#you can use your drunkenness to your advantage actually

[doremimosasol]

𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 - 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 ☆

warnings: suggestive, home situation

word count: 2 k

summary: looking for some peace and quiet but interrupted by a thief

@thatdammchickennugget ‘s Hogmarch challenge prompt 2

a/n: thank you thank you so so much @slytherinslut0 and @pizzaapeteer for proofreading this and taking the time to make suggestions!

The Black Lake was a place you often visited after school hours. Most days it was a quiet place, which always confused you — not enough people took advantage of the peace it brought. The majority of them just stayed in the castle. Not you though. It was the great opportunity for some change in scenery, the never ending hallways tiring your brain at certain times.

You loved the lake, all year round. During winter it was a magical place where you could use your skates to dance on the ice, when it transformed into a tapestry of thick glass. It calmed your mind, the scratching sounds of your blades gliding along, making you feel as if you were floating...

The clanking of firewhisky bottles rang out into the night, as they continued to clash together from within the bag you were carrying. Admittedly, this was something that you did often: using an invisibility potion and sneaking into the Three Broomsticks. It wasn't stealing, you always left some money behind for the things you took. It was just a smart way of getting your hands on some alcohol around here.

It was a hot summer day, leaving the evening a light, breezy temperature, the sky painted in beautiful shades of blues, oranges, and purples. You decided to seat yourself on a rock close to where the waters hit the edge, and took off your shoes and socks, dipping your feet into the water. The sensation of the slightly cold water cooling your mind and body.

You emptied the contents of your bag: some cake, 6 bottles of firewhisky, and 2 muffins. like you could possibly devour everything but there was no harm in bringing spare. Who knew... You always hoped some prince charming would appear out of nowhere and decided to join you in your drunken activities. Your hopeless romantic state of mind couldn't help but wander through the possibilities.

"Thank you for that." The sudden voice startled you as someone sat down beside you and opened a bottle of your firewhisky. Of course, it was Mattheo Riddle, that boy had no shame. You couldn't even say something, you just sat there sort of flabbergasted that he even dared to pick up one of the things you 'bought' with your own money.

His eyes never left yours as he chugged down almost half the bottle, trying to hide the clear stinging in his throat. You rolled your eyes at his tough boy facade.

However, it wasn't working on you as you snatched the bottle from his grasp immediately. "Excuse me? What the actual fuck do you think you're doing?" You sent him a glare while chugging down almost all of the remaining liquor.

"Mhmm, you know we just indirectly kissed, right?" He had a smug look on his face, of course, he had to act this way. "Ah come on, y/n, don't be such a party-pooper. Isn't this better than drinking alone? It almost looked pathetic."

Pathetic? He was the one who called you pathetic? The guy who had a bloodied face almost every single day of the week? "Who exactly are you calling pathetic here? Because all I see is a dirty thief."

He raised his brow and just laughed. Pardon? The fucking audacity. "You should drink all of these bottles, maybe that'll get rid of that stick up your ass." He snatched the bottle back and downed everything left in one go. "What else have you brought? Cake?" He took a look at it, it was just a plain vanilla cake with some icing on top. "I'll ask it nicely this time since you seem to care so much about that. So, please dear y/n, can I have a piece of that cake? ...and another bottle?"

You couldn't believe this guy, he suddenly came here to join you and acted like all this was his to eat and drink? But who else were you even going to share it with... Maybe you should just give it to him, maybe he'd surprise you for once. "Fine. But 3 bottles each, okay?"

"3 bottles each, deal."

As it seems, Mattheo turned out to not be that bad after all. As more drinks were consumed you watched his demeanor loosen up and his guard drop. To the point he got looser and started to tell you about himself: his friends, his studies, and even his father. You don't know if it was the alcohol or if he just felt comfortable enough to share those things with you.

You found yourself telling him about your own family too, the situation at home, and that most of the time you just stayed at school during the holidays. It sort of felt good, letting it out. Though your situation would never compare to his, it was nice for someone to understand you. Someone who went through the same shit as you.

Even though, you just now kind of started to get to know each other, you promised each other something. A promise to stay at school every holiday, to make it epic as if it were at home. To be each other's home while that home didn't exist for either of you. It would be nice to do something other than reading during those days, but to actually have someone to talk to maybe.

"Did you know it's possible to lead a cow upstairs... but not downstairs?" It just came up to you and you started even laughing before you finished your sentence.

It was obvious that you confused the guy because he just straight-up looked at you with a judgy and confused face. "What?"

"I mean I'm just stating facts here. You can't lead a cow downstairs, you know, like a cow. Moo." It all sounded really slurred, it'd be a wonder if Mattheo even understood one word you were saying.

"Are you speaking parseltongue or am I really that drunk?" He squinted his eyes slightly to even make out your whole form, he was obviously struggling. Both of you were extremely intoxicated.

"What?" You looked at him, maybe you were speaking parseltongue. Could it be? Wait, did he speak parseltongue? "Do you speak it yourself?"

"Ah yes, of course, heir of Slytherin kind of things, you know." He suddenly started sissing and hissing and you weren't even sure if he was being for real or just making some shit up. You just nodded, agreeing with whatever he was saying, hoping he wouldn't wake up any snakes in the bushes behind the two of you.

You averted your gaze to the lake in front of you and got the most ridiculous idea all of a sudden. You didn't even announce your stupid idea but just started undressing until you were left standing in only your underwear.

"Are you stripping for me now? Alright, continue." He leaned his body back on his arms to get a better look, a disgustingly attractive smirk covering his face. Sucks to be him because before he knew it, he got a large splash of water thrown all over him when you hit the surface of the water.

"Are you crazy?!" It was quite the sight, his face was fuming. It almost looked murderous, didn't he like water or something? He couldn't be that much of a pussy, right?

"Come on get in! It's actually still quite warm!" The past warm days warmed up the lake quite a bit and it was a surprisingly comfortable temperature. You were even surprised yourself.

"Absolutely not! You're insane, y/n. I won't save you when you start drowning, you'll just have to die right in front of my eyes then." He looked extremely agitated. He was wet already so what would be the difference in getting in?

"Oh, come on... Please? It's not even that deep, I can still touch the ground with my feet. Don't be a wuss!" His eyes squinted and he got to his feet after all. He took off his clothes and you couldn't deny that you quite liked the sight. The hours of quidditch practice were visible hidden underneath that shirt.

"You're staring, princess." He jumped in after and you almost drowned by the water that splashed right into your face when he hit the surface. The water didn't taste all too pleasant, it could just be the alcohol but it wasn't nice.

"Well if you like staring so much, maybe you should touch it? Touch is better than seeing after all." Before you knew it he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. He took your hand and guided it to his chest, running it downwards. Good thing you were drunk because there's no way you would've ever done this sober.

"Don't be so shy, you weren't shy when you were almost fucking me with your eyes." He pulled you deeper into the water which made you unable to still touch the ground. He was doing this on purpose, he could easily still stand on the ground in the deeper waters. He almost forced you to wrap your legs around him. Silly you, it was his plan all along.

"Kiss me." Excuse me? He did not just ask you that? "Come on, y/n, give me a little kiss." Only one small move and your lips would be touching, he was extremely close to your mouth. He blew on them on purpose just to lure you into his trap. "Kiss me..."

And that's what you did, he wanted a little kiss but he most definitely got more. The whole night had been tense and this was your way of showing him your true desires. It was obvious you weren't alone in those feelings tonight. Because of the way he kissed you back, it was almost magical, like he sent you to another dimension.

