. The vampire had a point, though she was loath to admit it.

“I, for one, prefer this outcome to the alternative that was before us,” Halsin agreed, rising from where he had been crouched after dismissing his ursine form. He glanced your way but averted his eyes quickly, to your confusion.

“Best get dressed, darling,” Astarion drawled, coming over to where you still lay prone on the floor. “As delicious as I find your birthday suit to be, I’d wager you’ll fare better in this wretched place with a little more clothing on.”

He held out a hand to help you rise to your feet. You observed him cautiously, trying to discern the emotion behind his carefully schooled expression.

“Why?” you whispered.

He squinted at you, one brow quirked. “Are you seriously asking me why armor is prudent to have on, in a place like this?” He chuckled before adding, “gods, you must’ve smacked your head harder than I thought.”

“No,” you retorted, refusing to be deterred by his cheeky banter. “I mean, why did you attack Haarlep? You’re never one to be spoiling for a fight.”

Astarion scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest as if insulted. “Careful, darling. You’re almost making me out to be a pacifist.”

“You know what I meant, Astarion,” you grumbled as you began donning your leather breeches and jerkin.

“And would you have preferred to be fucked by that incubus instead?” Astarion bit out derisively.

Your head whipped up to meet his gaze, hearing the sudden change in his tone.

“Of course not,” you scowled. “But you could sense how powerful they were. It seemed like the only way to ensure your all’s safety.”

Astarion grimaced. “So you would have just laid down and taken it? For us?”

“I’m not saying I would have enjoyed it,” you hissed. “But to keep you safe? Keep them safe?” you gestured to Lae’zel and Halsin across the room, polishing and re-polishing their weapons as they attempted not to overhear your barely-whispered argument.

“Of course,” you concluded, voice resolute.

“Don’t be a fucking martyr. Not for me. Not for them. Not for anyone,” Astarion growled.

Your brows shot toward your hairline in surprise.

“We know what we signed up for when we joined this rag-tag group,” he continued, tone icy. “I’d rather fight a hundred fiends than watch you debase yourself to save anyone, including myself.”

You let loose a mirthless laugh, feeling angry, embarrassed and too completely exposed. Before you could think better of it, your retort was flying past your lips.

“You know, Astarion, you have a fucking funny way of showing appreciation for your partner who was willing to be violated in order to keep you safe.”

It was the wrong thing to say. You immediately knew it, and so did the rest of the party. Suddenly it was like the air had been sucked from the room.

Crimson eyes bored into your own as Astarion took a step forward to meet you, chest to chest. You glared up at him, refusing to back down. Refusing to be chastised for your willingness to protect him.

The shared air between you was charged. You could almost feel the electricity surging.

“Need I remind you? I’ve been violated enough times over the past 200 years to know how unequivocally monstrous it is,” he intoned, his voice pitched dangerously low. “I will promise you this. I am finished with having it happen to me, in front of me, or for me.”

Words escaped you. It was all you could do to maintain eye contact with him, feeling the conviction in his tone. The anger that had sustained you up until this point had all but disappeared. In its place was something far more demure.

“So yes, I fired the first shot that pierced that devil’s skin. Then I eviscerated their neck with my teeth,” he crooned, reverently tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You shivered at his touch, at his dulcet tone that was describing such violence.

“And I slit his throat with glee,” he continued, cupping your cheek in his palm. “I would do it again. And again. And again. Because I will never witness abuse like what was about to happen, ever again.”

He swept the pad of his thumb over the hollow under your eye, his gaze flicking rapidly over your face. As though he were subconsciously checking you over for any nicks, cuts, or bruises.

“Do you understand?” he whispered softly. His voice was still laced with rage, but you could tell it was not directed toward you. Really, it never had been.

The entire situation had obviously touched the most sensitive pressure point within him. Had triggered his urge to fight, to protect, to resist. You couldn’t be angry with him for that. Never. Not one bit.

You gulped before nodding slightly. “I understand now. I’m sorry.”

You lifted your hand to cover his where it was still cupping your face. Turning slightly, you planted a kiss against his palm.

“No self-sacrificing on my watch, darling, agreed?” he murmured, wrapping his other arm around your waist in a solid embrace.

“Agreed,” you confirmed, returning his embrace before venturing on through the House of Hope.

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imababblekat · 8 months

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To Catch A Turtle

@foxespen, "So part of the spiderman powers are having enhanced strength, right? So they could probably pick up any one of the turtles pretty easy, even if they stand at like half the brothers’ height. Imagine during a fight one of the boys gets thrown off a roof and their friendly neighborhood spider catches them and is just hold them bridal style and says like “if you’re gonna fall for me, it doesn’t have to be on a roof”Or something"

~xXx~

It wasn’t often the boys and (s,n) would get into a tough fight, but it seemed that with BeBop and Rocksteady, it always was one. They were two formidable foes for the ninja turtles alone, so having someone like you to fight along side them in these cases was always a welcome advantage.

When Donnie had relayed an alert from Casey, it wasn’t long till the four brothers found themselves fighting the two enemy mutants atop a bank building. Five minutes into the fight and you made your entrance by web launching yourself into BeeBop’s face, with a corny, “Starting the party without me I see!”, as you back flipped off the warthogs face. Just like that, with cheerful greetings, you and the crime fighting terrapins fell into sync, dishing out all you could against the other two. However, as the fight drew on, perhaps due to growing exhaustion, not everyone was able to stay on top of their toes.

“What do these guys even want?!”, you asked aloud, dodging a thrown pipe and landing next to Leo.

The leader in blue charged forward, swinging his dual swords at Rocksteady who was quick to hold up a chunk of broken building to block the attack. Narrowly ducking out of a punch from BeBop, Donnie swung his staff into the warthogs side, earning a harsh yelp from the assailant.

“Not sure. April thinks they’re making some sort of deal and need the cash to do so.”

“Stay out of our business, turtles!”, BeeBop snapped, grabbing Donnies staff and shoving the taller terrapin back into Raphael who had tried to attack from the side.

“The zoo’s not going to take you two, no matter how much you bribe them!”, you quipped, easily dodging Bebops attacks and jumping onto his back, blinding him with multiple web shots and tugging him in different directions as he started a blind rampage.

A loud laugh came from Mikey as he watched you rodeo the warthog, Leo and Donnie running towards you to assist.

“Good one, angel cakes!”, Mikey winked, just missing a punch from Rocksteady.

“The insects jokes are lame!”, the rhino grunted with irritation, grabbing a hold of Mikeys swinging nun-chuck and pulling him forward to give him a hard kick.

“Hey! Only I can call their jokes lame!”

Rocksteady quickly looked over at the person who had shouted, only to suddenly be tackled by a very heated Raphael. With a strong hold of the larger mutants midsection, the red clad ninja used all of his might to push the other to the edge of the building. Despite nearly having the wind knocked out of him by Raphael, Rocksteady was quick to firmly grasp his shell. With a loud grunt from above, Raphael had suddenly found himself being lifted into the air, staring down at a triumphant Rocksteady before being sent flying over the tall buildings edge. The last thing heard, as Raphael struggled to regain sense of what was up and what was down, were his brothers frantically shouting after him. At the height he just been thrown from, Raphael knew that even collapsing into his shell would prove futile to the crushing gravity once he hit the streets below.

Out of nowhere, Raphael felt his stomach lurch back and forth as something, or rather someone, swiftly swung him from one side of a building to another in a quick descent. It wasn’t till the world stopped spinning around him did Raphael peek open an eye, confusion followed quickly by shock when he realized who had been his savior.

“You know, Raphael, you make quite the cute damsel in distress if I do say so myself.”, you cheekily jested, and said turtle could just picture your eyebrows wagging beneath your mask.

(S,n) had been holding the bulky terrapin like he was air. Their arms snuggly wrapped beneath his knees and the midsection of his shell. Despite the alarming size difference, you cradled Raphael so carefully and securely, in a way that he had wished to someday carry a significant other. Yet, to be the one being held in such a manner, caused the macho man of a turtle to feel his face quickly heat up, and scramble out of your arms even quicker when he heard the approaching foot steps of his brothers. One could practically feel the heat of embarrassment radiating off of him, as he tried desperately to play things cool.

“What happened to BeBop and Rocksteady?”, Raph questioned his brothers, hoping beyond belief that they hadn’t seen a thing.

“They managed to get away, but not without leaving behind what they tried to steal. Casey and the NYPD are on their way to pick up the stolen goods.”, Leo informed, looking between his flustered sibling and the spider person beside him.

Raphael just let out a scoff, turning sharply and walking off in a random direction.

“Where are you going?”, Mikey confusingly asked.

“To find my sai's.”

“Your welcome by the way!”, you shouted out, to which Raphael simply sent you back a deep scowl before returning to his search.

Despite the aggravated grumbling you could hear come from the hot headed person you saved, you continued to smile to yourself, the squinted eyes of your mask telling of your hidden expression. Pulling out a pen and small note pad, the parchment labeled (s,n) Notes, Donnie began to scribble away.

“Did he even weigh anything to you?”, he questioned with scientific curiosity.

You shrugged, hands on your hips as you peered up at Donnie.

“Like a feather.”

“Oo, oo! Me next!”, Mikey excitedly shouted, bounding towards you at top speed.

Not even your spidey senses could have prepared you for Mikey’s suddenness, you both collapsing to the ground just as you’d barely caught him in your arms. Leo merely shook his head in slight disappointment, Donnie continuing to jot down notes, and Raphael in the distance still trying to calm his flustered heart.

~xXx~

#bayverse tmnt x reader #bayverse tmnt #bayverse raph x reader #bayverse raphael x reader #bayverse leo x reader #bayverse leonardo x reader #bayverse donnie x reader #bayverse donatello x reader #bayverse mikey x reader #bayverse michelangelo x reader #tmnt x reader #aged up tmnt #tmnt spiderman au #spiderman reader #@foxespen #imababblekat's writing

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the-witty-pen-name · 2 months

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Love is Blind (Part 1)

Eddie Munson x PlusSize!F!Reader

Summary: In a last ditch effort to evade the normal disappointments of dating, a group of misfits desperate to have someone see who they are on the inside volunteer for the most recent brain chemistry study at Hawkins Lab.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Reader has low self-esteem and struggles with self love/acceptance, anxiety/trauma related to bullying, tooth rot worthy fluff, Eddie being a major flirt, cursing, mentions of substance use, brief descriptions of masturbation, smut in later parts

A/N: I got this idea from watching the newest season of Love is Blind and getting genuinely annoyed that the show still doesn’t have a more size inclusive dating pool. I feel like the show could be so much more. There are many subjects the show could be featuring that it just doesn’t. Anyways, this is incredibly self-indulgent, Eddie Munson loves plus size women and I refuse to accept otherwise. Enjoy!

Please consider reblogging/commenting if you like it!

Day One:

Eddie’s palms are sweaty, and he nervously wipes his hands on his jeans repeatedly. He bounces his leg, twisting the rings on his fingers. Fuck, what the hell is he even doing here? He’s sitting on a couch, facing a blank wall, and he’s absolutely scared shitless that he’s finally doing this. Hell, if it bombs, he gets some cash for participating. Whatever, it’s not like he actually believes in this shit.

He’s up and pacing the room when he finally hears a door on the other side of the wall open and close. He literally jumps over from the back of the couch to get back in his seat. He can hear the faint patter of someone walking. Then it stops, he assumes the person on the other side has taken a seat.

“This is so weird,” the voice from the other side of the wall says, and Eddie feels immediately at ease. He chuckles, shaking his head, standing up to walk the pent up energy out.

“Batshit,” Eddie exclaims in agreement. “I don’t know what I’m even doing here.”

“I’m here for the $200,” the voice jokes. “But that’s just me.”

He’s instantly relaxed, and suddenly, it doesn’t feel like he’s sitting alone in a drafty room on a lumpy couch. He’s intrigued, and ready to play the game. At least, he’s open to this first conversation. He feels a little better knowing that he’s not alone. He sits down finally, rubbing his hands still.

“I’m here,” he begins, allowing himself to be a little vulnerable, “because I am sick of the way people look at me.”

“Fuck, amen to that,” the voice responds with a clap, and the reaction makes Eddie grin from ear to ear. “Guys are so shallow, no offense.” He laughs.

“I’m not usually this outgoing,” the voice shares, sounding a little more reserved, “There’s something about you not looking at me that's making me a little more brave.” Eddie thinks this girl sounds so incredibly sweet. He’s never been attracted to someone’s voice, but he’s feeling himself being pulled in. It’s gentle, and kind and not deserving of whatever the world did to you to lead you here.

“Well, I’m used to being the spectacle,” Eddie sighs, leaning back into the couch, slumping down. “I can’t help it,” he exhales, “I mean, people think the worst of me no matter what I do, so like, fuck it. I’m gonna have fun with it.”

“Is that all of it?” the voice asks, knowingly. Eddie scoffs at the perception. Is he that obvious?

“No,” he cringes, and he hears a giggle from the other side of the wall. It helps him feel more comfortable. “Um honestly,” he continues, a little shy, “Part of me keeps the act up cause if people are watching me, I’m not alone. I’d rather be the laughing stock than have no one acknowledge me at all.”

“I’m the opposite,” the voice shares, “I’d so much rather be out of sight out of mind.”

“Doesn’t that get lonely?” he asks softly.

“In my experience,” the voice continues, “it has always felt like people keep me around so they feel better about themselves. I know that’s not true- I know my friends love me. I just- being by myself is my comfort zone. I don’t need to worry about how I’m like being perceived. Or if, like, I'm being judged.”

Eddie nods understandingly, until he remembers you can’t see him.

“I get it,” he says, trying to be comforting. “I, uh, yeah.. People don’t like… they don’t like understand what it feels like when you just feel simultaneously so small and like you take up too much space- and how they’re the ones that make you feel that way.”

“Wow- I’ve never heard it put into words so well before. That’s just been my life, you know?”

“We’re really getting deep huh?” he jokes, chest swelling with pride when he hears the laugh.

“I really like your voice,” the voice admits, and Eddie feels his face heat and he’s sure his face is flushed red from the compliment. His ego has been very much stroked at this point, and he takes the opportunity to fully embrace this whole flirting thing. If he can at least leave this experiment making someone feel good, then he won’t consider this a waste of time.

“Well, I really like your voice,” he quips. “Actually, uh- I’ve been sitting over here, on a really shitty couch. And I was asking myself what the hell was I doing here? I am probably the worst person for this experiment- I don’t think I could take this seriously. Then, I heard your voice- and I instantly felt attracted to you- if you can believe it. Now, I’m over here, your voice bringing out thing I would never fucking say out loud. I’m pacing around, you’ve made a mess of me.”

It feels like only a short period of time goes by, but in actuality, Eddie and his mystery date get wrapped up in talking for over three hours. He talks to her about music, his favorite books, his Uncle Wayne… sharing more about himself to a total stranger than he’d ever volunteer to even his close friends. You swap childhood stories, commiserate over bullies, and before he knows it, he thinks you might know him better than anyone.

A timer buzzes and it’s time for Eddie to move on to his next first “date.” As the door opens and one of the technicians is ready to escort him to the next room. He desperately stares at the wall before he moves, hoping to hear the voice one more time.

“Please, if you’re still there,” he says standing up, “I want to talk with you again tomorrow.” He knocks on the wall, rings tapping. He receives a knock back, and he grins devilishly,

“It’s a date.”

The technician taps his shoulder and he nods, letting them lead him out to the next room. He wraps an arm around the mousy guy as he jots down something on his clipboard. “I have a date tomorrow,” Eddie beams, looking back at the blank wall like he’s looking back to get another glance at you.

Day Two:

You still tug anxiously at your shirt, making sure it’s not clinging to your belly. Even though none of your dates can see you, you can’t shake the self conscious feeling. Yesterday was draining, all of the dates you had fell so short after that first one. Nothing came as easy to you as that first one, and you’re hoping you’ll get to talk to him soon.

You take a sip of your water, and opt to move from the couch to the floor. You sit criss-crossed and stare at the wall in front of you. You really focus on your breathing and try to let yourself open up. You’re here because you’re hoping to find someone who likes you for you- but no matter what, you’re still incredibly anxious thinking about the big reveal. No matter how well the conversations go, you worry it will be null and void once they see you’re plus size.

“Please, please, please for the love of God that this is finally you?” you hear a familiar voice whine, and you can’t contain your smile. “Pretty girl, c’mon talk to me.”

“You don’t know what I look like,” you scoff, but still, you feel yourself still melting like putty.

“Fuck, finally,” mystery boy sighs, and you hear him collapse on the couch. You can only assume his set-up is the same as yours. “Baby, I have been dying to hear your voice again.”

“This experiment not working out for you?” you ask, sympathetically. You find it hard to believe he’s not chatting up everyone else and hitting on them the same way he does with you. It’s the only explanation. You can’t let yourself believe he genuinely feels differently towards you.

“No this sucks,” he says, and then you hear him blow a raspberry. You can’t help it but laugh in agreement. “I just want to talk to you.” He sounds so vulnerable, and you actually find yourself believing him.

“Again,” you retort, rolling your eyes, “You don’t really know anything about me.”

“I want to,” he sounds so sincere, and it makes your heart swell. “You are the least boring person here.”

“I’m touched,” you reply sarcastically, and you feel good hearing that you made him laugh.

“I wish I could take you out,” he says and he sounds closer, like he’s sitting up against the wall. “I’ve got like no fucking money,” he laughs.

“I hate going out,” you reassure him, “I want to just hangout with you.”

“No, no, no,” he says dramatically, “No safe zone. You deserve to go out and be shown off. I am not gonna lock you away from the world, I’m gonna show you off.”

“And how are you gonna do that?” You quip, letting yourself slip into a little bit of a fantasy. You let yourself feel wanted and feel desirable even if it’s contained to this room.

“Well, not to be like that guy,” he’s suddenly sounding a little shy and you find it very endearing. “But like, I’d want to bring you to one of my band’s shows. Like- don’t get me wrong, we play at like really shitty bars that take way too long to drive to. And we don’t even make back the money the gas costs to get there, but like, I really like it and um, that’s uh when I feel I’m at my best, and I’d want you to see that side of me.”

“So what does bringing girls to a show look like for you?” you ask nervously, feeling a little twinge of jealousy that he may have done this before with someone else.

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles, “if I was capable of getting girls out in the wild do you think I would’ve signed up for this?” You laugh a little. “Trust me,” he further explains, “This is not something I never imagined I could do before talking to you.”

“Okay, okay, I take it back,” you reply, and you're sure he can hear your smile through the wall. “Let me rephrase,” you say, taking a deep breath, “What does bringing me to a show look like?”

“Well,” he exhales, “I’d pick you up, in my really nice and not sketchy at all van that doesn’t make any questionable noises. I usually drive the guys too but honestly, fuck them, I want us to have time together. I don’t mind telling them to pound sand. And don’t feel bad for them, they’re also kind of assholes.”

You can’t help but giggle, noticing he tends to have that effect on you. He makes you nervous in a really good way, and you try hard to fight it, but you worry that it’s no use. As much as you find yourself really enjoying mystery boy’s company, you can’t help but let that fear creep in that all of this will go away if he ever sees you.

“But anyways,” he continues, “I’ll admit it, I’m a little bit of a show off. And I know if you were there watching me, I’d just like be putting my all into it. I would really try hard to impress you. I’d also want the pricks there to know you’re with me so no one bothers you, so as much as I know you’d hate it, I would point you out and tell the whole place you’re there with me.”

Your face is so warm, and you can’t hold back the cheesy smile that has expanded across your whole face. You can’t believe a guy would be genuinely that proud to have you there with him. You really do think that he’s being genuine, and it makes your heart soar.

“I’m really surprised you don’t have girls fawning over you, rockstar,” you smile, wanting to make him feel special too. Even if this crashes and burns, you can tell he’s a sweet guy. You can see that maybe he’ll let you down gently. You don’t know why your insecurities hold you down this much. You, more than anyone, get in the way of your own happiness. You’re determined to not let it affect you this deeply. You resolve to let yourself see how this goes, and to throw yourself into it- willing to get hurt.

“Trust me,” he scoffs, “I am not what you’re thinking I am. I’m not like that guy, I’m more awkward than anything. I think girls are more interested in the football star guys, the future suits, you know? Guys with a haircut and go to college- They don’t want to waste their time with a going nowhere punk.”

“I really don’t think that’s true,” you speculate, “There’s no one with a poster of Jack Welch on their wall- but every girl I know has a picture of Eddie VanHalen.”

“Is there like a peephole in here or something?” He says jokingly, knocking on the wall, like he’s looking for one. “Or are you just a psychic or something?”

“What are you even talking about?” You chuckle, raising an eyebrow, confused. You shake your head, but before you can’t get clarification, the buzzer sounds, marking the end of your time with him for today.

“NOOO,” you hear him dramatically exhale. A muffled voice, your assuming is one of the lab techs must be exhausted.

You press your hand to the wall, as your form of an intimate goodbye as the technician holds the door open for you. You get up from your spot and head out, excited to come back tomorrow for another round of dates.

Leaving Hawkins Lab, each test subject needs to stagger there exits as to not risk accidentally seeing the other candidates. You are in a small waiting room, doing your daily exit interview with one of the neuroscientists.

***

Under the agreement you signed when you volunteered for the experiment, you are not permitted to go to any locations where people socialize and congregate. You’re not permitted to go anywhere where you may accidentally see or meet one of the other subjects. You are required to only go out on necessary errands such as grocery shopping or appointments.

On the drive back to your apartment, your mind keeps overplaying the worst case scenarios your anxiety keeps conjuring. You know the whole point of the experiment is to see if love, or whatever trumps physical attraction. If hypothetically, someone does fall in love with you- your appearance shouldn’t be a factor. However, it’s not wrong for you to want your partner to be attracted to you. And you acknowledge physical attraction is a thing and if you aren’t someone’s type that isn’t bad either. Your past experiences and unresolved childhood traumas surrounding your appearance and self-esteem, makes it difficult to allow yourself to see that you are actually desirable.

Although unknown to you, a lot of people in this experiment feel the exact same way. Not fitting into the box society wants to slot them in has made dating incredibly difficult for many. There’s a comfort knowing everyone there supposedly wants the same thing as you, just to be loved. You weren’t sure going in that you would even make connections with anyone. At first, it felt like low stakes- worst case scenario you walk away no better off than before. But, you didn’t anticipate actually hitting it off with someone like you have, and it’s opened a whole new set of fears.

***

At his trailer, Eddie just stares up at the vent in the ceiling above his bed. He blows out another puff of smoke and watches as it swirls and wafts up into the air around him. His thoughts are consumed entirely with you. He watches how the smoke from his blunt mixes with the smoke of his burning incense and his mind drifts, just completely fixated on how the minutes on the clock tick by until he can talk to you again.

He wonders if you’re thinking about him, the same way he’s thinking about you. He wonders if you’re trying to picture what he looks like the same way he’s making guesses about you. He thinks about if you smoke, and he imagines what it’d be like if he was sharing this with you. Thinking about what it would look like, your lips around the joint, blowing out smoke from what he imagines is just a sexy mouth. He can’t help but close his eyes and let a little frustrated groan escape at the thought.

He can’t picture the entirety of you, but more so he can imagine just your presence in his room. He imagines the feeling of someone laying beside him, smooth skin he can run his hands across, the warmth radiating off of another body in his bed. He has your voice in his head, wishing you were talking to him now.

With his eyes closed, joint put aside on his ashtray, he imagines it’s your hands tugging down his jeans, and it’s your hand wrapping around his hard cock that’s staining the band of his boxers now. He thinks about your laugh, and that adorable giggle of yours, and how much he can bask in the fact that it’s him who elicits those reactions from you. He thinks about the sweet voice, the flirty fluctuations of your tone when you warmed up to him. He imagines you using that same voice to tease him if you were here, seeing just how much of a mess you’ve made of him.

He’s never been able to get off without some kind of visual aid, so to speak, before. Now, he’s practically whimpering just thinking about the sound of your voice and thinking about your hands on him. He thinks about the feeling of your hands working his length up and down. He imagines how playful it would be, rolling around on this bed with you as the layers you're both wearing come off. He doesn’t even need to try to think about what you look like to feel aroused by you. He doesn’t even care in the slightest at this moment.

He’s so needy, twitching as he feels himself get closer, and he thinks about what you would be whispering in his ear to get him to finish. He imagines the praise, and the way you would be begging for his cum. He realizes he doesn’t even know your name, as he’s hit with the urge to call it out.

“Fuck, pretty girl,” he moans instead, working himself up to his release. He keeps moaning out his little nickname for you until he’s made a mess of his shirt and he’s gasping to catch his breath as his orgasm extracted all the energy from his body.

Tomorrow, he resolves, he needs to learn your name.

PART TWO

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x plus size!reader #eddie munson x plus size!reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fan fic #eddie munson stranger things #plussize!reader #eddie munsons x F!reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn characters #joseph quinn stranger things #joseph quinn eddie munson #smut #mutal pining #eddie munson series

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sometimesanalice · 1 year

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Like I Can (Part 2)

Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.

Warnings: fuff, language, slight angst. Minors DNI

Length: 5.7K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Part 1 | Part 3

(Here you go, lovely people! The wait is over! Enjoy❣️)

When you had first told Rooster that you were moving to San Diego, it had felt like the first time in a long time in that things in his life were finally going his way. He was excelling in his career, he was mending his relationship with Maverick, and he finally had the opportunity to start putting some roots down.

He knew how lucky he was.

He had been thrilled to know that you would both be living in the same place for the first time since you were teens. Sure he might have gone a little overboard helping you find a place near him and showing you the hard-learned secrets of navigating the SoCal highway system, but he wanted you to be as happy here as he was.

You were the only person left in the world, outside of Maverick, who had known him the longest. You mattered to him.

It was clear that you thought it had been his doing for how quickly his friends had included you as part of the group, but he knew it was all you. They’d all been so surprised when his nice, sweet friend was the one who kept playing the raunchiest hands during Cards Against Humanity. You’d pretty much swept every round that night. He was pretty sure more than a few of them would trade him for you in a heartbeat.

While they liked you, they loved a competition. He should have seen it coming the second Phoenix volunteered to set you up on a date, because what one person does the rest will undoubtedly follow suit.

And that’s how Rooster found himself watching you on your first of the dates from inside the Hard Deck, the chaos of it all drawing more than one set of eyes to where you were on the outdoor patio.

When he’d arrived at the Hard Deck earlier that evening, he was surprised to see you there already seated next to Bob with his other friends chatting away nearby. He didn’t remember you saying you were planning to stop by.

You looked a bit more dressed up than how he usually saw you, wearing a fluttery looking sundress and your hair piled up on the top of your head. After making a quick stop to get a beer, he’d made his way over to you.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you tonight, kid.” Up close now, he could see some of the soft strands that had escaped your top knot and were framing your face.

He was briefly reminded of the time you got bangs in high school. While he’d thought they had look nice on you, you on the other hand had immediately regretted them, pinning them back until they’d grown out.

“Hey you,” you’d greeted him with an easygoing smile on your face, “I got here a little too early, but thankfully Bob was already here. He’s been keeping me company as I wait.”

“Huh? For what?” he’d asked a bit dumbly, his gaze bouncing between you and Bob.

Shit, did he forget someone’s birthday?

“She’s meeting my friend Casey from the animal shelter tonight,” Bob chimed in, speaking around a mouthful of sunflower seeds, “For the bet we all made the other night.”

“Oh,” he’d felt his eyebrows pull together, glancing back to you, “I didn’t know you were actually going to go through with that.”