He moved his hands lower and squeezed your bottom slightly which made you gasp into the kiss. He took this opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth, exploring it like it was his last meal. It was like both of you were completely in sync, your bodies moving in a rhythm that made your heart almost jump out of your chest.

Just when you were about to lose it, he pulled back to take a deep breath. The both of you were exchanging breaths like it was the oxygen you needed. "Damn, y/n, I didn't know you could kiss like that. Let's try again, shall we?" Those stupid eyes of his, just made you melt into his touch. You shouldn't have folded this fast for him, but you couldn't help it. Everyone would do the same when the Mattheo Riddle would look at them with those chocolate-brown eyes.

Only the moon and the stars could retell the events that went down that night, both your bodies intertwined with the moonlight reflecting on your wet skin. The skin that was meant to be each other canvas, painted by the passion but faded over time.

Mattheo thought about it every night in bed, getting chills when he thought about the kisses and imagining it happening again. His fingers traced the places on his skin that were touched by you, trying to replicate the feeling your fingers gave him.

During normal school weeks, both of you wouldn’t even talk to each other, just the occasional glance. But those looks spoke more than words.

Both of you waiting for the holidays to come to share the same passion like that night once again. Hoping that the other kept their end of the promise to spend them together.

And yes… after the fair sharing of gifts for Christmas, the best gift you could’ve got that night was to be touched by him like that again.

#harry potter #fiction #slytherin #slytherin boys #benjamin wadsworth #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fanfiction #hogmarch challenge #hogmarch #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheoriddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle #mattheoxreader

[qdbs-writes]

Hey! I have bad English because I am not a native speaker, but I hope you understand me🥲

Can I request Rain, Kung Lag, Fujin, Raiden, Kuai Liang, Hanzo Hasashi, a Night Wolf with s/o who is the goddess of love, but at the same time she loves gambling and drinking?

Yes, I understand you perfectly! I hope you can understand this post, because I'm from Northern Ireland some of my work uses slang/coloqualisms that even Americans can struggle with, but I'm so pleased that non-native speakers can still access my writing! xxx

MK Lads x Love-Goddess!S/O Who Drinks and Gambles

Rain

Doesn't see any contradictions in your status as a Love Goddess and your hobbies. You're a god, who's dating a (very handsome and powerful) god, and you drink and gamble, nothing wrong there. In fact, he enjoys that he can relax around you, you prove that gods can still have fun!

Kung Lao

Thinks he can beat you in drinking and gambling, oh how wrong he is. By the time Lao is facing near-fatal levels of alcohol poisoning on the floor, he comes to understand that deities can't really get drunk, and that he was a fool for underestimating you.

Fujin

Canonically, Fujin also likes to get drunk and gamble, what a match made in heaven! The best part is bringing along your mortal friends on a night out, their drunken antics can keep the two of you entertained for millennia.

Raiden

Respects love as a vital part of life and the human condition but might have an issue with your habits if they affect how others (especially mortals) see him. It doesn't exactly bode well if the guardian of Earthrealm's S/O is out every night cleaning out bars and casinos. He may ask that you rein it back for his sake.

Kuai Liang (Sub Zero)

Is very honoured to be the partner of a Love Goddess, but is concerned by your drinking and gambling. Gambling is not inherently wrong and is actually a popular hobby throughout most of the Chinese diaspora, but drinking and gambling is what he has a problem with. Alcohol isn't a great habit for anyone to have, and he thinks as a god you should show a better example.

Hanzo Hasashi (Scorpion)

The Japanese culturally link alcohol consumption to success, so he has no problem with your drinking. However, gambling is a different story. Being an immortal deity does give you an unfair advantage, and Hanzo doesn't like that you can so easily strip mortals of all their life savings, and he'd ask that you only play on low-stakes bets.

Grey Cloud (Nightwolf)

The Native American community isn't fond of being linked to gambling and alcohol. Knowing your loving nature, Grey will educate you on the dark history Native Americans share with European alcohol and why so many casinos are built on reservations. He's hoping that your love for him will make you rethink your habits and how they've negatively impacted his community.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat headcanons #mortal kombat imagines #mk x reader #rain #rain x reader #kung lao #kung lao x reader #fujin #fujin x reader #raiden #raiden x reader #kuai liang #kuai liang x reader #sub zero #sub zero x reader #hanzo hasashi #hanzo hasashi x reader #scorpion #scorpion x reader #grey cloud #grey cloud x reader #nightwolf #nightwolf x reader #qdbs writing

[ravi-deactivated]

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨

„Sweet cunt and a sharp tongue, you're a dangerous combo, love.“

featuring: edward kenway

cw: praise, vaginal sex, semi-public i guess

synopsis: owning a tavern in havana means being used to pirates in your every day life, their crude words and behaviour. but you've never met a pirate going this far in attempt to apologize for a crewmate's bad actions.

note: „fy nghariad“ is a welsh phrase meaning „my love“ or „my sweetheart“ which i thought would be nice to include, but please tell me if i used it incorrectly, that would be kinda embarassing lol

18+ content - MDNI

───────────────────

Havana is always warm, always welcoming and soft, with sunlight flooding through streets of beige and gold, full of laughter and peaceful existence.

Even at night, it feels like the warmth wraps around people like a soft coat, summer air resting between the buildings and mingling with the scent of the sea, darkness enlightened by warm lanterns and candles. The sound of joyful music, shanties and drunken laughter has become the soundtrack of your nights as bartender in the tavern and restaurant which are owned by your father, and you like to say that Havana is a place of joy, no matter the time of day.

You've done this job since your teenage years, are used to bar fights and lusting gazes resting on you, know how to handle men who try to let their hands wander, think they can whistle at you or spit out crude and naughty things.

Most of them know that it will only get them a ban from the house, or in worst case, a beating from your main visitors or an arrest by the guards, but sometimes, there still are idiots who try it, out of pure stupidity and falsely placed ego.

Citizens of Havana adore your tavern as a centre of the city, they know how to behave and have their fun in peace, but the pirates docking on the shore are a different story.

You can see it in their gazes, in the way they talk, the way they stride through the streets like they own them and the houses forming them, that they're looking for provocation, hungry for a fight.

Thankfully, most of them are more of an inconvience and not an actual threat, and you know how to handle them, know that a tavern is a pirate's favourite place, which gives you a slight advantage against them, even if it's just out of their sympathy for the rum you pour them.

It doesn't diminish your dislike for them, despite them being your costumers.

Pirates are a disease, you've always been told. And yet, you can't help but feel a thrill in your veins, feel your heart leap and your legs trembling when a strong hand grabs your chin from behind, gently, sensually lifts your head.

The soft light filling the dim walls of the empty, closed tavern flickers in your vision, soft tears of passion melting it to a blur along with the dark of the late night and a breathed, blissful sigh leaves your lips, forced out of you by the way the body of the man behind you rocks once more against you.

Pirates are the worst of the worst, you learned early in your life. And Edward Kenway is so good at being a pirate, at getting what he wants, that he might be something even worse, armed with those mischievous eyes, his charming smirk and skilled fingers.

You did not question the leathern bracers wrapped around his lower arms, the hidden blades you saw shimmering in the dim light when you served him and his men, and you didn't question the hooded robe hanging over the back of his chair, could only focus on the white lace-up shirt on his body, the cleavage that slightly revealed the tattoos spreading over his chest.

It was no surprise and nothing new when one of his men hit on you, spitting rude words from a drunk tongue in an attempt to seduce you. What did surprise you was how fast Adéwalé grabbed him by the scruff like a puppy to kick him out of the tavern, and the way Edward apologized to you, genuinely and gentle.