He had never understood why you had such bad luck when it came to dating. He assumed you probably got a lot of attention in your day-to-day life, so your stories of dates gone wrong always left him baffled. Anyone could see that you were funny, intelligent, and had the best smile. If you’d been a stranger, he probably would have approached you out in a coffee shop somewhere if he’d seen you drinking one of those extra foamy cappuccinos you liked.

But you weren’t a stranger you were his longest time friend, his most important friend.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you’d asked quizzically, tilting your head at him. “Outside of how competitive you all are, your friends were nice enough to go out of their way for me by setting this all up. Plus, it seems like it could be a lot of fun.”

That was the thing though, he didn’t think you should have to be jumping through so many hoops to find a decent guy to date.

He’d met the guy you had dated before moving here a few times over FaceTime. He would usually try to engage him in some small talk always asking him about how many G’s he’d pulled that day before leaving for beers with the guys or some pick-up basketball game. It seemed to him like you guys had led pretty separate lives, but you liked him so the guy was fine in his books. However, when you had told him that you were moving out here alone, he couldn’t say he was too surprised. That guy was probably kicking himself now, because California looked good on you.

“Speaking of,” you’d reached out taking right forearm pulling it closer to you, he had let you turn and adjust it until you could read the time displayed by the dials on his watch. “I should probably head outside to wait for him there. You said we’d probably need to grab a spot on the patio, right Bob?” you’d asked turning away from him to confirm with the WSO.

“He said he was still looking for a dog sitter, but if he couldn’t find one he’d be bringing them with him,” Bob replied as he scanned the text on his phone, “That’s probably a good idea, just in case.”

He’d known this whole thing was going to be a bad idea, grasping the back of your stool he briskly turned you back towards him to give you a pointed look.

You’d just shook your head at him blithely and rolled your eyes, “It’ll be fine.” The expression on your face told him not to press the matter, even though he knew that would take a lot of willpower on his side.

Sighing in resignation, he had helped brace your forearm as you slid off the tall stool. You’d patted his chest a couple of times before making your way outside, the hem of your dress dancing around your thighs.

He had drunk that first beer a bit faster than normal, trying to focus on the conversation Coyote was attempting to have with him. Then he was waylaid at the bar for a while when he had gone up to get a second, spending some time catching up with Mav who had shown up and was sitting at the counter watching his fiancée as she ruled over her bar.

When he got back and looked out the window to check on you, he was expecting to see you out there talking with Bob’s friend and maybe a dog or two sitting at your feet, instead the scene before his eyes had him storming over to Bob who was already watching the madness unfold.

“What did he bring the whole damn shelter with him? There’s like 7 of them out there!”

“I had no clue he had that many,” Bob admits sheepishly.

“He’s your friend, isn’t he? Shouldn’t that have come up in a conversation before this?” He liked Bob, but you were getting assailed by a few too many energetic dogs for his comfort. He can tell the guy is trying to wrangle them under control, and you’re generously laughing along while they vie for your attention, scratching as many ears as possible.

“They seem to really like her. See how they keep licking her? Did you know that’s an instinctive behavior learned from when they’re puppies? It’s how they bond with others.” His attempt to bring some humor falling flat in Rooster’s ears.

“Not helpful, Bob,” he grunts into his beer his eyes glued on you.

Hangman struts up to them no doubt curious about what has the two of them staring so intently out the large window and lets out a low whistle, “Damn, that’s a lot of dogs.”

The sound naturally draws the attention of his other friends, and they are quick to drop everything to come gather around the window and observe the circus that is your first blind date.

The guy is standing trying to unravel the many leashes he is clutching onto, handing you a couple to hold on to as he works to disentangle the knot that’s formed. Your beer a casualty of the chaos when what looks like a Border Collie mix jumps up on the table.

“Oh shit,” he mutters when he sees you sneeze.

“What’s up, Rooster?” Natasha asked, glancing at him briefly before turning her eyes back to the flurry of fur outside.

“She’s allergic.”

This is what he had been worried about when Bob mentioned your date might be bringing his dogs. He knew your pet dander allergy wasn’t usually too bad with a couple of animals, but being around this many couldn’t be good for you.

Now that you were settled in San Diego, you had told him you had been thinking about getting a pet. It was something that you were never able to have as a kid for the same very reason you were out there fighting back another sneeze. You were adamant about adopting one, but finding hypoallergenic pet in a shelter was harder than it was getting a missile to hit its target.

When he sees you bring the back of your hand up to wipe under one of your eyes, he abandons his mostly untouched beer on the windowsill and marches towards the exit in a few long strides. Fingers already raised to his lips before he’s even made it outside. The sharp whistle he lets out the second his shoe hits the wooden planks of the patio surprising the tangle of dogs surrounding you into momentary stillness.

“Time to wrap it up, kid,” he hollers, jerking his head back towards the door.

Even haloed by the golden light from the setting sun, he can see how watery and red-rimmed your eyes have gotten.

He sees you saying something to your date, handing him back the leashes as you step gingerly around the dogs towards him, making sure to avoid stepping on any of the happily wagging tails.

You’ve got your shoulders pulled back tightly as you walk towards him, determination in every step you take. The force of your glare would be intimidating to anyone else, but he’s developed an immunity to it after so many years of having it directed at him.

Although he doubts you can even actually see his face right now with how puffy your eyes have gotten.

“Are you kidding me right now? What the fuck, Rooster?” you fume at him.

Oh, yeah, you’re pissed. He’ll deal with that later. Standing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest, steeling himself in anticipation for whatever comes next.

“C’mon, I bet Penny has something for that,” he says gesturing to your face, “And then I’m taking you home.”

He can tell you’re getting ready to give him a piece of your mind. Probably a very loud and vividly descriptive piece of your mind, but can’t be bothered to regret a thing. He knows he is in the right to intervene on your behalf.

He’s looking out for you, like a good friend should.

And you’re just standing there shaking your head at him, instead of listening to him when you know he’s right.

You’ve always been so frustratingly hardhead, so he pulls out the one thing he knows you can’t resist, “I’ll even stop for milkshakes.”

You look up at him skeptically with narrowed eyes before asking, “And I can drink it in the Bronco?”

That makes him chuckle, of course you’re negotiating with him. “Yeah, yeah. Now c’mon, time to call it.”

Rooster sees the moment the fight goes out of you as you turn back to Cashew, or whatever this guy’s name is. He looks a little like the crunchy granola type, if you ask him.

He grabs your hand pulling you with him back inside, not wanting to let you change your mind while the promise of a milkshake is still at the height of its power.

You tug back making him pause at the entry as you call back to Bob’s friend, “Thank you for coming, Casey. It was nice to meet you, but I think I’m going to head out. Good luck with your fundraiser for the shelter, I’ll make sure to spread the word.”

That makes him smile to himself as he tows you with him, here you are clearly suffering with your allergies and still going out of your way for this person you’ve just met. You’ve always been too nice for your own good. Hell, you’ll probably get the whole team to donate to the fundraiser before he can even get you out the door.

Once back inside he pays the tab for both of you, while you swallow down the antihistamines Penny was able to find in the med kit she keeps behind the counter. The team is surrounding you asking questions about the date.

“I’ll tell you, but that information will cost you. You can Venmo the shelter your donation to their fundraiser and I’ll be happy to answer any questions once you send me documented proof of payment,” you say with a smug smile on your face.

He huffs a laugh while signing the receipt that Penny hands him as the cellphones are whipped out of various pockets.

Such a little hustler.

In school, you were usually the one to sell the most candy bars and wrapping paper during fundraisers. And he was always an easy target, you usually got at least $30 out of him every time. He was never one to say no to a good cause, or to you most of the time.

Bob apologizes profusely to you as he hands you a couple napkins when you start sniffling while gathering up your things. He watches as you just wave him off, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek and tell him not to worry about it.

Huh.

Shaking out the thoughts of you with the soft-spoken WSO from his mind, he starts to guide you out the door to his car with a hand on your back. His other hand involuntarily tightening into a fist as Fanboy calls out promising to do better than Bob when you’re both almost out the door.

He can hear your phone already blowing up with the nosy questions from his squad before he’s even buckled got you in.

And on the drive back to your place he lets you drink your chocolate cherry chip shake in the passenger seat of the Bronco, just as he promised he would.

You weren’t too proud to admit that first blind date was a bit of a mess.

While your eyes had been puffy for a couple days afterwards, you had also managed to get $700 in donations for the shelter from the Dagger Squad with all the questions you had answered for them while bleary-eyed.

And it was Rooster who had ended up sending in the largest donation, which had surprised you since he wasn’t even participating in the bet. He had sent you a screenshot of his $200 contribution along with a text that simply said: “For the animals, thanks for not spilling your milkshake in my car like you did when you were 15.”

You’d sent him back a heart promptly followed by the middle finger emoji.

Thankfully the second date the next week was less eventful.

Fanboy had set you up with one of his friends from the escape room group he was in. When you’d admitted that you had never done one before he’d talked you through all his tips and strategies for how to beat it when you eventually tried one out. His enthusiasm could have been charming had it not come across as entirely mansplain-y.

Why yes, you did know what a topographical map was and how to read it, thank you very much.

You’d felt like some kind of oversized bobblehead since all you had been doing that evening was nodding along as an attempt to stay engaged with the conversation.

Rooster had stopped by when your date had left for the restroom. He was glistening a bit from the sweat he had worked up from the performance at the piano he had just given. It was a newer song for him, but he had still swept the rest of the bar up with his infectious energy.

“I can tell you’re bored out of your mind, kid. How about I show you how to do that four-in-one shot? Once you pick it up you might finally be some competition at the pool table,” he’d said grabbing your beer and swallowing down a few large mouthfuls.

From your spot at the high-top table, you could see more than a few hungry gazes in the crowded bar tracking him. Probably trying to figure out the nature of your relationship with him.

When you shooed him away, he’d pulled down his sunglasses to give you a knowing look before taking your beer with him as he strutted away with a casual: “See you soon, kid.”

He knew you too well.

You weren’t bored per se, but you also weren’t having the greatest time.

When your date got back, it didn’t take long for the conversation to fizzle out, the long pauses feeling awkward rather than companionable. You’d both agreed that it probably wasn’t a great fit and left it at that. You’d even had Penny put his beers on your tab as a gesture of goodwill.

Plus, you had been trying to get Rooster to teach you that trick for ages, and you didn’t want to miss your moment now that he was offering.

True to his word, he spent the rest of the evening teaching you his trick. You warred between watching him intently determined to nail the shot, and avoiding looking at him too closely. The tight jeans he was wearing bringing up some less than strictly friendly thoughts as he bent over the table to line up his shots.

You were still terrible, but you also hadn’t had so much fun in a long time as you traded shit-talk back and forth with him. Cackling at the confusion on his face when he went to grab his beer only to find it empty. It was only fair, after all, he had taken yours.

It’s been a few days since then, and you are back at the Hard Deck for date number three.

From your time hanging out with the Dagger Squad, you’d learned that Coyote was a bit of a classic car aficionado. He had set you up with his friend, Will, who he had met at one of the vintage car conventions he had gone to in the area.

Will was already twenty minutes late when Hangman and Phoenix made their way up to the bar. The two keeping you company for a bit while they waited for Jimmy to get their next rounds, letting you know that Jake had already called dibs on setting up your next date.

“Get ready for a good time, Darlin’,” he boasted.

“I keep telling you my guy is perfect. I already know they’re going to have some instant chemistry. I don’t know why you’re even bothering, I have got it on lock,” Natasha had retorted back.

He’d sent you a cocky salute before they’d both made their way back to the rest of the group in the corner of the bar.

When your date eventually arrived, you guys went through the typical small talk motions, trading the same tired questions that feel more like a casual interview than an actual conversation.

Since you already knew he had an interest in classic cars you had casually mentioned Penny’s ’73 Porsche to him as something to talk about other than the weather or what you did for work, and that’s how you found yourself sitting on your own waiting for him to return from where he was outside snapping away pictures of the sleek looking car.

You’re picking at the label on your bottle of Blue Moon to kill time, when you feel Rooster slide up next to you, the smell of his woodsy cologne giving him away before the print of his Hawaiian shirt does out of the corner of your eye.

“Hey kid, you hungry? I could eat. What do you say to hitting up that taco place we like?”

You gesture to the coat draped on the back of the stool next to you, “I’m kind of on a date right now, Rooster.”

“You sure about that? Kinda looks like you’re just sittin’ here alone to me.” Mimicking you he also signals to the empty stool next to you.

His words landing like a sucker punch.

“I mean, he hasn’t been out there for that long. It’s a sexy car, I get it.”

And you did.

However, it has also been like ten minutes now since he left you, and having Rooster point it out like that made you feel more than a bit self-conscious.

Especially when you look over and catch the rest of the team watching you guys with curious stares from across the bar.

You knew having the dates here for their bet would put you directly in the spotlight, everyone wanting to see how things were going and how their friend stacked up against the competition. First dates were awkward enough without that kind of extra pressure and extra eyes.

Now you were on the third one and things weren’t looking as promising as you had hoped when you first started. It would be humiliating if by the end of this they all thought that you were the problem. And it wasn’t like you weren’t trying, but being on display like this makes you feel like you’re wading through waist-deep mud while everyone watches you struggle from solid ground.

When it came to dating, Rooster always had a much easier time of it compared to you. With those sunkissed curls and that toned body, it was rare if he didn’t get passed at least three napkins with phone numbers scribbled on them during nights out.

Even in high school you were always the one fielding questions from all the girls who were interested in him. Is he seeing anyone? Can you give him my number? He was naturally charismatic, of course people were drawn to him.

But you? You were just Bradshaw’s younger, tag-along friend. And then in college, it had always felt like you were the one who had to keep making all the first moves only to be left wondering why you had even bothered in the first place.

You never had a great poker face, and it’s clear you’re wearing your emotions on your face because when you turn back to Rooster his face immediately softens.