Most men did not act like this when they came to drink in your tavern, only laughed when their comrades harrassed a girl. It did not fit your world view, disturbed the evil picture you carried of pirates all these years of your life.

You couldn't help but smile at the way Edward looked at you, a mixture of apologetic and enthrilled, felt your breath hitch when he asked you what he could offer to beg your forgiveness.

The way his hands are now roaming your body, his husked breaths against your ear and his body pressed against yours is not what you had in mind at first, but you'll gladly take it as a form of apology.

He lets out a groan as he fills you, slides into you like you are made for him, slicked walls hugging his cock, clenching around his girth.

He fills you just right, hits spots you have never felt, makes you see stars despite the roof above both of your heads.

„What do you say, sweetheart? Think this'll make up for the inconvience?“ he husks against your ear, sends a new shiver down your spine that ends up right inside the heat pooling in your lower stomach, and you lightly lean your head back, feel the stubble of his beard brushing your ear.

Just when you're about to answer, he hits you with another thrust from behind, knocks the air out of you with the sheer depth of his movements.

You need a second to catch your breath, collect yourself, before a little smirk spreads on your lips.

„Thought a world-class-pirate would have more to offer“, you respond, with a low, seducing voice, a tone that lures him in, makes his breath hitch lightly, bearly hearable if he wasn't so close to your ear.

He's so close even that you think you can feel the way an amused smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and you shudder again when his breath fans your cheek.

„Sly little thing, aren't ya?“

Before you can answer in an even brattier tone than before, you feel how he slightly pushes you down, makes you lean further forward until you're forced to hold onto the bar, driven further and further into the wood by his harsh thrusts.

He quickens his pace, makes you whine and moan with the way he fills you, tip kissing your womb, his slight curve brushing your sweet spots just right.

„Sweet cunt and a sharp tongue, you're a dangerous combo, love.“

His words and the deep tone of his voice only make you arch more in his grasp, make you hold onto the bar with one hand, while the other carries your balance on its wooden surface.

You feel your own arousal run down your thighs, feel yourself getting higher and higher on the wet sounds echoing through the room whenever he enters your aching cunt, your brain spinning around mixed feelings of confusion and arousal.

He's a pirate, a well wanted one as well, and yet you can not help but love the way he grabs you, the way he fucks you, the way he makes you feel.

When he leans over your back, one hand placed next to your body, the other one on your hip to hold you steady, you somehow forget how much his head is worth, how dangerous his hands should feel on your body.

It feels strange, but a spark of sympathy arises within you when he leans in further, buries you in his shadow as he pushes a soft kiss against the back of your neck, drowns you in the illusion of intimacy when he gently closes his teeth around the shell of your ear.

Edward doesn't seem like other pirates, doesn't initiate fights he can not win, doesn't harrass others, doesn't cause unnecessary ruckus to prove his ego. He smells better than most of them, covered in the scent of the sea, of salt and a hint of rum, but with an underlying note of herbs, probably because of salves that are used to treat wounds lingering his body.

And above all, he looks so handsome, a dark angel within a bunch of dirty, fattened and drunk pigs, his cheeky smirk more intoxicating than alcohol or money.

A smirk that is directed at you, resting on you as he observes you, watches you writher and shake beneath his movements. When you catch it from the corner of your eye, it fuels new fire inside of you, and your lips curl sweet and mischievously when you slightly raise your head to respond.

„Maybe you shouldn't provoke my sharp tongue too much then, captain.“

The word does something to him, you can feel it, notice the way he gasps for a second, slows his thrusts for the shortest bit. Then he suddenly slips out of you, both hands grabbing your hips and pulling you up, your back straightening for the shortest second before he turns you around, pulls you in by the waist and leans forward to push his lips against yours, catching you in a heated kiss that steals your breath, makes your knees weak.

You bury your right hand in his blonde hair, hold him close, while your other hand rests on the textile of his shirt, trying to hold onto soft linen while you sigh and feel your legs tremble.

As if he's feeling it, he lightly bends his knees, slides his hands from your hips to the back of your thighs to pick you up, makes you wrap your legs around his waist while your hands cradle his face and you sink further into his kiss, melt against his lips. You hear the rustling of clothes, feel how he picks up your discarded dress from the edge of the bar and spreads it on the counter, adjusting the textile before he sets you down on the wood, just to break from your mouth a few seconds later.

He smirks at your little gasp, licks his lower lip before raising his voice.

„Captain, huh? That a hidden request to join my crew?“

You gasp when you feel his fingers dig into the softness of your thighs, need a second to collect yourself before you scoff at his words, look at him through a glimmer of competition before you breathe out an „In your dreams, pirate.“

He only grins at that, eyes slightly narrowing as they slide down to his hands on your thighs, watches them when he spreads your legs to get new access to your leaking centre, his eyes staring shamelessly at it.

And just when you think to finally have the air to add another snarky comment, he suddenly thrusts back into you, one switft motion with which he fills you to the brim, makes you throw your head back as he falls back into a relentless rhythm, his cock slicking in and out of your warm wetness.

He leans over you again, holding you by the waist as he pounds into you, forcing high pitched moans and whimpers out of your throat that you simply can not hold back.

His thrusts feel so deep, hit you so perfectly and when he grabs one of your legs to raise it to his shoulder, you almost choke on the air in your throat, bliss filling you at the pleasure washing through you by his deepening movements.

You curse out an „Oh god-“ as you throw your head back, hear a breathed laugh from Edward when he grabs you by the hips again, adjusts your body on the textile of your dress, pulls you in to take his hard thrusts.

Another whimper leaves you as he partially folds you in half, sass and mockery leaving your body with each new thrust, slowly melting in the heat of a building orgasm within your body.

It doesn't help how he reaches out with his hand to search for your clit, forcing a loud moan from your throat when his finger presses against it.

„That it, darling? That the spot?“

Through your panting and heavy breathing, the dizziness in your vision, you see how he smirks at you, pure confidence written in his attractive features and you can only nod, breathe out a „Please-“, a word that only makes his smile widen.

Your lower body tenses, a coil clenching deep within your core, tight enough that it almost hurts.

„Don't hold back. Let me feel you come, fy nghariad.“

His voice slightly falters, breathless because of his own arousal, the tension with which he holds himself back, and his words only add fuel to the fire in your body, make the flames lap higher, reaching your chest, making your heart race.

Whimpers and gasps leave your throat, you tense, feel your thighs shiver, your entire body short-circuiting until eventually, you feel yourself breaking apart, tension and arousal reaching their peak, knocking you into an abyss of white noise, making you cry out in pleasure, your head falling back as arousal floods your veins.

His thrusts never waver, seem to get even harder, fucking you through your orgasm, almost making you pass out with the sheer overstimulation. Your brain turns to mush, simply melts away and when you look up at him, with tear-filled, flickering eyes and your tongue slightly peaking over your lower lip, he takes in a sharp, hissing breath, slipping dangerously close to an orgasm just by your gaze and your walls spasming, clenching and relaxing around him.

His hand trembles a little as he trails it further up your body, fondling your chest for a second and making you whine out at the soft feeling, before his fingers graze your neck, eventually rest on your cheek.

He spreads his thumb, runs it over the corner of your mouth, doesn't expect the way you push out your tongue to taste salt, gunpowder and rum on his skin. Not a second later, you allow his finger to slip into your mouth, relish in the way he draws a sharp breath when you lazily swirl your tongue around it.

The facade in front of his face cracks the slightest bit, and you see how he bites his lower lip, how his brows furrow a little in what seems to be despair, before he breathes out a „Shit, you're gonna make me cum, sweetheart.“

It's the cue you need and while you whine, shudder beneath each of his thrusts, you at some point slightly bite down into his finger, hard enough to make him jolt, hard enough to break his facade.