“I’m not trying to be an asshole,” he promises gently, as he reaches out to tug lightly on the end of the braid you had woven your hair in for the evening. “I just don’t get why you’re putting up with this guy ditching you like this. Especially when we could be getting tacos instead.”

Shaking your head ‘no’ to both the invitation and the insecurities that were trying to creep in, “I’m sure he’ll be coming back in any minute now.”

You weren’t excusing his behavior, but you did also want to give him the benefit of the doubt. It could still get better, he could still surprise you.

“And guess what? Apparently Will drives a Bronco too. He pointed his out earlier when he brought it up, but I can’t see it from where I’m sitting. I bet you guys could talk about that if we decide to see each other again.”

Rooster stands up to get a better look out the window that faces the parking lot, “Well, that certainly is interesting, kid.”

There’s a weird tone to his comment, but it isn’t one you are able to investigate further as Will returns back inside making his way to you.

You expect Rooster to go back to the rest of the squad, instead he makes himself comfortable on your other side.

“That’s not a bad looking car, the Fuchs wheels are a nice touch, but I’ve seen better,” Will ignorantly gloats as he sits back down, pulling up photos of another car on his phone to show you. “It definitely doesn’t have anything on the 1975 Porsche 930 Turbo, with its single turbo flat-six and the flared rear wings. Now that beauty was made for speed.”

Mortified you glance to Penny hoping she didn’t hear any of that, but the stiffness of her spine tells you everything you need to know.

This obnoxious motherfu-

“Wow, that’s really something. Do you mind if I take a look, man?” Rooster asks pointing to Will’s phone before you can say anything in response.

“Yeah, bro. Go for it,” he says as hands his phone over, “Spotted that one at the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance last year.”

You watch as Rooster swipes half-heartedly through a couple of the pictures before catching Penny’s eye.

“Uh-huh, neat. Hey, Penny?” he calls to her, as he sets the phone down on the bartop. “That’s your 911 S out there, right?”

“Sure is, Rooster.” She confirms playing along as she rests an elbow on the polished surface in front of him, a knowing smirk already gracing her features.

“Well then,” a conspiring grin takes over his face as he nods his head towards wood sign strung up between the taps, “I do believe we’ve had not one, but two violations this evening.”

Penny sends a wink his way as she wastes no time ringing the bell loudly and for longer than usual, undoubtedly for the slight at her car’s expense. The action causing the raucous crowd to erupt in cheers.

Disrespect a lady, the Navy, or put your cellphone on my bar you buy a round.

Will is still trying to figure out what’s going on as Rooster leans across you pushing the phone slowly across the counter back to your date with two fingers.

His face suddenly very close to yours. You can see the warm brown starbursts that surround the pupils of his eyes.

“Let’s go get those tacos, kid. Drinks are on him tonight.”

You watch as he slides off of the stool, pulling out his keys from the back pocket of his light wash jeans.

He makes it a few steps towards the door before turning back to you, “I’ll meet you at the Bronco. It’s the only one out there so you can’t miss it.” Giving Will a sharp, pointed look as he passes.

Slipping on his aviators and swinging the fob around his index finger as he struts out of the bar.

Not too long later you’re sitting on the beach with the warm California breeze on your skin, laughing as Rooster tells you about the time during training when half his squad ended up cleaning their gear naked. The Al Pastor tacos you ordered tasting extra delicious for whatever reason.

Try as he might, Rooster could not stop watching you on your date with the guy Hangman had set you up with.

And if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t trying at all. In fact, he was probably outright glaring and he didn’t give a damn.

It was too loud in the bar to hear your laugh from where he sat, but he could certainly see you grinning at something this guy was saying to you.

Did you go shopping for this? The top you were wearing didn’t look familiar to him, he liked the way the straps were tied into pretty bows on your sun-freckled shoulders. Did you mean to look like some kind of a present waiting to be unwrapped?

It was clear to him that you were taking this whole thing more seriously than he ever thought you would.

“Jesus, Rooster. What gives?”

“Huh, what?” he asked distractedly, his eyes remaining on you. He was barely paying attention to what was going on around him let along the game of pool he was supposedly playing with Hangman and Bob.

“Your leg, man. You’re about to set off the San Andres with all that shaking your leg is doing,” Jake says slapping him hard on the side of his thigh as he passes by to line up his next shot at the pool table.

“Actually, San Diego sits on the Rose Canyon fault,” Bob corrects.

“What is this, Jeopardy? That ain’t the point. What I’m trying to figure out is what’s got ol’ Rooster’s feathers in a ruffle over here.” His eyes calculating and his grin sharp.

Rooster hadn’t realized his leg was even bouncing up and down from where it was balanced on the foot rest of the high-top stool he was perched on.

What he did notice is that your date had gotten you a Michelob Ultra.

You hated light beer.

Who did this guy think he was just ordering you something without actually asking you what you wanted? Because there was no way in hell that you ordered that on your own. God, were these the type of men you were forced to put up with here in San Diego? He hadn’t even pulled out your chair for you, for fuck’s sake.

He could tell you were being polite by resting a hand on the base of the bottle, lifting it up like you were about to take a sip before remembering what was in your hand, and setting it back down again.

He might as well have ordered you a water, at least you would have actually enjoyed that.

The guy is massive and covered in questionable looking tattoos, in both quality and taste. Just like his choice of beer.

“Hangman, how do you know this guy again? What’s his name?” he asked, finally pulling his eyes away from you and your date.

“He’s a gym buddy, does those body building competitions,” Jake told him, probably for the second time that night based on the annoyance in his voice. “Really helped me to grow my pecs.”

Why was he flexing instead of answering the goddamned question?

“And his name?” he presses again, pushing his cue into Bob’s other hand officially done with the game. He pulls out his phone and sets to opening up a new tab on his browser getting ready to run a web search on the guy.

“Elijah, why?”

“Elijah what? What’s his last name?” Rooster wasn’t sure what was so hard about this. For how much Hangman bragged about being the fastest pilot, he was really struggling to keep up.

“How am I supposed to know? We’re not that close, man. We share trainin’ tips, not life stories,” he lets slip.

That would not work for him.

Downing the rest of his beer, tuning out the rest of whatever Seresin was saying to him as he stalks off to the bar.

He’s just being a good friend he tells himself, since it was obvious Hangman hadn’t done enough due diligence when it came to you.

Once there he orders another beer from Penny before rounding the bartop to where you sit with your back turned to him. He reaches out and plucks the room temperature Michelob Ultra out from your hand.

“Hey! What the-” he heard you start before turning to see him, “Rooster?” Your eyebrows pulled up in confusion.

“You’re welcome, kid,” he states concisely as he wraps your hand around the fresh, cold Blue Moon he had gotten for you instead.

His fingers brushing the end of the long tail of the bow that danced along your arm as he pulls away, heading back to his vantage point by the pool table.

The pressure in his chest lessening now that you at least had a beverage you actually liked in your hands.

“What the fuck, man? That stunt better not have screwed with my chances of winning, they were clearly hitting it off. Did Phoenix put you up to this?” Jake complained, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

Not bothering to reply, Rooster just waves him off as he watches you lift the bottle to your mouth, taking a sip for the first time that evening. A small smile on your face as you savor the flavor on your tongue.

Good. That’s good.

He’s very pleased when he sees Elijah head out the door less than 10 minutes later. And downright smug when you settle yourself next to him with your Blue Moon in hand.

“Well?” Hangman presses, leaning on the cue stick in his hands, “How’d it go?”

“It was going pretty well until he decided it was more important to lecture me about calorie content and muscle protein synthesis instead of just letting me enjoy my beer,” you said as you rolled your eyes. “So I told him we were probably on two different levels, and we decided to wrap it up for the night. I definitely heard him mutter something about needing a second pump session on his way out though. I hope he meant at the gym.” You scrunch your nose at that.

“Atta girl,” he smiles down at you as he bumps his shoulder against yours, watching as you blushed a little under the praise.

“You all might as well just give me the winnings now, there’s no way any of you idiots are going to beat me. I hope you’re ready to have your feet swept out from under you, my guy is going to be your dream man,” Nat declares, her tone self-congratulatory.

And just like that, he wasn’t feeling so smug anymore.

Read Part 3 here!

I am so blown away by the response Part 1 got! Thank you all so much for reading and all your kind comments! I appreciate every single one of you!

Written as part of @roosterforme’s #Love Is In The Air TGM Fic Challenge! Please go check out the fics on the playlist! There’s some great things already posted!

Song Inspiration Sam Smith’s “Like I Can”.

Thank you Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) and Emily (@roosterforme) for your all caps energy and for letting me spam you with ideas!

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#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradley x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #rooster x female reader #rooster x you #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #like i can tgm #love is in the air tgm

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cosmicjoke · 1 month

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For People, Not for a Dream

Everyone always wonders about this panel, and why Levi didn't include himself when talking about what all his comrades fought and died for.

The thing is, Levi was never fighting for that ideal world, or to create an ideal world.

For him, it was never about a concept or an ideology, because he never believed in the possibility of an ideal world to begin with.

Even when he gives his monologue to the 104th, during the Uprising arc, and speaks about freedom and the chance to have a world without the threat of titans, he still says that both world's are hell, just that he chooses the hell of people killing each other over the hell of being eaten by titans.

So I think to understand Levi, it's important to understand that he never cared about or was motivated by any system of belief or philosophy. He never did what he did with the goal of creating some Utopian world or society. His actions were never driven by any sort of fanaticism.

He was only ever fighting for people. To help people. Even in their ugliness and with all their faults and failings. He accepted that about people and the world; he accepted their imperfection. He never tried to change anybody, he never labored under any sort of belief that he could weed out the bad elements of society and, as a result, force a better world into existence, or a more civilized society. He wasn't blinded to the ugliness of his own actions by a sense of moral righteousness or belief in the "greater good". He never believed any set of beliefs or principles or ideology was or could be made inherently superior to any other. He never believed people could be made better than what they were. And yet he still found their lives worth protecting, along with their right to choose what to do with those lives, whether it be good or ill.

I think that's a big part of why Levi never loses sight of his own humanity, why he never becomes cruel. Because he never loses sight of what he's actually fighting for. Not an idea or a set of beliefs or a dogma. But just people, even when they're not good people.

And we see that reflected in Levi's lack of any sort of dream for himself, and in his support of other people's dreams. He's not fighting for their dreams because he believes in them or their possibility, he's fighting for their dreams because he believes in the worth of the people who dream them. It's the people who have worth to Levi, not the dream or the ideology behind the dream. And he hoped to prove that worth by ensuring they didn't throw their lives away for nothing. That's why he lent his strength to those dreams. It was always for the dreamers sake, not the sake of the dream itself. To show their lives mattered by helping to realize whatever it was they gave those lives for. It's why he's so determined to kill Zeke, because those soldiers in Shinganshina gave their lives for that goal. It wasn't Zeke's death that mattered, but the lives of the soldiers that died for it.

It's why he says in the above panels that if it was going to be worth the price "you all paid", it would have to be an "exhaustingly idealistic world". Nothing less than that would be worth people's lives. I think it's also why Levi's expression is one of such sadness all through the final chapters, because he knows, and always knew deep down, that that idealistic world was an impossibility. That even without titans, the world would still be a hellish place, something we see proven by the final pages of the story, with the destruction of Paradis and the continuation of war. In the end, I don't think Levi believed the outcome was worth the price his comrades paid. It wasn't worth their lives. To Levi, the concept of a "greater good" isn't worth more than any, single life.

But it's also important to remember that Levi was never the type of person to tell anyone else what to do, or what to think, or how to live, and that in itself is testament to how much he values people. The worth he sees in their lives and existence is reflected in the respect he holds for their right to choose what to do with those lives, even if that choice is to give their lives for an impossible dream.

And so that's what he fights for. Not for any sort of dream, or for the realization of an ideal world, but to help people. To help them in whatever way he can, whether that's saving their lives, protecting their right to choose how to live those lives, or supporting the dreams they believe are worth giving their lives for.

It was never for the dream itself. It was for the people who dreamed it.

#Levi Ackerman #attack on titan #shingkei no kyojin #meta #commentary #analysis

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turbulentscrawl · 3 months

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HELLOOO could we get ithaqua with a modern Reader too? :33

MWehehe

-Honestly, not the brightest idea for a modern S/O to try and get with his one. Modern social culture is very deep in the anti-toxicity (to the point that we circle back into it without realizing sometimes) and Ithaqua exhibits a lot of red-flag buzzwords. He’s the kind of person reddit would constantly tell you to divorce haha.

-He would be a bit torn over you, though. On one hand, you clearly lived emersed in “society” as a whole, which is what he was generally the most at odds with in life. (In a modern setting, Ithaqua would be an off-grid homesteader. He’s probably against having wifi at his home, even.) On the other hand…you’re a bit of an outcast in the survivor manor. He’s a little crazy, but not BLIND. He can see how people are nervous about you in the beginning, shun you and your magic box.

-He’s got no fucking clue what the magic box is either, but Ithaqua does not believe in magic, religion, or the paranormal. The people who dictate those things called his mother a witch, and himself a demon, and he knows in his heart that they were just two people living life in a way others didn’t like. Superstition is what got him dumped in the snow as a babe, so even if he’s confused as hell by your technology, he’s smart and reasonable enough to know it’s due to a lack of education on his part and not you being some otherworldly, incomprehensible thing.

-He’s likely drawn to you a bit from the above treatment you suffer. Maybe the others are more than willing to use you as bait, hesitant to rescue you, or fail to even explain to you how decoding works. Ithaqua will notice these things even in the middle of a hunt. He thinks you’re pitiful—until you’re not, and that makes you interesting. Ithaqua finds the remnants of whatever your modern-ness makes up your skills. Your phone tucked into a grassy corner, playing a recording of someone shuffling through a chest, maybe, and he picks it up curiously. And then, well, he has to return it to you. Unfortunately for you, he’s one of the faster hunters and this only delays him for a few seconds.