He gasps for air, lets out short „Fuck-“, before he holds onto your hip, digging the fingers of his free hand into the skin when he forces himself to pull out, holding you in place as warm, white seed spurts over the skin of your abdomen.

For a few moments, you only look at each other, breathe into the space between both of you, wallowing in the heat of each other's body. Your head is still spinning when Edward slightly leans forward, gently rests his forehead against yours before he lets out a heavy breath.

His eyes are dark and dominant when they dig into yours, captivate you with the slight glimmer within them.

„Aren't you just something else... Maybe I'll pick you up and simply take you with me. Wanna know what else that sweet mouth of yours can do.“

It doesn't matter what you learned your entire life, his words make you giddy and thoughtless, make your heart leap in joy and your lips curl to a smile.

„Careful, Kenway. My lips may seem sweet, but they come with a pair of teeth.“

He lets out a little groan, a sound of playful despair and frustration, before he leans further against your forehead, gently nudges his nose against yours.

„Fucking heavens, you're perfect.“

You smile when he kisses you, wrap your arms around him and become a mess of sweet nothingness beneath his hands when they start roaming your body again, not taking long until you throw your head back once more, sending sighed versions of his name into the warm night.

#assassin's creed #edward kenway #edward kenway x reader #assassin's creed x reader #smut #oh to be one of the girls he's with in the trailers agfhfjsgxhs #assassin's creed black flag

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER SEVEN: Downward Spiral

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: After agreeing to go on a date with Matt, you start realizing the weight of your decision, and your thoughts begin spiraling. In a moment of need, you turn to the only close friend you have in Hell's Kitchen, hoping she can pull you away from the edge of the very steep cliff your trauma is trying to throw you into.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST (the caps feel appropriate here), mentions of domestic violence, suicidal thoughts, allusions to a suicide attempt, allusions to sexual assault, mentions of being taken advantage of by a superior, (I guess you could say) mentions of hypersexuality, self-loathing, PTSD, some foreshadowing, mental breakdown, alcohol, Season 1 related plot (spoilers)

Word Count: 6.4k

A/n: Surprise! I'm posting early because I'm going to see my family this weekend, and after I had an epiphany at two in the morning and spent 3 days writing this, I got it done, and I'm actually quite proud of this (or maybe it's the caffeine). Anyway, heed the warnings because the topics of conversation in this are pretty dark. That's why I highlighted the angst. And if you haven't watched past episode 1 of Season 1, this might spoil some things for you. (Also, I have no idea how this turned into a beast with a word count over 6k. Sorry in advance.)

Read Chapter 7: Downward Spiral here on AO3

You don’t know what came over you.

You typed in Matt’s number in a moment of weakness, and once you heard his voice through the line, you gave up on being careful. You gave up on denying yourself what you’re so desperately craving, and you abandoned all rational thought.

For him.

You promised not to get attached to someone ever again—let alone a man. You started a new life in Hell’s Kitchen to find your way back to normalcy. You took all the necessary precautions, and even though you look back at the shreds of your old life every day, you are never going back.

Two years. That is the longest you have managed to stay in one place ever since you left California. But you still haven’t found your way back into the real world.

You have been guarding yourself, afraid of having your heart broken, afraid of losing this chance at a new life, and afraid of the man who ruined you. 

Every time you close your eyes, you see his face. You hear his voice in the back of your mind. He’s everywhere, even when you don’t want him to be. 

It’s easier to put a wall between yourself and everyone else. A wall no one can break through, not even yourself. You trapped your soul for the sole purpose of keeping yourself alive after you made the hardest decision of your life. When you ran, you believed your life was over, but you have always been too much of a coward to end your misery. God knows you’ve tried, but even a trained doctor can’t fully understand death, and some things just don’t work out the way we want them to. 

Drunken one-night stands can’t possibly compare to a meaningful emotional connection, but they satisfy the need for physical intimacy. At least for a little while. It killed you; slowly, almost pathetically, but sleeping with strangers in dirty motel rooms did a better job than you ever could. 

For the longest time, you used sex as a coping mechanism. You let strange men use you because that is the only way you know how to be with someone else. You let them hurt you to feel something, anything because pain is better than feeling nothing at all. But when you finally got settled in Hell’s Kitchen, thanks to Claire, you stopped. 

You locked up your heart and threw away the key. You started to shield your body the same way you have shielded your soul. You retreated into a shell of restlessness and constant fear of every little sliver of hope you feel being taken away from you. 

You have nowhere else to run, which is why keeping a low profile is so important to you, but after two years, don’t you deserve to finally live? 

We don’t exist to just survive; we exist to live the life we were given. You are Olivia Clarke now, not the broken girl you left behind, but every time you think about it, his voice returns and backs you into a corner that you can’t escape from. 

Every time you see the scars on your body, all you want to do is rip the skin off your bones and feed it to the dogs. 

The men you slept with while you were running from your past saw you as a mere object, and you are used to being seen that way, but it was isolating nonetheless. They didn’t care about your scars, they only cared about what you could give them. They treated you like he did without lifting a finger. 

Even though you don’t do that anymore, it still weighs heavy on your wounded soul. 

Matt treats you like a person. He can’t physically see, but he still sees you. He sees you in a way no one has ever seen you before. And he is gentle, and patient, and—

You scream into your pillow. Your nose still hurts, but it is nothing compared to how fast your heart is beating. 

To you, Matt is perfect. You know that no one can be perfect, and you should be careful, but he makes you feel things you have long denied yourself. He makes you feel wanted. Desired. Like you can be yourself around him and still be worthy of his attention. Like you matter. And he has a certain way of being around you that makes you feel protected, almost. 

You don’t need protection. You have made it this far without a bodyguard by your side. You know how to fight your own battles better than most, but you can’t deny that you wouldn’t mind being saved by him. 

You wouldn’t mind those hands he always wraps around his cane to wrap around you instead. He can’t see your scars, but he can feel them, and as terrifying as that thought sounds, it also excites you. 

You’re treading dangerous territory, but God, he won’t leave you alone, not even when you’re trying to sleep. He could offer you a sense of normal that you have long missed. He could teach you how to be a person again. And maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself be cared for by him. 

You roll back onto your back when you need to breathe, one of your hairs getting stuck to your lip. You let out an annoyed huff. There won’t be much sleeping tonight, you’re sure. Not when you keep thinking about tomorrow.

“You’re not fifteen anymore,” you mutter to yourself. “What is wrong with you? God!”

It’s almost too surreal to believe that this magnetic force of a man managed to retrieve some of your long-lost hope, and he only had to call you beautiful once for you to be completely smitten. 

When he allowed you to take care of his injuries on the first day you met, you didn’t think a person could be this guarded yet so vulnerable at the same time. He’s breaking under an invisible weight that must have been on his shoulders for years, maybe even decades. You’re painfully aware of other people’s feelings, and it wasn’t hard to tell that Matt carries a lot of unresolved pain with him. Always. He reminds you so much of yourself, it’s like staring into a mirror. Two broken halves of a whole. 

Your thoughts won’t stand still, no matter how hard you try. You’re stuck inside an invisible hourglass. Not even heaven knows what will happen once time runs out. You don’t understand why you’re overthinking this while, at the same time, knowing exactly why. And you hate it. 

There is a part of you that you can never get back. A little girl who grew up too fast. A girl who didn’t know any better. A broken teenager who wanted nothing more than to escape and live a better life than her parents could ever give her, and when she did manage to escape one hell, she found herself in a new quarter of purgatory built just for you.