-Ithaqua starts to, frankly, bully you in matches. He’s less vicious with the damage done, and instead of chairing you off the bat, he takes a liking to carrying you around while he hunts your teammates. It doesn’t matter that you struggle free or self-heal sometimes, he can catch you again easily enough. He talks to you while he zips around after everyone, his usual giggles and sighs replaced with questions and commentary for you. You reach a point one day where you self-heal, but don’t bother running…and Ithaqua just grins like a shark and pats you on the head.

-Eventually he notices the others warming up to you better…and it makes him bitter. “They’re all hypocrites,” he tells you in a dark corner of the basement. “I treated you like everyone else from the start, didn’t I?” That’s his argument to endear himself to you. To coil you further around his (admittedly gentle, all things considered) finger. Yes, he hit you, hunted you, but that’s his job. The POINT, he says, is that he likes you and it’s not FAKE because he’s always seen you as an equal to the others. (To the survivors, not to himself, because the manor roles say you’re clearly not.)

-The POINT is that you shouldn’t fully trust the rest of them—they’ll turn on you again if they get spooked—but him? Ithaqua doesn’t get spooked. He gets…possessive. He likes you. He’ll be here, if you need him. And even if you don’t. He’ll take care of your troubles for you, sweet pet.

#idv x reader #identity v #idv ithaqua #idv night watch #ithaqua x reader #turbulentscrawl

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orqheuss · 5 months

Text

Snake Charmer

(Ominis Gaunt x F!Gorgon!Reader) Fluff? World building? Set up? Who knows tbh. It's a story.

Summary:

Ominis could hear her pulse quicken as she stilled. Everything else in the cramped space fell away, leaving just the two slytherin’s, each one with their own morose history that has been broadcasted for all the world to hear. Two peas in a pod— two sides to the same coin— two scales on the same snake. *** Why was everyone so interested in the new girl? Ominis Gaunt was about to find out.

Word count: 3.8k

AN: because I wanted to write a story about Ominis and a Gorgon falling in love

Ominis was sure he was going mad. In fact, he was positive— some point between the end of his fourth year and the beginning of his fifth, he had gone absolutely batty. That was the only logical conclusion to the fact that he was hearing voices at all hours of the day.

It started the day the new fifth year won in a duel against his best friend, Sebastian. The Defense Against the Dark Arts class was moving at the same pace it always did: introduction to the new spell, practice on a small object, practice on a larger, vaguely person shaped object, and then finally a duel between each pair of students to prove their mastery. This day, though, took a different turn than what the young blond was expecting. Ever since starting at Hogwarts, Sebastian Sallow was Ominis’ dueling partner; there was never any question about it. It became such a habit that no one dared approach the pair once Professor Hecat announced the beginnings of the school sanctioned battles— you would never see one Slytherin without the other. So, when Hecat decided to pair the new fifth year with his best friend, well, it could be seen quite plainly that Ominis was not happy about the matter.

As the duelists took their positions across from each other, the blond haired boy leaned against the nearest wall, a distinct look of annoyance turning down the corners of his lips and narrowing his eyebrows into a straight line. Most people would consider the look on his face a pout— not that anyone would ever dare at mentioning this to the boy. Ominis Gaunt did not pout, and he certainly did not scoff under his breath at the sound of his friend joking around with the new girl. What a preposterous idea. He wasn’t jealous, don’t be absurd.

Though, it was nice hearing Sebastian get knocked down a peg by someone who had never held a wand in her life up until that point.

Once the class was over, all Ominis wanted to do was slump himself into the Undercroft and take a well deserved nap. His head was pounding, and the near constant whispers of his classmates about the new girl were driving him up the wall. He couldn’t help but make snarky remarks in his head, quietly laughing to himself at the ridiculous questions his classmates were mumbling.

“Why do you think she wears that head scarf? I wonder what’s under there.”

Hair, probably.

“Did you hear her accent? Where do you think she’s from? Certainly not around here!”

Ten points to Ravenclaw for stating the obvious.

“Did you see how she was looking at Sallow? She just got here and already thinks she can take the most attractive boy in our year. The nerve!”

Sebastian has the emotional range of a teaspoon, but best of luck!

“How could you even tell where she was looking? I couldn’t see a thing through those glasses of hers! Why is she wearing shaders inside?”

Bold style choice, but alright. Not that he could really judge, of course.

“Do you think she’s blind like Gaunt? Great, another person I have to make sure I don’t trip over.”

That statement got his attention. Could she be blind like him? He didn’t hear any echolocation charm on her wand, nor did he sense a seeing eye animal or a cane around her. A very small part of him warmed slightly at the idea that he wasn’t alone in his struggles anymore. He craned his head more to the side, trying to catch more of the gossip as everyone began to file out of the classroom.

“No, she can’t be blind. It looks like she can get around just fine on her own— no charm blinking on her wand or anything. Still quite weird, though.”

Ominis’ shoulders sank minutely at the news, the warmth in his chest freezing over once again. He sighed to himself before pushing away from the wall, deciding to just let his body carry him to the Undercroft on autopilot while he stewed in his thoughts. Sebastian was off talking to the new girl, so he would likely not be joining him until well after his next round of Crossed Wands later that day. Normally he would join the boy, cheering him on from the sidelines with the rest of his fawning fangirl club, and he was about to turn in the direction of the clock tower when the brunette’s voice broke through the haze.

“Suppose I could interest you in some unsanctioned fun?”

Well, if his new best friend was going to be there, then he wouldn’t miss Ominis’ presence all that much.

Just as the blond had resigned himself to an afternoon of solitude, another voice came through the crowded musings of his classmates.

“Gods, I’m starving.”

A completely mundane statement, one that had likely been uttered by half of the class as they left, but something about the voice drew him in. It was low in tone, like they were trying to hide their voice instead of projecting it to their friends, and had a slight hiss to it just under the words like the person was speaking through a mouthful of fangs. Ominis paused in his steps just outside the doorway, his ear turned towards the classroom as he tried to find the voice again. All he found was silence and the tiny ticks of professor Hecat’s dark magic detectors.

Shaking his head, he leaned away from the door and made his way down the stairs, his mind puzzling through what just happened. He must have been imagining it, he thought to himself. The voice hardly sounded human, let alone familiar. Must have just been a trick of his mind, he had slept terribly the night before so it was logical he was just tired. Rounding the corner towards his secret alcove, Ominis stepped through the clockwork door to the Undercroft and began to climb down the winding staircase, hopeful that a bit more sleep would do him good.

Fortunately, he had a lovely nap on the chaise lounge he conjured. Rather unfortunately though, the voice persisted. Morning, noon, and night he heard that incessant hissing tone in his ears, each day getting louder and more bold with what it was saying. First it was small things, things that most people would think to themselves throughout a normal day.

“Where’s the bathroom in this place?” “My head itches.” “What I would give to take a nap right about now.”

Normal things. But then, the statements started to get a bit…odd.

“There’s something under my scale!” “He was rude, I want to bite him.” “I can hear a mouse somewhere. Can I eat it? Please?”

While Ominis was tired of hearing the random, grating voice slither through his ears at a constant rate, he was happy to report that he no longer thought he was going mad. The voice belonged to a snake— that much he was sure of. But, where was the snake? Did it know he could hear it? How was it somehow always in his vicinity?

That was the question that was currently keeping him up at night.

Everything culminated one faithful day when he next had Defense Against the Dark Arts. Today was lecture, and much like the rest of his classmates, he bemoaned having to sit and listen to professor Hecat go on and on about some unknown entity or creature that he could never encounter for the rest of his days. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a good teacher, far from it! But, much like any professor in the castle, she was not immune to the dreaded monotonous lecture voice.

Upon entering the classroom, the first thing Ominis heard was Hecat’s voice speaking in hushed tones to someone. He would never admit it outloud, but the boy was dreadfully nosy. Honing his ears in the direction of the whispering, he caught on to her tone first— caring, soft, gentle, words that normally wouldn’t be found within one hundred feet of the professor— then the tail end of her words.

“—if you are uncomfortable with today’s lesson, please know that you can leave at any time.”

An equally soft voice replied in turn, a hint of uncomfort lacing their words. “Thank you, professor. I appreciate the sentiment, but I will be fine. It is not the first time I have been a part of such a lecture.”

Ominis stilled in his seat, the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention when he recognized the voice. It was the new girl again. Merlin, it seemed she had everyone wrapped around her little finger, even the formidable Dinah Hecat!

It wasn’t that he had a problem with the new fifth year, in fact she had been quite nice to him when they met in the common room, it was just that all the rumors surrounding her made her sound a bit big for her britches. First she beat Sebastian in a duel, something no one has done since he started going to Crossed Wands and honing his talent, then she invites him to Hogsmeade with her and suddenly a troll is hellbent on clobbering up the street? Not to mention all the other things Ominis had heard about: taking out Ashwinder camps in her spare time? Flying all over the sodding Scottish Highlands and getting into all kinds of trouble against the Ranrok Loyalists? Sneaking into the restricted section with Sebastian and earning him another bloody detention, because what, she batted her eyelashes at him and he folded like a cheap suit? Who was this girl, and why did trouble follow at her heels like a pack of hellhounds? No, Ominis didn’t have a problem with her, he was suspicious of her, and the fact that the voice started soon after she got here certainly didn’t help.

The blond sat back in his seat, arms crossed across his chest and a befuddled look clouding his expression as the professor took her spot at the front of the room, tapping her wand on the rickety old chalkboard and writing out the subject of the lecture for today.

“Today, class, we will be discussing Gorgons, another creature traditionally deemed mythological but in fact walks among us magic folk unseen. Though, they very rarely make the journey across the sea to our backyard.”

Ominis’ eyebrows narrowed more in confusion as he thought about Hecat’s words to the new girl. Why would she be uncomfortable with this lesson? What secret was she hiding that was related to Gorgons of all things? He tuned back into the lesson, hoping to answer some of his questions.

Professor Hecat paced around the room as she talked, taking strides up and down the lengths of desks and weaving through her collections of artifacts from her time as an Unspeakable.

“Gorgons, or ‘gorgos,’ meaning ‘fierce, terrible and grim’ in Greek, are inherently female creatures with snakes for hair and the ability to turn anyone who meets their gaze into stone. Many of you are likely familiar with the myth of Medusa, the only mortal Gorgon that was callously slayed by the Greecian hero, Perseus. But, there are two other Gorgons known in history: Stheno, the mighty or strong, and Euryale, the Far Springer.”

The room was bathed in silence as Hecat paused in her speech, giving the class time to take notes on the creatures. Ominis sat still, his mind awash with possibilities for why the new girl would need to be excused from this lesson. Her accent was Greek, that was for sure. Could she have a history with Gorgons? That wouldn’t make sense, though. Many students have had run-ins with the creatures discussed in DADA, but they were never offered to skip that lesson. So, why was the new girl so special?

A sharp, insistent sound shook the blond from his thought spiral, causing him to wince at the volume suddenly ricochetting in his ears. A terrible hiss filled the room, slithering throughout the encompassing space and echoing off the tall, vaulted cathedral ceiling. It was haunting, eerie, constant, like the creak of the floor in an abandoned house or a busted pipe in the middle of the night when you’re the only one home. A shiver ran up Ominis’ spine at the sound, trying desperately to block it out while also listening to those around him to see if they heard it too. He heard no whisperings, but with a quick flick of his wand, sparking the wood to life, he could see the silhouette of his classmates looking around like they were trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. Ominis relaxed slightly, relieved that he wasn’t the only one hearing the incessant hissing.

His relaxed posture only lasted for a moment as a voice suddenly cut through all the noise, low and dangerous like a rattlesnake's tail in the tall grass. It was similar to the snake he had been hearing, but different somehow— richer, more human sounding. Ominis’ heart stilled in his chest when he recognized the cadence, knowing it intimately from all the times he spoke it while living at home. Parseltongue.

“Be quiet. Everything is fine, no one is going to hurt us.”

At once, the hissing stopped, shrouding the room in a blanket of silence once again. Dread began to curl its way around Ominis’ chest at the understanding of what that meant— what that could mean for the future of Hogwarts in general.

Someone in the room was a parselmouth like him, and he would bet all of his galleons on it being the new girl.

But, what did she mean by “no one is going to hurt us?” Who was “us?”

The professor continued her lecture, drowning the never ending list of questions permeating in his mind that seemed to grow longer by the second.

“Gorgons are the children of Phorcys, a primordial sea god, and Ceto, a sea goddess, who happen to be brother and sister.”

A snicker came from the back of the classroom, followed by the voice of none other than Andrew Larson, the class’ resident moonmind. “Purebloods know all about that!”

Hecat leveled him with a glare, not an ounce of amusement present in her tone as she spoke. “Must you make that joke whenever we talk about Greek history? I dare say it wasn’t funny the first handful of times you’ve said it, Mister Larson.”

Ominis could almost see the embarrassment on Larson’s face when he stuttered his reply. “Um, n-no, professor. I j-just meant—”

“We all know what you meant.” She silenced him quickly, her smirk present in her voice. “Now, back to what I was saying. Phorcys and Ceto had a large family together, including the Graeae, the trio of elderly sisters that share an eye, Echidna, a being of half-human, half-snake, Ladon, a fearsome dragon who was tasked with guarding the golden apples of the Hesperides, and Scylla, a woman with dog-headed loins. Because of Ceto’s reputation for giving birth to terrors, each larger and more colorful than the last, she became known as the “mother of sea-monsters.” Ominis could feel Hecat’s eyes linger on him for a moment, her speech stilling slightly as she took in his deeply puzzled expression. “Of course, among those children were also the Gorgons.”

The aging professor continued, her steps ebbing and flowing around the classroom like a steady stream. “According to myth, Medusa did not begin life as a Gorgon. She was Ceto’s only mortal born child— human as any other babe. Some even say she may have been of magical nature, like all of you in this very room.”

The blond slytherin heard Hecat’s steps falter for a moment, the soft swish of her hand running along a desk off to his right. He craned his ears in the direction, his wand picking up the movement as he tried to discern the student that the former Unspeakable was paying special attention to. The silhouette of a girl filled his mindseye, her form slumping down slightly in her desk as she tugged lightly on the scarf wrapped around her head. Ominis’ frown stretched deeper across his face at the realization that the professor was checking on the new girl, again. What was so special about her? Why was everyone so enraptured by her presence? She didn’t seem all that remarkable when in the school building at least. She was just mysterious. He was mysterious at first, but the fascination with him soon dwindled as his peers realized he was the same as everyone else.

So, the slytherin pondered, why was she still the talk of the halls?

Why was Hecat teaching this lesson?

Why was it important for a group of pubescent teenagers to know about something that existed across the ocean from them?

Ominis had more questions than answers, and each one confounded him more and more by the second.

“Medusa was a devout follower of Athena, the goddess of wisdom, handicraft, and war. One night, while praying to her goddess, she captured the attention of Athena’s brother, Poseidon. He appeared to her, intent on taking what he believed should be ‘his.’” Hecat paused, her stony gaze sweeping across the classroom as if challenging anyone to so much as breathe too loud. “He took her there, in the temple, leaving her on the floor as she sobbed and prayed to her goddess for forgiveness.”

Ominis could cut the tension coating the air of the room like a thick, viscous fog with a knife. No one dared make a sound, enraptured by the words of their wise mentor.

“Some myths say that Athena took pity on the girl and transformed her into something that no man could ever gaze on again. Some say she punished her for leading a man into her sacred temple and letting him defile it. No one knows the true story except those who were there, and the old gods have long since left our realm for their own paradise on Olympus.”

The apprehension screaming in every magical mind surrounding the dearly loved, and feared, elder was palpable in the tiny class space.

“Now, some of you may be wondering why I teach this lesson.” As if reading his mind, Ominis felt Hecat level him with a stare that burned hotter than even the most blistering fire poker. “The answer, of course, is that no one knows what happened to the child of Medusa and Poseidon.”

The young Gaunt felt all the air get sucked from his lungs as if a dementor escaped from Azkaban just to find him specifically. A child of a god and a witch? It was unheard of— it was disastrous. Their magic would be unstoppable; nothing in their world would ever match the power of a child brimming with that much otherworldly energy. Whether they used their powers for good or evil, or even some mix of the two, they would be legendary all the same. At that moment, a thought came to Ominis. Would they also be part Gorgon? If Medusa was transformed while with child, who's to say that the babe would not share the same affliction.

As suddenly as a strike of lightning, or a downpour in April, Ominis Gaunt answered the question that had been on his mind since the start of term.

The new girl was a Gorgon.

How had he not realized before? The snakes that were always around when she was— how her head and eyes were always covered— how no one knew where she hailed from and had no hint other than the fact that her accent was vaguely Greecian? It was right in front of his blind eyes from the beginning; he was just too much of a jealous fool to see it.

Just then the bell chimed across the campus, signaling the impending class change. Professor Hecat’s voice broke through the bustle of his peers standing and gathering their things in preparation for their trek to their next lesson.

“We will continue our discussion on mythos and magic next week. Please remember to study for the upcoming OWLs! They are written and practical, so be sure to practice the physical spells as well as memorize the theory!”

Ominis scrambled to gather his things, determined to catch the new girl before she disappeared into the crowd. Dodging around a loitering Sebastian— the brunette’s hand raised as if gearing to make some idiotic, yet somehow still brilliant, point— he all but sprinted into the congested hallway. His wand waved in front of him as he scanned each person he passed, his ears tuned to any noise that sounded vaguely serpentine in the hopes that her reptilian tresses would sound out as they always did this close to lunch time. Alas, they were as silent as a dead rodent in a viper pit.

Just then, the young boy caught sight of the girl, her silhouette moving ferociously among the masses as if she would rather be anywhere but there. Underneath all his confusion, morbid curiosity, and pulsating anger at how she has been endangering, and possibly enchanting, his best friend, Ominis felt a pang of pity. He didn’t blame her one bit for wanting to leave as quickly as possible— not at all. He knew all too well how it felt to have all eyes burning through his skin at every turn, even if no one else seemed to figure out her secret other than him. He couldn’t let her escape, though; he needed answers, he needed closure. Halting in his tracks, he racked his mind for what he could do to get her attention. She wouldn’t hear him call her name in the ruckus around them, nor could he keep up with her brusk pace. There was really only one option to choose, and as much as he hated to do it, snakes had an incredible sense of hearing, or rather, in their case, an excellent sense for vibrations.

His voice flowed from his lips in a strong hiss, the air seeming to break just for the words to slither their way to their target like a bush adder in a pile of leaves. “I know what you are.”

Her “pets” were startlingly silent as her hung head raised from its slumped position against her chest, her sigh heaving her shoulders into proper posture— a constrictor poised to strangle.

The boy felt her words before he heard them— the air stilling around him like a world born anew.

“I suppose it’s my turn to explain things, then.”

AN:

Shes baaaaaacccckkkkkkk :)

***

like what you read? here's more!

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gwenllian-in-the-abbey · 14 days

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"If it feels like Alicent needs Rheanyra to suffer in order for her life to have meaning."

https://www.reddit.com/r/HouseOfTheDragon/s/6bMp4SmUpH

What's your opinion on this post?

I think the summary, "it feels like Alicent needs Rhaenyra to suffer in order for her life to have meaning" is kind of a misrepresentation of Olivia Cooke's quote cited in that reddit thread.

"Rhaenyra can just get away with anything, and it's so fine. The king turns a complete blind eye, whereas Alicent has always had to walk this tightrope for her whole entire life," Cooke explains. "Just the injustice of it that she feels, until things happen and she realizes that none of it f---ing matters. She looks around her family, and they're all f---ed up. She's like, 'I've been so perfect all my life. I haven't taken a step wrong, and it doesn't f---ing matter.' I think what we see in her evolution is this complete existential crisis."

“(rhaenyra) is the mother that alicent wishes she could be. i don't think there's empathy there. i think it is just another cause for alicent’s resentment, because it’s something she's doing better than alicent ever could.”

Alicent doesn't need Rhaenyra to suffer in order for her life to have meaning, what she needs is justice. She is married to the king and has given him three sons and a daughter, and she's treated no better than a mistress. Ironically, Alicent could have been a royal paramour, had royal bastards, and they would probably be safer as bastards than they are as trueborn children. It's blindingly unfair, and no one in Alicent's life recognizes that. Even her father cannot really acknowledge that Alicent personally has been done wrong because he had a hand in the doing.

I think what's left unsaid in the second part of that quote is why Rhaenyra is the mother Alicent wishes she could be. It's not because Rhaenyra is inherently a more loving, caring person. We see young Alicent is a very warm girl, with a lot of empathy for others, but by the time we catch up with her as an adult, she's been worn down by her circumstances. Even setting aside the fact that Alicent's children are not the product of a loving union like Rhaenyra's were, Alicent can't be this perfect caring, supportive mother when she is fighting for her children's lives. She can't let down her guard, nor can she afford to be too soft, or allow herself to become too attached, because her children are not simply her children, they're royal children who will be at the center of a succession crisis whether they like it or not. And unlike Rhaenyra, who has this incredible power of denial, Alicent has this anxious, hyper-vigilant personality and she can't just pretend her children won't one day be a threat to Rhaenyra''s claim. This is incredibly detrimental to Alicent's ability to effectively parent them!

And so of course Alicent resents the fact that Rhaenyra can just pretend everything is fine, that she can offer her kids this seemingly unconditional love and support, that she can ignore the elephant in the room when Alicent herself cannot ignore it. And the thing is, not only does Rhaenyra's refusal to acknowledge the problem put Alicent's kids in even more danger, it's not actually great for Rhaenyra's kids either. Just look at Jace, he's flying off the handle every time someone whispers the word bastard and already someone has lost an eye because of it. That kid harbors some deep insecurities, and his mother's absolute refusal to acknowledge his parentage, even privately, puts Jace in a really weird position. How can he prepare himself for his future as king, how can he learn how to face the whispers and the accusations, when his mother won't even utter the word? Alicent doesn't really have the ability at this point to see the flaws in Rhaenyra's parenting, but they're there.

So no, it's not that she wants Rhaenyra to suffer, she wants Rhaenyra to acknowledge that she understands the realities they're facing due to Viserys' decisions. Does Alicent want to feel like her own suffering matters? Of course! No one wants to feel like they wasted their life, that their sacrifices are unacknowledged and unappreciated. Look at how far Rhaenyra's "thank you and I'm sorry" went at the family dinner. Being gaslit is a maddening experience-- there's a reason why it's an abuse tactic-- and being gaslit over a period of years about something with life or death consequences would turn anyone bitter and resentful. But Rhaenyra's suffering in and of itself won't right the wrongs done to Alicent, and on some level Alicent has always been aware of that.

#asks #hotd discourse #alicent hightower #team green #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti team black

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feralcreaturescave · 1 year

Text

Find Me in Between the Lines

“Would you teach me?” “What?” “To read as you do.”

“There are not a lot of wizards that suffer blindness,” he replied with a chilling intonation. “I suspect you can learn of other things that may be more useful than this.”

“Is it so bad I’d want an excuse to spend more time with you?”

Word count: 3.9k

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x F!Reader

A/n: I only posted this story on AO3 and Tumblr, if you find this anywhere else- it wasn't me!! Link *here* for the rest of the series this story is from!!!

Ominis Gaunt couldn’t remember a time in his life where he was fond of people. Not even his family made it into his good graces, no matter how much effort he attempted to include them in his personal affairs. The only person he could think of that showed him the true meaning of familial love was his own aunt: Noctua Gaunt. He was told she was a great beauty with wits to match. She shared the pale blond hair of their father’s side and dark eyes that witnessed many of the Gaunt’s dark secrets. In his loneliest moments, Ominis tried to picture what Aunt Noctua would look like. Whenever she spoke to him, he always heard the smile in her voice and the lightness within her heart- a trait that was regrettably limited to only one of the Gaunts.

The rest of his family had not been so kind.

Noctua would often send him letters laden with treats local from wherever it was she was visiting; she would ask how he was, what he was up to, what were his current favorite books.. The letters stopped years ago and Ominis was left with silence. It took him weeks to work up the courage to write to his father about her and to his surprise he received a letter back, albeit with a short and curt response.

‘I do not know.’

He was left to guess what really happened, until a few days ago where an unfortunate event transpired.

Noctua Gaunt’s remains were laid to rest in a part of the school that hadn’t seen life in thousands of years. In the pursuit of truth did she perish within the confines of Salazar Slytherin’s scriptorium. A fate that Ominis himself had resigned to until Sebastian and his new friend found a way out.

“Ready?”

“I’m ready.”

A pause, then- “Crucio!”

The details were secured within his mind and rose to perfect clarity whenever he required. He remembered covering his ears as she screamed. He wondered if that’s what his siblings heard? With a sound that horrible- why didn’t they stop on their own accord? It didn’t help that her body was cold when he caught her, breaking her fall. Her speech had been slurred so much that he had a difficult time translating what she was saying. His worst fears had come to surface that day. There were stories of the Cruciatus Curse that haunted him late into the night. Stories that involved people losing their minds had the curse been inflicted on them long enough; that was if they survived the initial bouts of pain. Some had their bodies simply give up due to the duress.

They were the lucky ones.

The ones who survive would have their minds reduced to nothing. Not even a single thought would light up their heads, nor inspiration nor recognition could be formed ever again.

The House of Gaunt was naught but a shadow in his memory with mere ghosts that haunted its walls and called him ‘brother’ or ‘son’. Family was a foreign and strange concept; though of course, that all changed when Sebastian Sallow, and his sister Anne, came into his life. The days he spent with the two of them brought the most warmth to his days and he loved them for it; and despite Sebastian’s callous claims that Ominis didn’t care enough about Anne, he did. Though no cure was worth delving into whatever hole Sebastian found himself in.

A hole I helped him find. The quill in his hand had nearly snapped at the thought that intruded. He hated himself for allowing the secret of the Scriptorium to be leaked, but Sebastian’s friend had spoken such sweet promises and reassurances that he didn’t mind at the time. He was partially grateful that he finally learned the truth about Aunt Noctua and was given a chance to perform a proper send off near the lake where he stacked stones smoothed by the waters atop each other. He left a bouquet of her favorite flowers by the makeshift cairn and inhaled the familiar scent of Narcissus lilies that once resided within his aunt’s perfume bottles. There wasn’t anyone that comforted him the day he held a small ceremony to say farewell to the only blood relative that saw him more than a burden. He told not a soul, not even his closest friend, when he remained in the Undercroft and cried.

He straightened his back against the wooden chair and forced himself to refocus on the task at hand. Turning the page seemed achingly loud and he took more care to flip them apart as he fingered through. There was nothing quite like a location that forced people to be quiet no matter the circumstance. He found solace within one of the tables towards the back. From the cooler ambient, he knew it was one that lay concealed in shadows. This was one of the best spots where few bothered him, that is, until he heard someone walking his way.

A subtle waft of something floral snuck into his nose. “What are you doing here?”

“How did you know it was me?” The voice of the new student whispered softly to him.

“I have to recognize people from something besides looks.” She was quiet and he hastily added: “Don’t look too far into it.”

“How can you recognize Sebastian?”

“His walk. No one else could convincingly brandish that amount of swagger without making a fool of themselves.”

She laughed. “You’re right on that.” Something shifted that sounded a lot like heavily bound books. “May I sit with you?”

“Why?” his question shot out like a spell, quick and with reflex.

“I, er, I was looking for a quiet place.”

“It’s a library,” he responded coolly. “You may find quiet places almost anywhere that aren't occupied.”

There was no response for a few seconds and he imagined she had already left, until she spoke softly again. “I understand. It was nice seeing you, Ominis.” Her footsteps had begun to recede until he spoke up.