You used to think that maybe you just bring the worst out in people, but after seeing the worst of humanity outside of your broken relationships, too, you’re not so sure about that anymore.

The fact that you don’t understand why you can’t stop your usually so intelligent brain from spinning out of control makes you want to claw at the walls of your apartment that threaten to cave in on you.

Part of you wants nothing more than to run and never look back, but you can’t run forever. This time, you wouldn’t be running from the Devil; you would be running from a fear of your own feelings. Human feelings. Feelings that have a high likelihood of recurring, and then you will have to run again. 

You can’t run from reality forever. It’s a different reality now, but it’s a better reality. That is a rational thought, but being rational currently has no place in your mind, so you’re spiraling, and all because a nice guy asked you out for coffee. 

You find yourself in a cab a few minutes later, wearing a pair of sweatpants, and an oversized shirt, with an untouched bottle of wine in your bag. Your worn-down sneakers are not the appropriate footwear for today’s weather, but you couldn’t be bothered to pick another pair. 

You’re aware that it’s late and maybe you should have texted, but you’re already here, and Claire told you that you could always come to her, even if it happens to be the middle of the night. If the rule still stands after she suddenly decided to stay at your co-worker’s place without a proper explanation, you’re not quite sure though. 

You knock. At first, no response. You knock again. The floorboards creak on the other side of the door. 

“Claire, it’s Liv,” you call out.

You can hear the exact moment the person inside the apartment starts to panic. The floorboards creak again, more frequent this time, and it sounds almost as if Claire is turning the room upside down. You raise your eyebrows. 

Before you can knock again, the lock finally clicks, and she opens the door. She’s more of a mess than you are, and that is put lightly.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Claire greets you. “What are you doing here?”

You blink a few times. “Hello to you too?”

She sighs. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, it’s just been a long night.”

“I can see that,” you answer. “Are you alright?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” She looks you up and down. “What happened to your nose?”

“It’s a long story.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah. Can I, uh, come in?”

She hesitates before stepping aside to let you in. “Sure.”

You take a quick look around the apartment. Nothing seems out of place. A bowl of cat food stands in the corner by the kitchen. The window in the living room is open, but it seems intentional. 

The scent of antiseptic lingers in the air. You’re not sure if your nose is betraying you as you breathe in, but the smell is familiar. Bandages, disinfectant, and salve. You don’t want to question it, but you can’t help it. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” you ask. 

Claire blows her nose behind you. If you didn’t know better, you would think she was actually sick. She shakes her head upon hearing your question, but there is a faint blush on her cheeks. 

“What makes you think that?” she retorts. 

“Oh, no particular reason. It just smells very… hospital-y. That’s why I asked.”

“I, uh, I had to put a bandage on my leg earlier ‘cause this stupid cat decided to scratch me after peeing everywhere.” She sniffs. “Had to clean the wound, that thing—“ she nods toward the cat sitting in the cat tree, “and then the apartment. Maybe that’s why.” 

You follow her gaze toward the little furball resting on his cat tree. You approach him, but Claire seems less pleased at the prospect. 

“Be careful. He’s pissed.”

“At you,” you correct her. “Also, you’re having an allergic reaction, and—if he really, honest-to-God scratched you—very probably an infection. Why are you even staying here?”

Your voice rises in pitch when you reach the sleeping cat. “Hello, you.” You stroke his fur. He only opens one eye to sniff you, but once he recognizes you, he starts purring. For a moment, you forget the reason why you even came here. 

Claire exhales loudly. She scratches her neck, her skin threatening to break out into hives. “It’s a long story,” she says. 

You glare at her over your shoulder, your hand still stroking up and down the cat’s back as he settles back into a deep sleep. “I’m worried about you."

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m fine.”

“You called out of work and told Shelly you were sick.” You straighten up and turn back to face her. “You’re not sick, Claire.”

She sniffs as if to prove her point.

“Your immune system is overreacting by producing Immunoglobulin E. The antibodies are traveling to the cells responsible for releasing chemicals into your body, causing you to get a stuffy nose and break out into hives. You’re not sick. You’re allergic to cats and sharing an apartment with one. There’s a big difference,” you state. “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but you have to admit that, from where I’m standing, your behavior looks a little suspicious.”

“I’m going through some shit, alright?” she says. “And it’s a lot easier to deal with them here than back at my place. That’s why I called in sick.”

You don’t know what to make of her answer. It’s vague. You don’t like vague answers because they often indicate a bigger problem. It is one thing for you to deal with your demons on your own and refuse to talk about it with your best friend; it’s another thing entirely to keep a dangerous truth from the person you’re closest with, one that could potentially lead to worse consequences. If Claire were a naturally secretive person, maybe you would understand, but she isn’t like that. She isn’t you. 

She’s the only person who knows your entire story. She saved your life. You can’t imagine her keeping secrets from you that might end up hurting her. 

You dare to ask, “Are you in danger?”

She shakes her head a little too fast. “I’m fine, Liv. Really.”

“I’m sorry, but I have a hard time believing that.”

“It’s…personal.”

“Personal? Oh, my. Are you sleeping with Luke again?”

Claire stammers. The look on her face suggests that she didn’t expect you to jump to that conclusion. “What? How did you even–”

“Are you?” you repeat your question. 

The last time she slept with Luke Cage, she lied to you about it. She knew you would worry. It’s only natural for you to come to that conclusion now. Except that Luke is in prison, serving his sentence, and it doesn’t make sense. 

“How would I sleep with an incarcerated man?” Claire deadpans. 

“I’m sure you have your ways,” you say. 

“You’re grasping at straws.”

“That’s… true, but it’s coming from a place of love.”

She responds with a sigh. “I don’t wanna fight.”

You join in. You exhale, slowly lowering yourself down on the couch. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “Just tell me you’re okay, please.”

She offers you a gentle smile. “I’m okay,” she says. 

“Thank you.” 

You choose to believe her. For the time being, at least. 

The silence tugs at your brain cells. You obsessed over Claire’s situation because you didn’t want to face your own, but now that your thoughts have regained the freedom to roam and cause irreversible destruction, you start spiraling again. 

You reach into your bag. 

“You brought wine,” Claire points out. 

“Yep,” you say. The bottle weighs heavily in your hand.

“You need a glass?”

You unscrew the top. “No.”

She doesn’t listen. Claire makes her way into the kitchen, reaching for the wine glasses in the cupboard. “Does this have anything to do with why your nose is all blue and swollen?” 

You shake your head at her question. “That was a patient I tried to sedate. No, I, uh… I have a date,” your voice falls flat. 

The wine glasses move back into the cupboard. Claire turns around, her eyebrows moving up to her hairline. “Come again?”

“I have a date.”

Saying it out loud makes it real. Something so surreal cannot be real, but it is. You have a date with Matt Murdock. Your heart begins racing again, and you feel the same desperate urge to scream into the nearest pillow again. 

You take a sip of wine straight from the bottle. You have a date with a nice man who, for the first time in two years, made you see some resemblance of light at the end of this endless tunnel of despair, and the thought alone is terrifying. Because how are you supposed to live after just existing for the longest time? After you dedicated your life to the act of survival?

Claire steps out of the kitchen and in front of you. “Liv, that’s… that’s amazing!” she says. She sounds like a proud mother. Maybe she is. 

You want to shake your head, but you can’t find it in yourself to do anything other than put the bottle back against your lips and take another sip. The alcohol burns down your esophagus into your stomach, spreading a warm feeling through your fragile body, and into your broken soul. 

“Or not,” she corrects herself upon seeing the expression you’re carrying. Your eyes are empty. “I’m confused,” She pauses, “Are we not happy about the fact that you’ve finally got a date after two years of being miserable?”