“Wait.” The footsteps stopped. “I.. I’m sorry. Please, take a seat.” A chair next to him moved and groaned as weight was introduced upon the cushion. The first time he had met her, he was rather sweet and welcoming. But the instant he learned that Sebastian introduced her to the Undercroft without alerting him had left sour grapes on his tongue. He also heard rumors of Sebastian spending time with Hogwart’s latest mystery out of school grounds. It was enough to send an ugly tendril of insecurity with no small part of jealousy added into the mix. Has Sebastian tired of him already?

“..How are you? I didn’t think I’ve asked yet.”

Ominis scoffed. “I should be the one asking that. Not you.” Her screams surfaced into his mind from memory. “You were out cold. Sebastian and I were nearly hysterical.”

“Is that so?” she chuckled softly. “I don’t remember a thing beyond closing my eyes and drifting off into sleep.”

“Quite so. We haven’t argued like that in a long while.”

“Regardless. I’m grateful to both of you for not leaving me in the Scriptorium.” She paused. “Whose idea was it to sneak me into your dorm?”

“Mine.”

There was stunned silence. “That’s not who I expected,” she admitted shyly. “The Slytherin Common Room is gorgeous, makes me wish I’d been sorted in.. Imagine my surprise when I woke up in bed with Sebastian. We were so close I could count the freckles on his face with ease.”

“I bet he would have enjoyed that.”

“You think so?”

“He fancies you.”

“I believe it’s more because he needs me for something than that.”

“You’re far too gracious. He’s been beside himself with worry. All he could talk about was how you looked when you sat limp in my arms..” Ominis trailed off, realization striking him. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding him?”

“He’s noticed, has he?”

“Yes. And he won’t stop pestering me about it. I would consider it a personal favor if you talked to him and requested that he stop.”

“I will. I just need some time to think about things.”

“Very well. I’m sure you and Sebastian have your own secrets.” He knew full well that there was a hint of jealousy in his voice. A part of him hated how quickly Sebastian took to the new fifth-year, while another part of him was merely curious.

“You and I could have some as well. I’ll confess something..” He heard her clothes rustling and assumed she was making herself more comfortable. “Yes. I’ve been avoiding Sebastian. I’ve been cursed before- by people far worse. But none of them scared me like he did.” She swallowed and continued, breathless. “I know you have to mean it when you cast you-know-what. But it’s a different sort of pain when it comes from someone you care about. I hope that makes sense.”

Ominis knew exactly how that felt.

“Never mind all of that,” she urged. “I’m more curious about that magic you were using earlier on one of your books.”

He felt hot behind the ears. How long was she standing there to watch him transcribe the letters inside his book into Braille? It was not as if she was working up the courage, surely? “It’s a spell my aunt helped me develop,” he started tentatively. “It changes letters into Braille and vice versa. Since not all of wizard kind suffers from my ailment, it’s rare that I find any book that suits my particular needs.”

“Your aunt sounds like a spectacular person.”

For the first time in a while, a warm smile lit up his face. “Yes. She was.”

“Would you teach me?”

“What?”

“To read as you do.”

At that moment he didn’t know how to react. Maybe he should be angry? Suspicious, perhaps? He settled for a probing question. “Why?”

“Because, it seems handy.”

“There are not a lot of wizards that suffer blindness,” he replied with a chilling intonation. “I suspect you can learn of other things that may be more useful than this.”

“Is it so bad I’d want an excuse to spend more time with you?”

And just like that, the ice had drained from him. Clearing the fields as the sun did for the frost-bitten valleys come spring. It was replaced with embarrassment and the irresistible urge to make up for the way he’d been treating her. Hesitantly, he slid over a book and began pointing out the alphabet in order. “This single dot means A.. These mean B.. When you put them together..” He appreciated that she was silent as he taught her each letter one-by-one with only a short hum to let him know that she memorized the latest letter down the row.

“This may take some time to get used to,” she whispered.

“It’s not so difficult,” he murmured back. “Just like with any concept you must learn. The symbols come first, then understanding.” Sliding the book over, he felt her arm move up, brushing against his as she passed her fingers to the page. Her movements were quick, unsure, and Ominis sighed. “Start from the left towards the right.”

His patience rescinded and without thinking, he searched until he found her hand. Only then did he realize how cold his skin was compared to hers. Ominis refocused on his task. Taking her through the motions, he showed her how he would usually read. Starting from the top left, skimming all the way to the right before shifting to the beginning of the next sentence.

There was surprise in her voice. “I don’t believe I can learn that fast.”

“Sebastian tells me otherwise. Now try again.” She mimicked his movements, going down the list with his finger close to hers.

She spoke as she read along. “The… Go..Goblin R.. Rebellion of… 1612..”

“You’re doing well.”

“Only because I’ve read this passage before and memorized it.”

“Then let’s do something you haven’t memorized.” He took another book entirely and flipped to a random page. His wand tapped the page. “ Intra Intellegentium! Try this- no peeking.” Her fingers found the page and he listened as she struggled to sound out the words.

“‘H’..h, right? Let’s see. ‘H..o..” She paused, her finger rubbing over a specific set of bump again. “Ominis-”

“Horklumps,” he confirmed after running his hand over it. “‘Horklumps can be found in varying numbers depending on humidity, light, and if someone had perished on the spot they sprouted on.’”

She laughed to herself. “I may need some practice.”

“Indeed you do.” He let her memorize the alphabet on her own just as curiosity burned through him. “In the Scriptorium, Sebastian mentioned that ‘between the two of us, he was starting to feel left out’. What did he mean?”

She was quiet for a bit, then- “I won’t lie to you again, Ominis. But that is something I must tell you about another day. I’m sorry. I can’t risk having you involved, too.”

'Too'? Is it another one of Sebastian’s games? “What are you talking about?”

“Ominis,” she insisted. “It isn’t wise that I involve more of my friends than I need to. Trust me. When it’s all over, I’ll tell you. I promise.” He heard her begin to pack up her things. “It was nice spending time with you.”

There was no time to respond as her hurried footsteps told him she was in a rush to head to whatever grand adventure she had waiting. He sat for a moment before packing up his things and departing himself until he stopped and blinked. Ominis felt as if he was hovering in a dream as his thoughts came as fast as someone who tried to run through muck. Did she just call him her ‘friend’?

***

“What does she look like?”

“Sorry?”

“Your friend. Describe her to me.”

He heard Sebastian shift his weight as he sat up in bed. “Why do you want to know?” Suspicion had made his voice lower in tone. “You never seemed to care much before.”

“I’m curious.”

“She looks like a girl.”

“Come off it, Sebastian.”

“She has a face.”

“Very well. If you insist on continuing this charade then I’ll ask her myself.”

Ominis pulled the sheets over him and turned his back to Sebastian’s voice.

“Wait-” he heard him sit up more. “Is she talking to you?” Ominis didn’t say anything. “Ominis. Has she said anything to you recently? Why isn’t she talking to me?” When he didn’t reply, he heard Sebastian let out a disgruntled sigh before he too pulled his cover over him.

The next day, she found him in the library once more. He memorized her hurried footsteps and found it amusing how they never seemed to slow down no matter where she was headed. Their spot was almost exclusive again as they both made themselves comfortable. Only the sounds of light tapping on an ink pot and quills scratching against paper accompanied the peace. Ominis reached forward to where his ink pot was and felt his fingers brush against something warm.

“Sorry,” came a low murmur.

“It’s alright.” Ominis set his quill down. “I must ask: why do you insist on spending time with me?”

“You’re the only one who doesn’t think to ask me anything besides peace,” she answered and sounded so earnest that he felt as if she was telling the honest truth.

“Are you leading me to believe that everyone you’ve met has thus asked you for a favor?”

“Yes. I don’t mind lending a helping hand, but it gets exhausting. Sometimes I would like to simply sit down and read and not be bothered-" her voice sounded muffled and he assumed she covered her face with her hands as he only caught tidbits that sounded like 'goblins', 'poachers', 'magic', and 'keepers'.

“You and I are alike in that regard then. I enjoy my silence.” Ominis thumbed through the pages of his copy of the ‘History of Magic: An Unabridged Guide’. “Actually, I may have to break that accord.”

“What is it?” There was a cautious edge to her voice.

This made him chuckle. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask you to delve into old ruins in search of a family heirloom or fight another troll. I simply wish to know what you look like.”

“I- hm.” She hummed. “I don’t know where to start. Shall I start describing the color of my hair?”

“Here-” he motioned for her to come closer. “This is much more simple and straightforward.” At first he hesitated, but when he felt her warmth come closer, he had a blossoming sense of bravery.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Hold your face out,” he said with such simplicity and calmness that even the tone of his voice surprised him. Reaching forward, he felt around the air until he came into contact with skin. The flesh under his fingers went rigid under his touch and he quickly urged her. “Calm yourself. I simply wish to learn what you look like. I can’t say I fancy picturing myself talking to a mannequin for the entirety of our relationship.”

At his words, she relaxed and let his hands see her face.

His index trailed upwards to follow the hairline and felt her hair and how soft it felt, next, he accidentally brushed against her ears and didn’t reprimand her when she told him that it tickled. Her eyelashes tickled him back in revenge when he passed over her eye to the bridge of her nose to her other eye. His palm lay flat on her cheek with the rest of his fingers stopping there to let the thumb go on without them. Next came the tip of her nose before going down to press against her lips. His heart seemed to catch in his throat when his thumb grazed her bottom lip. For a second he believed that she pushed her lips against his finger and left a kiss there, but both of them said nothing to each other in that moment nor the one after. Ominis pulled back, a silent ‘thank you’ was uttered under his breath.

“Do you know what you look like?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” he stated curtly.

“May I do you the honor of describing you, then?”

“You may try.”

The sound of scraping wood grated his ears as her chair was being pushed closer to his. A presence was more noticeable at his side where she leaned in to get a better look. She hummed, tapping her fingers against the wood and seemed to take what felt like ages to decide where to attack first.

“You are very handsome,” she concluded.

Ominis felt he would sputter his words and kept his mouth clamped shut instead. “Your skin is pale. There are moles here-” her finger traced over his face and tapped where the marks were, “-here and here.” She traced down the bridge of his nose. “A pointed tip, and sharp lips that seem to always be fixed into a frown. You truly do have an air of austerity about you.”

“I do not-”

“Shh.”

The finger was placed against his lips and remained there until she was sure he wouldn’t open them again. She traced along his jaw now and in that moment he felt what she must have when he was examining her face. For lack of better description, he felt naked beneath her scrutinizing gaze.

“Rather sharp jaw,” he heard the frown in her voice. “It seems you were blessed with looks at birth. Are you aware of what the other Gaunts look like?”

“I’m told my family possesses some sort of allure. Mother always praised my older siblings on how handsome they were.”

“It’s an apt description. You are.” The bell tower announced the time somewhere in the far distance, a sound that was followed by a chair scraping against wood. Warmth left his face like the sun retreating behind a large mountainside. “I’ve got to go. I’ve an engagement I must hurry to.”

“I wasn’t aware you and Sebastian had something planned today.”

“Because we don’t. It’s.." she hesitated. "Complicated.” Her finger seemed to tap along the wood of the desk in a nervously paced rhythm.

“Will you keep another secret for me?”

“I suppose I can. What is it?”

“I’m meeting a goblin. He has information I need and working with him might prove beneficial. Just don’t tell Sebastian this yet.”

“I shan’t, but-” He raised his brows. “You’re aware he’s not overly fond of goblins after what happened to Anne, correct?”

“Yes, I know. I will tell him in time, just not now. I fear his reaction may be a bit too much to handle at the moment.” She sighed heavily. “Still, it feels good to get that off my chest. Thank you for listening. You’re a good friend, Ominis. We should spend more time together.” With that, he heard her take off towards the front of the library.

***

I hope my owl finds you well. I’ve transformed the letters into Braille and hope with sincerity that you cannot make sense of it. Should you ever find yourself in dire need of a reading partner, find comfort with the knowledge that you may ask me.

It’s also my displeasure to report that the time I spent with you in the library was not as bad as I previously imagined and that I do not mind repeating the experience.

Sincerely,

Ominis Gaunt

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x y/n #Ominis gaunt fic #ominis gaunt angst #Hogwarts Legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction

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mitchellpete · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Day 12 - Voyeurism

pairing: tom “iceman” kazansky x f!reader (x pete “maverick” mitchell)

cw: penetrative sex, voyeurism, could count as cucking?, brief icemav implications but if you squint you can ignore it

word count: 1386

kinktober masterlist here.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

Maverick immediately knows what’s going on the moment he steps through the door, the noises loud and clear. His brows immediately knit together in confusion, in surprise, at the absurdity of the situation. The front door to your house had been unlocked, for starters, and you’re somewhere inside, and he can hear you moaning and what sounds like shit being knocked around.

A scowl meets Maverick’s knitted brows as he shuts the door and immediately makes his way down the hallway.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing; he’s certainly not gonna barge in and ruin your fun but Christ, is there any indication on who you’re with right now? He needs to know. And maybe he suddenly regrets everything you promised one another—that you wouldn’t catch feelings, that this fling wouldn’t last past his time at Top Gun—but maybe he actually did like you, and you just ruined it all the moment his hand turned the knob to your door.

Maverick gets closer to the noises, a mixture of panic and intrigue seeping through him when he realizes the door is cracked open. Just enough that when he reaches the frame, he sees you.

You’re laying on your side, a big body behind you, long strong legs and a sharp snap of hips meeting yours. An arm around your torso. A hand propping your leg up for easier thrusts, a blue Academy ring tauntingly sparkling at him.

And then his eyes catch the head of spiky blonde.

For fuck’s sake.

For a moment, Maverick is almost blinded with anger. His heart stoops down to his feet and all he can think of is betrayal. How sick you are for doing this to him.