If she puts it like that, you feel even more miserable. Another sip of wine finds its way down your throat. 

“Okay, maybe you should put the bottle down. I’m sorry if I said something wrong–”

“It’s not you, it’s me.” You put the bottle down. 

Claire sits down next to you, but you get up before she can take your hand and look at you with that caring look she always gives you when she’s worried. You’re not even mad that she played your concerns down when you expressed them and now she is expressing concerns about you; you’re mad at yourself. 

She watches you. “You have a date. That’s a good thing. It means you allowed yourself to finally say yes to someone interested in you, right?”

“No,” you shake your head. 

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You’re pacing over the creaky floorboards. “The last time I went on a date with someone was after my intern year.”

Her gaze softens. “You told me that,” she murmurs. 

“He took me to a restaurant,” you tell her. Your lip quivers as you speak, and your nails dig into your palms until they draw blood. You can barely feel it. His face is right in front of you. “It was a nice restaurant. He paid for me, even offered me his jacket while we were walking home. It was the best date I ever had. And then he kissed me on the doorstep before wishing me a good night.”

“I know. You told me all of that before. But you couldn’t have known that he would turn out to be who he turned out to be. He was your boss. He had no right—”

“That is precisely the problem, Claire!” your voice breaks. “The guy I met, he’s… his name is Matthew. He’s… he is so nice to me. He cares. He treats me like a human being. He… he’s respectful. He called me beautiful. I don’t even know how he knows that. He just… he was so nice to me, and I feel so comfortable around him. I haven’t felt this comfortable around a man in so long. I… I wanted to go out with him. I flirted with him, for fuck’s sake! And when I’m with him, I finally feel wanted again.”

“But you know who else was nice to me when I first met him?” you say. “Who was respectful? Who said I was the only real thing in this world, the only important thing in his life, and that he loved me? You know who made me feel safe and wanted, and who said he cared about me? John said that I was the most beautiful woman on this planet, and I fell for it because he was nice to me. He–”

“But that guy isn’t John,” Claire cuts you off. She raises her voice only slightly—only enough to make you stop and stare at her, tears streaming down your cheeks. You’re miserable. You’re a mess. It is truly embarrassing. But she doesn’t look at you any differently.

“Don’t you think I know that?” you snap back. 

“Liv–”

“Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I’m 32, and I can’t sleep without a nightlight most nights because I wake up in a cold sweat. I can’t drop a glass without going into shock. I can’t look in the mirror without feeling his hands on me. Without feeling disgusting and worthless, and…” You can feel the shiver traveling up your spine from the thought alone. “I can’t exist without feeling like he should have killed me when he got the chance.” 

“Liv, I know you’re upset, but please, don’t say that,” Claire says, her voice gentle yet assertive.

“Why? It’s true. I wish he would’ve killed me. He took four years of my life that I can never get back. At least if he’d killed me I wouldn’t have to suffer now.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want you saying things like that.”

“You don’t get it,” you say. “Every time I look in the mirror, I want to vomit because I see what he made of me. I can’t even meet a nice guy and allow myself to like him without seeing his face and hearing his stupid voice in my ear, telling me—telling me that no one will ever love me, that he tainted me, and that I will never be free of him because I can’t exist without him.” You break into a sob. 

“And he was right, you know,” you cry. “I ran from him. I made the hardest decision of my life after years of living in his shadow, and I almost died. Because of him, I can’t trust a kind and respectful man who treats me like a person to actually be kind, and I recoil at the thought of someone being gentle with me. Something is seriously broken inside of me, Claire. Very, very broken.”

Claire opens her mouth, but all she can do is bear your tirade. She knows that if she speaks now, you will find another reason to shut her down. This is your pain talking. It’s a powerful avalanche set out to cause destruction on a global scale.

“With Matt, I—” you exhale. “I was myself around him for the first time since I ran away, and he didn’t shy away. I had hope, Claire. I felt like I could finally step into normal life again after settling down here, and I thought I’d have a chance,” you say. “But I just have to close my eyes, and John is right there to ruin everything for me. He is always right there, and I can’t fucking escape him. That’s the problem. That’s why I can’t be happy about this date because I’m fucking terrified. I can’t go through this again. I—I can’t give myself to someone again because there is hardly anything left of me. He took everything, including my ability to love another man ever again, and that thought is fucking with my head.”

You fall silent. The tears continue running down your cheeks, and you bury your face in your hands. Your knees are so weak. You don’t have it in you to hold yourself up any longer. You drop to the carpet, crying into your hands, but you don’t sob. You stay silent because your pain is so great, you don’t know whether to scream or shut down, so you scream internally and shut down from the world around you because you can’t face it. You can’t face Claire. 

The couch creaks. Her feet brush against the carpet. “He abused you,” her voice borders above a whisper. 

She kneels beside you, her hand reaching out—but not touching you. She knows what lines to cross and which to better leave untouched.

“What he did to you wasn’t your fault. He’s a cruel man with cruel intentions.” When you don’t shy away from her proximity, she finally places her hand on your shoulder. “You did the impossible. You survived. You’re here now because you chose to save yourself, and that is so admirable,” she says. “It’s been two years. You’re safe here, you’re not alone anymore, and I know it hurts and it is terrifying, but it’s a good sign that you want to feel more of what this guy made you feel.”

“But I can’t,” you choke out. 

“I know, and I wish I could help you, but I’m not a professional. The truth is, John may have made you feel like there is nothing left of you, but you’re not Olivia Clarke. You’re still you. You’re still…” Claire takes a deep breath before she utters your name. Your real name. The one you were given when you were born. 

The mention of your name makes you shiver. “She’s gone,” you say. “He killed her, but he left her body alive.”

“She’s not gone, she’s just buried very fucking deep. I mean, you said it yourself. You could be yourself around this other guy, and he took you for who you are. That isn’t Olivia, that’s you. And it’s such a good sign that you want to go out with him. That you like him. John hurt you, but he didn’t break you beyond repair. Please, you have to remember that.”

Your tears slowly subside. Her words finally manage to reach your rebelling mind through your ears. Even though everything feels like it has been wrapped in cotton, she manages to get through to you like no one else. It was a subconscious decision to come to her, but perhaps your soul knew something that you didn’t, and you can’t say that opening up didn’t help. 

The mess slowly subsides. Left behind is nothing but hot air, and the words Claire decided to share with you. 

You look up to meet her eyes. She smiles down at you. “I just… I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” you whisper.

“That’s why I think you should go on that date,” she tells you.

“Yeah, but who wants to sign up for a mess like me?”

“Seems like he does. And if he’s a good guy, he’ll like you regardless of your mess.”

“You know it’s not that easy.”

She shrugs. “I hate to break it to you, but you can’t pretend it never happened. And you can’t give John the satisfaction of putting your life on hold because of him. That’s just giving him what he wants.”

“I don’t want to give him what he wants,” you’re quick to answer.

Claire hands you a tissue, and you take it gratefully, wiping your runny nose and the salty tears stuck to your dry skin.

Her words stir something within you; even though you don’t want her to be right, she is. Matt may not deserve a mess like you, but if he’s truly a good guy, it can’t hurt to see if it would work between you. And when your past comes out eventually, there is a chance that he won’t abandon you. A slight chance, but a chance nonetheless. That’s a positive outlook you still have to learn how to adapt.

“C’mon.” Claire helps you off the floor and onto the couch. 

You reach for the bottle of wine instantly, but she takes it away from you. She screws the top back on and places it aside, far out of your desperate reach.

“This is not the answer,” she says, “talking is.”