You’d been fucking each other for weeks. Had made a comfortable situation out of it, and came to terms with the fact that it probably wouldn't last. But Maverick was sort of on top of the world right now, getting to fly with his best friend, competing for the Top Gun trophy, being the best possible pilot he could be up there. Taking his chance to prove himself once and for all. And Maverick is always all or nothing, and if he knew that this would backfire on him, then he’d shoved it to the deepest corner in the back of his mind and chose to go through with it anyway just for the fun of it. And now he’s paying the price, and the promises he made you don’t mean anything anymore. How could you? Yeah, yeah, you’re not together, you’re not in love, you’re certainly not chained to one another, but why?

Iceman of all people.

That’s gotta be a personal fucking vendetta you’ve got against him.

God, and he really did like you..? By the way..? No matter how many times he told himself he didn’t..? Fuck that. He does. He did. He decided the moment he stepped inside your house. And now all of it is fucking soiled.

He considers running out, slamming the front door for effect and mounting his Kawasaki and taking a long drive out of here. Giving you the silent treatment the next time he sees you. Maybe finally punching Iceman in the fucking face the second he hears that irritating voice sound out his name in the locker room, just before going on a tangent about aircraft safety and some other bullshit Maverick never pays attention to.

But he does not move.

And he realizes a little too late how entranced he is at the sight in front of him.

Maverick’s eyes roam, but they settle right at the junction between your legs. His lips part at the sight of Ice’s cock ramming into you. You’re so wet, he can see it pooling with every slippery thrust. The sound of skin on skin brings a heat to Maverick’s cheeks, his own cock twitching in his pants.

Your moans are loud and repetitive, cries of pleasure he’s heard many times before.

Iceman’s pace is relentless, quick and hard and perfect. Even in the shadows, Maverick is slightly intimidated.

Maverick doesn’t avert his eyes, lets out a stifled groan at the feel of his hardening cock in his tight jeans. It all worsens when he hears Ice moan, the sound prettier than he’d like to admit. It stirs the desire in him, flushes his entire body in heat. What he would do to be in Ice’s position right now, fucking into you like his life depended on it, sliding in and out of that tight, wet heat over and over. He knows how good you look; he can imagine how good Ice feels fucking into you like this.

As if on cue, “You like to watch, Mitchell?” that familiar voice sneers at Maverick from behind you.

Maverick flinches, unintentionally takes a step back, but it’s no use. Ice is hovering over the side of your body, angling his hips to find a better spot. He’s got a shit eating smile on his face, staring right at Maverick, and it’s then that Maverick realizes.

It wasn’t you. None of this was you. Did… did Iceman know? Did he leave the door open for Maverick to find? He fucking would. And Maverick would get angry again if he wasn’t so turned on out of his mind.

You continue moaning, in a hazy state of bliss, but your eyes flick over to the doorframe at the sound of Ice’s voice. Maverick stands there, watching with a fiery gaze.

“M—Maverick,” you cry out, an arm absentmindedly reaching out in his direction. Your brows furrowed together, you hope he realizes you’re inviting him in; that just the sight of him almost has you keeling over and letting go. You want him in the room, but he doesn’t budge, remains in the shadows of the hallway, so you moan out again, “Please.”

Ice chuckles behind you, giddy. You’re amazed at how composed he is, how his thrusts haven’t even begun to falter. You’re so close to your orgasm, but he seems to be doing fine still.

“P–Pete,” you gasp a third time, and then Ice hits a very sensitive spot inside you. “Oh, fuck, Ice!”

The heat of Ice’s body pressed to yours, his tight grip on your torso and the force of his thrusts are dizzying enough, but it’s even beyond that when the door creaks a little wider. Maverick hesitantly steps inside, though his eyes remain glued to you. Leaning against the wall right next to the door, he watches as Ice’s hand clasps around your breast, roughly kneading at it.

“Knew you liked to watch,” Ice remarks, but he’s not looking at Maverick anymore. His eyelids are lidded in pleasure, lips parted as he nears his own orgasm.

Maverick’s stomach flips at Ice’s words, but he doesn’t respond. He focuses on you and how high pitched your moans sound, knows very well that that’s an indication that you’re cumming soon.

“Ice,” you sob, your hand reaching for his and then clawing at the skin of it. “I’m gonna cum.”

Ice leans in to press his mouth to your ear, teeth lightly grazing the skin of it. “Cum for me, baby,” he rasps quietly.

Mouthing at your neck, Ice’s eyes flick over to Maverick again, whose gaze has gotten wider. His entire face is painted crimson, eyes roaming at the sight in front of him, wanting every detail of your incoming release. Are you gonna cum for Ice the way you do for him? Let out that gorgeous sounding moan, long and lengthy when you start to shake?

You do.

Maverick bites his lip at the sight and sound, has to palm at his cock through his jeans to ease the ache a bit.

He watches intently as it takes Ice too, his thrusts finally sloppy, his body going slack next to yours. Ice groans out loud against your skin, his grip around your body loosening.

The sensation breaks your haze, and you throw your head back against the mattress as it sinks in. Finally making eye contact with Maverick and his flushed face, you bite back a smile as you try to figure out how you’re gonna explain the situation to him. Maverick is wondering what he’s gonna do about his fucking hard on. Ice is just sliding out of you with a laugh.

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forestdeath1 · 1 month

Text

Sirius’s early maturity as a result of family views and traditions. Romantic and sexual behaviour

18+

First of all, I'd like to leave a link to this meta by @artemisia-black so I don't have to write the same things that are already covered. The part about boundaries is especially important.

Next, I'll add my perspective.

1. Most likely, Sirius couldn't be a playboy or casanova due to the social organisation of their society + his personal attitude towards boundaries of other people, including women, as described in the post above.

2. However, that doesn't say much about his sexuality and romantic behavior.

More likely JKR wanted to make him straight and prone to non-committed relationships, but canon itself says nothing about his sexuality and I think everyone can read him as they want. Honestly, I personally don't care who Sirius is sleeping with/not sleeping with in people’s HCs. I care about his personality, and his sexuality doesn't change anything about his canon characterisation, so I don't particularly see the point in arguing about his sexuality (straight/gay/bi/ace/whatever) with foam at the mouth. (And he is not queer coded.)

But there is some interesting things that I’d like to discuss.

1. First of all, why the playboy/casanova version seems the most untenable to me, besides what was written in the post above?

A bit about the school and society:

In my opinion, for the WW, it's quite illogical for a student to have a large number of sexual partners. Firstly, with whom? In some fanfics, Sirius finds a new partner almost every week and fucks someone every night. Where does he find so much time for casual sex at school/during the war and where do so many people wanting casual sex come from? No matter how handsome Sirius might be, not all girls and boys are willing to have casual sex. Most people want relationships, not casual sex.

So in my view, if in your headcanon Sirius never got out into the Muggle world of the 1970s, then he couldn't have had a large number of casual sexual partners at least in school, although the playboy reputation could have been there. To have that reputation, you don't need to do anything, just being charismatic and attractive. Reputation often precedes the person. Maybe that's why Remus said 'he always got the women'. They just paid attention to him. But if we consider the WW, especially the school, there's simply nowhere to get 'many partners' from.

2. Ignoring a girl as evidence of a certain sexuality.

The fact that Sirius ignored girls' glances at him doesn't say anything concrete. But it's often cited as an argument in favour of his homosexuality and/or asexuality.

But in reality, it can be interpreted in any way. As asexuality/homosexuality or simply as a demonstration that he really was attractive to many people, but Sirius himself, accustomed to such attention, no longer paid attention to the constant attention to him. When a person knows his attractiveness from his youth, he will not pay attention to every flirtation or every person who looks at him with lust. Often such attention can even be annoying.

Also, this character was probably well aware of his attractiveness and could see it in other people. The comments about Snape are very vivid. If appearance is not at all part of a person's values and they doesn’t pay attention to appearance, then a person is unlikely to insult someone based on their appearance - it’s usually a blind-spot. But attractive appearance, given by nature, are often seen as something that can't be taken away, it's always with you, and so the attitude is simple — if you can't wash your hair, fine, it's not that important. And knowing about his attractiveness and constantly receiving a lot of attention from other people – the value of this attention diminishes. A person just no longer pays attention to it.

That’s why he might have simply ignored the girl who was looking at him with interest (who had been studying with him and probably had been looking at him with interest for more than a day).

3. The age of consent. Early maturity. TW Underage.

The age of consent in the Muggle UK is 16 years old. And in the WW, people become adults earlier, at 17. However, Pollux became a father at 13. Cygnus became a father at 13. What was the age of consent? When did they get married? Was there even a concept of age of consent in the wizarding world? Perhaps their age of consent was 12 (given that in 1275, the first age of consent was set in England, at age 12 and only in 1875, the Offences Against the Person Act raised the age to 13 in Great Britain and Ireland, and the International Statute of Secrecy was signed in 1689, it's possible that wizards are still stuck with laws from that time). Or maybe Pollux and Cygnus got married later. For example, at 15 (17-2). Or maybe they have no concept of age of consent at all and there is no prohibition on marriage before reaching legal age, so they could get married whenever they wanted. Considering that marriages are magically contracted without the involvement of authorities, this option seems viable.

I'm not here to judge fictional characters, I'm discussing facts from the canon. There is every reason to believe that for some families in the WW, "maturity" came much earlier than it does for us now, and it wasn't nonsense. Rather, it was casual liaisons that were condemned as something that could cause unwanted pregnancies. But not marriage and sex itself before the age of 17.

Even in our time and in our society "an estimated 55% of teens have had sexual intercourse by age 18". These percentages have gradually declined since 1988 when 51 per cent of female and 60 per cent of male teens have ever had sex".

Your right to consider this something bad and refuse to write/speak about it, but it was, is, and always will be a part of teenage life, and judging by the Blacks, in the WW, the attitude towards this was quite... "old-fashioned", if it concerned marriage and childbearing.

I am inclined to believe that it was the Blacks who had this attitude towards early marriage and early childbirth, and therefore towards early sex, BUT not casual sex, because nobody wanted unwanted pregnancy.

And this could have influenced Sirius's attitude towards himself, his sexuality, and how mature he considered himself. Sorry, but when your grandfather became a father at 13, as did your uncle... well, you definitely look at growing up a little differently. He put up Muggle posters too because his parents were annoyed not by the fact that he was a 14-15 year old thinking about sex (although he might not have thought about it at all, he just knew it would piss his mum off), but by the fact that he was thinking about sex with mudbloods, which horrified his parents.

Just imagine what must be going through the mind of a 14-15 year old who decided to piss his parents off. What would James do? Well, paint the room red. Put dung bombs on the head of everyone who walked in. What did Sirius do? Erotic posters (women in swimming costumes are erotic posters to their world).

In my opinion, this says a lot about all the Blacks and the fact that they have some peculiarities in their family dynamics. Where did he even get the idea for this, if Sirius and the Blacks were innocent in their attitude towards teenage sex and growing up? I can totally see them yelling at him after these posters 'if you get someone pregnant, you'll really regret it!'.

The posters themselves don't say anything about Sirius's real intentions or his sexuality – he could have just put them up to piss her mother off, knowing that it would annoy her, or he himself might have liked them.

Meanwhile, James and his parents probably had a different dynamic, and they probably treated James as a child for much longer. So James matured sexually in his mind later. His parents probably didn't even talk about such things. And considering that they went to a conservative school, then further than kissing for him at 15 was probably not even a topic, if they even got to kissing.

Most likely, Sirius's 'early maturity' and all these posters are exactly the result of intra-family traditions and views.

4. It's confirmed by Word of God that he didn't have a girlfriend, but…

If we consider only the books as canon, then we don't know anything about his girlfriend/boyfriend, and he could have had some romantic relationships, because the canon itself doesn't say anything about it.

But I'll specifically analyze the case with 'Word of God':

Well, Sirius never had time to get a girlfriend, let alone marry.

Sirius was too busy being a big rebel to get married.

This means only one thing: he didn't give any commitments. That's it. It doesn't mean anything more than that. He could have had no partners at all, meaning he could have been focused only on friendship. Or he could have had a sexual partner (of any gender) without commitments. One or more. Who mutually wanted this. And these relationships didn't take up much of his time.

Non-committal relationships can be with sufficient respect for the partner. This doesn't make the character a Casanova/Playboy/fuckboy.

In the monoromantic concept of serious relationships, respect for the partner is often perceived only within the context of monoromantic relationships. But that’s not the only option. In non-committal relationships, there can also be a lot of respect for the other person's boundaries because the person isn't lying about their attitude (unwillingness to have a serious relationship), does not pile on false promises and usually does not confess eternal love. But playboys and casanovas can often lie to get someone into bed.

The view on purity and filth is very interesting, but in my opinion, purity for the Blacks is conceptually not the same purity as for the upper class in the Muggle world raised in a Christian reverent tradition. Purity is primarily 'noble blood.' To be pure is to be noble, and Sirius has his own understanding of nobility, not based on blood purity. For him, honor and nobility mean being loyal to friends, being honest, not betraying, and that's why he uses epithets of impurity for Peter. Peter lacks nobility.

As I said, having one/several partners without commitments doesn't automatically make the character a playboy and casanova – in other words, it's not about the Erot of perverted Aphrodite – people who love only the body, not the inner world (seeing people as objects, ignoring the person as a whole).

So, taking into account the Word of God, I actually see only two options.

He didn't have sexual relationships at all/tried it and didn't like it/ wasn't interested/ found it not very interesting or just was more focused on his friends and other things in his life.

Or the second option – he had non-committal relationships, which were always based on respect for the partner, but it was never like 'my girlfriend/boyfriend,' more like sexually-friendly relationships where he treated his partner not just as an object for sex but as a person.

The third option, if we discard the Word of God – he could have had regular monogamous romantic relationships of any nature with any gender, as there's nothing in the canon about his sexuality.

As I said, I don't think it fundamentally changes anything about his characterisation, so no matter what his sexuality is, he should retain his canon personality traits.

#sirius black #sirius black meta #hp meta #the noble and most ancient house of black #the marauders meta

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