“Can’t we talk and have wine?” you counter.

“Not when you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

You sniff, wiping the remaining tears on your cheeks with the tissue. 

“We need to take care of you, and alcohol won’t fix your problems.”

Once again, she isn’t wrong. You let out a defeated sigh before dropping your head in her lap. 

A long time ago, you used to be an affectionate person. The fear of being hurt again, of someone raising their hand against you, took that away from you. With Claire though, it’s different. You know she won’t hurt you. She’s not that kind of person, and you can say that with complete certainty. 

Claire Temple is not a violent human being, except for when the people she loves are in danger, but only then. 

She gently brushes the hair out of your face and crumbles it into a messy bun at the back of your head. She wipes at your nose and the last of your tears before they can dry out your skin more than it already is. The past couple of days have taken an emotional and physical toll on you. 

You wince slightly when you notice how sore your nose is. It isn’t broken, but you still got hit. You’re not quite healed yet. A shiver rolls down your spine. 

Shaking her head, Claire gently removes her hand. “You always get yourself in trouble when I’m not around,” she mutters. 

You scoff softly. “Maybe that’s a sign.”

“A sign for you to be more careful, yeah,” she says. 

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” You try to joke, but your voice falls flat with the weight of your exhaustion. 

Claire offers you a chuckle, but it’s more of a pity laugh than anything else.

You sigh. You know that you’re not an example when it comes to the significance of making the right decisions. Not at all. 

“Did I ever thank you for saving my life?” you ask her then, breaking the silence between you in two.

She leans back against the cushions. “Once or twice.”

“Not nearly enough then.”

“I don’t know about that. I mean, if you hadn’t come into Metro General with your hand in a man’s chest cavity, I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to help you. You chose to stay.”

“Well, I had my hand on his vena cava, so, letting go would have been unfortunate for the poor guy.”

“That’s true.”

“But if you hadn’t disobeyed protocol, risking your job by putting your trust in me, I wouldn’t have had a reason to stay.”

Claire looks down at you, and you meet her eyes. “That sounded a lot like a love confession,” she nudges you.

You roll your eyes playfully. “You wish.”

“Hey, I’d understand it if you were in love with me. I’m hot.”

She never fails to make you laugh, even when you feel like a truck has rolled you over and broken every bone in your body. That is one of the many qualities you value about her. She’s a good person with a good heart, and she is the kind of person you could trust with your life and she would always make sure that you come out on the other side unharmed, mentally and physically. 

If she hadn’t taken you under her wing, you’re not sure where you would be, but it surely wouldn’t be where you are now.

When your laughter quiets down, you nod. “I can’t argue with that. You are hot. If you weren’t my friend,” you say, “I’d ask you out.”

“And if I were into women, I’d say yes,” she says. 

“I appreciate that.”

“Speaking of dates though–” She stops when you sigh a little too loudly. Claire shoots you a stern glare before she continues, “Promise me you won’t cancel.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement. She wants you to mean it. You won’t lie; canceling your plans with Matt did cross your mind, but after Claire worked her magic on you, you can see a little clearer. The fog that kept your mind clouded has started to lift slowly but steadily. You’re no longer spiraling as fast as you have before. 

If you could wash your hands and wash him off of you, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem as it is, but you’ve tried. You have tried washing all memory of him off of your body, out of your mind, but he’s a resilient son of a bitch. John will always try to drive a wedge between you and a normal, happy life, the question is just if you will allow him to do so without even being near you, or if you will finally allow yourself to crawl out of the dark hole he tossed you into. 

You can’t do it alone, and asking for help is terrifying. You have spent the past two years trying to push through. Unfortunately, your healthy coping mechanisms won’t work forever. 

You sigh again, a little quieter. “I won’t cancel,” you tell her, your voice barely above a whisper, yet still so very certain. As certain as you can be, anyway. 

“Thank you.” Claire reaches for the wine bottle next to the couch. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Hm,” you can only murmur. 

“What?”

“What are you doing with the bottle?” you ask. 

“Drinking,” she says. 

“Now I feel betrayed.”

“You should celebrate the fact that you found a Matt, or whatever his name is, and not another Mike.”

You promptly sit up. “Hold up. Pause. Rewind. Mike, like your ex?”

Claire takes a sip of the bottle. A storm rages behind her hazel eyes. You have never seen her that conflicted before. 

“Is he the personal reason why you’re subjecting yourself to a constant allergic reaction by staying here?” you ask. 

The pieces slowly start falling into place. She nods. “Not Mike Mike, but yeah. It’s always the Mike’s.”

Your jaw drops. “I feel like you skipped some chapters there. You met a guy and you didn’t tell me? What–”

“He met me,” she corrects you. “I didn’t tell you because we’re not a thing. Let’s just say there’s a reason his name is Mike. That’s why I’m here.”

Claire takes another sip. You watch her closely, trying to catch her in a lie, but it seems like she’s telling the truth—or a version of the actual truth, but that still makes it true. She’s giving you as much as she can after you cried your eyes out to her. 

You clear your throat, lowering your voice. “But you’re not in danger?” you ask to clarify. 

She shakes her head. “I just have shitty taste in men, even if it's platonic, apparently. It’s like… I’m trying to exist, and then I find a stray cat in a dumpster, but the stray cat has been stabbed and needs medical attention.”

“But you’re allergic to cats and you’re not a vet?” you try to make sense of her analogy. 

When she lets out a sigh and nods, you figure you came as close as possible. It still doesn’t make sense to you, but when does anything? At least when it comes to romance and people’s love lives.

You decide to push a little more, “Did you actually find an injured guy in a dumpster?” 

She shakes her head. The reaction comes a little fast, but you don’t question it. “No, that–that was just an analogy,” Claire says. 

“And Mike is the stray cat in that analogy? But not your Mike, another Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“Dude, you’re frying my brain cells.”

“The single one you still have, or did you buy new ones?”

You try not to laugh, trying to look like you are genuinely offended, but your lips still curl up into a smile. “Shut up,” you mutter. You reach for the bottle, against better judgment, and take a sip.

Claire shakes her head. “What I’m trying to tell you is that, if he’s a good guy, you can’t let him slip away. You can’t let a good thing slip away and possibly end up with a–a Mike kinda guy for the rest of your life.”

“I know.” You look down at your hands, your broken fingernails, and sore knuckles from the constant scrubbing. “I just wish I could understand what he’s doing to me without questioning my entire existence.”

“Some people are just that enigmatic,” and she sounds as if she knows exactly what she’s talking about. 

You wonder about Mike. Not her ex-boyfriend but the one she mentioned. He sounds like he has no sense of self-preservation, and he may not even be a good influence. He reminds you of yourself, and that’s creepy—you don’t even know him. 

And then there is Matt, who is also so eerily similar to you, but in different ways. It’s more of an emotional connection. His heart is in the right place. And unlike the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, he doesn’t have a savior complex.

Why did he even come to your mind? His existence should not be playing into the equation. You brush the picture of his chiseled chest in that tight shirt away, or the way he looked even more dangerous with that smirk below the the mask. 

You hand the wine bottle back to Claire. If you don’t cut yourself off now, you will melt into a puddle of embarrassment. 

Your focus should be on Matt and Matt alone. You have to try. Claire was right. You can’t sacrifice your happiness because you’re scared—you can’t give the man who dedicated his life to breaking you and your confidence down the satisfaction of cowering in fear every time a man shows an interest in you. A good man. A man who could make you happier than he ever had. 

You won’t run this time. You will face the situation head-on. You owe that much to the little girl who dreamed of a life beyond the hell she grew up in, the same girl who was obsessed with finding her soulmate and still believed in true love. Above everyone, you owe it to yourself. No one else matters quite as much as you do. 

And for the sake of seeing what could be instead of wondering what could have been, you have to try.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #reader insert #charlie cox #doctor!reader #do no harm

[ohbo-ohno]

Okay so BO!!! I have two brain worms lately that I wish to share but I’m only gonna tell you the one now because I’m lazy. Police Officers!Ghoap stopping your friend for speeding and seeing Reader in the backseat, drunk and to yourself, waving at them excitedly when they look in your direction. It gets Johnny all excited and before Ghost can even say anything he’s telling your friend and you to get out of the car, giving you both field sobriety tests. You fail and your friend passes but they both lie and say that they failed and that they have to take you both into custody. Taking you to the station and frisking you, Soap reassuring you when you ask if it’s normal to need two officers for a search. Ghost holding you still when Soap starts to remove your clothes, ignoring your whimpers and whines when he gropes at the flesh of your ass, resisting the urge to bite into it. And then Ghost says they have to do a cavity search on you to be certain you don’t have anything dangerous to hide :((( 🧡🧡🧡 - 🕸

ooh you should maybe check out No One Has To Know by Carin Hart! tbh i wasn't a huuuge fan, but it's got a stalker police officer who kidnaps the fmc and uses his position as an officer to threaten her

anyways! i very rarely write it bc i've actually never been drunk (looong history of addiction in my family) and i feel like if i tried i'd sound like kid guessing at what drunkenness is lmao but! i fucking loooove noncon (dubcon?) with a drunk victim who wouldn't consent if they weren't drunk, and the abuser takes complete advantage of that. hot as fucking hell. and the talking them down the next morning, gaslighting them into thinking they did consent? ohhh i eat it up

anyways 2x. im obsessed with what you've sent me, may i offer some variations?

rookie cop soap & experienced (and jaded) cop ghost who's stuck as his partner. they take both you and your friend in and soap takes you into a private room for your search but ghost can just tell that soap is gonna get himself in trouble, so he finishes his search real quick and goes into the private room to find johnny humping your back while you grind on his leg :( soap freezes in fear because he is actively assaulting you, but ghost just sighs and closes the door, grunts "hurry up, then. need to get her in a holding cell. can spend some more time with her then." and johnny moans, making you moan, and the two of you are just a soaked and desperate mess of limbs

ghost and johnny pulling you over alone on the side of the road in the middle of the night. they handcuff you and you're too scared to fight back, and they insist on doing a search, and then a cavity search before they take you in their car :( you're squirmy and scared and trying so hard to be good, and ghost and soap play good cop/bad cop with you. except, surprising you, ghost is the good cop and soap is the bad cop. mostly because ghost is near silent and soap is rough, kinda mean, while ghost is just ordering you around. anyway the interaction ends with ghost fucking you with his gun :/ you're trying so hard to be good but it's scary and soap keeps threatening to gag you if you get any louder :(

ghost and soap sneaking into the holding cell, making you stay silent in less you want your friend to wake up and see you taking their cocks so well :/ age-old trope but reader getting interrogated by ghost and soap and totally abused and violated as an interrogation method :/ ghost getting mean mean and telling you he'll either fuck you with his baton or beat you with it :/ soap making you shine his badge with your tongue while he's railing you :/

#🕸 anon #asks and answers #ghoap x reader #bo writes

[running-with-the-feels]

as a lover of drunk kuai liang i need those headcanons 🤲

mwahahahaha yeeeeeeeessssss

complete lightweight, his only advantage is his size but still, he's gonna have trouble walking very quickly

Favorite drink is a cider bc it tastes like juice and isn't too strong, he likes apple ciders best

Has stages of drunkenness that Johnny has dedicated many hours of research to categorizing (think of it like amy from b99)

Stage 1: Tipsy Statue, he's feeling the effects of the alcohol but refuses to let anyone realize that so he just stays as still and quiet as possible (forgets to blink too, which is the give away)

Stage 2: Loosey Goosey, very relaxed now, will laugh more easily and kinda forgets that he's trying to hide the fact that he's a little drunk. Also gets tactile, like he'll lean against ppl and his need for personal space is drastically reduced.

Stage 3: Koala Bear, all inhibitions thrown to the wind, becomes a total chatterbox, Will sit on someone's lap (usually Hanzo's) and can also be easily convinced to dance nightclub style, much to his horror in the morning

Stage 4: Bed Time, now struggling to walk and stay awake (bc too much alcohol makes him very sleepy) one of the defenders (again, usually Hanzo) is charged with taking him home and putting him to bed.

Kuai Liang once spent two whole hours at one of Johnny's parties sitting in Hanzo's lap, resting his head on the guy's shoulder and playing with his hands. Hanzo was oddly silent during the entire exchange (wonder why)

Johnny used to take videos of his drunken shenanigans (rare tho they might be) until Kuai Liang broke his phone and threatened his kneecaps. Johnny has since backed off.

Has only actually been convinced to dance nightclub style twice (both times by Johnny) and the only reason it hasn't happened more often is because dude rarely drinks.

Hanzo spent the entirety of both situations watching and trying desperately to fight back the urge to either a) drag him off the dance floor and away from Johnny bc Jealous or b) go up there and join him which no amount of alcohol can get him to do.

Chatty, drunk Kuai Liang is so chatty, he's fully just lost his brain to mouth filter so he will just Say Shit. Most of the time its either complimenting Hanzo, thanking Jax and Johnny for their friendship, or insulting Raiden.

He also gets giggly, like everything is funny and he can't stop laughing.

never gets hangovers (or if he does, no one can tell) and everyone is jealous.

Tho he isn't one to be easily embarrassed, he is always mortified that the defenders have seen him drunk after the fact, which is part of why he doesn't drink often. The other and main reason is bc he doesn't like having his faculties compromised

Did once wake up in Hanzo's bed after one of Johnny's parties, panic, and race out of the house shirtless (bc he couldn't find it and heard footsteps coming) only to be told that Hanzo had tried to take him to the Lin Kuei temple instead but Koala Bear Kuai Liang refused to let go of Hanzo for even a second and so eventually (bc he needed to sleep damnit) Hanzo just gave up and brought him back to the Shirai Ryu to sleep there.

"How did I end up shirtless then?" "You said it was, quote, 'too fucking hot in here,' ripped your shirt off, and then wraped around me like an octopus" "..........."

That's all I've got rn, but I can think of more, lemme know if y'all want em.

#kuai liang #hanzo hasashi #subscorp #johnny cage #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x #mortal kombat 11

[preromantics]

(had to google common kinks because my brain is dead lol sorry)

But

Starker + voyeurism?

Or

Starker + anonymous sex

Oooh let’s try anonymous (errr kinda I took it to a glory hole place)!

-

It started as a joke. It was definitely a joke.

Someone — Peter can’t even remember, because Thor and Bruce had reverse engineered some long lost Asgardian hard liquor and gotten every person in the compound, enhanced metabolism to Actual God to regular human totally shitfaced — someone had complained about the lack of sexual partner options available to bonafide superheroes.

Peter is 97% sure he did not make the original complaint, but less sure if he privately or verbally agreed with the overall sentiment.

Anyway, someone had complained.

Tony, who fell on the human spectrum of easily-shitfaced-from-Asgardian-jet-fuel but also on the unfortunately superhuman liver side, had indulged his one social drink and promptly disappeared to the lab.

A few hours later, the assorted and still standing heroes of Earth had been led on a little drunken excursion by Tony to the compound sublevels. The group arranged a wobbly and cheerful single-file line ordered by height and wove through the gym and past the boxing rings to the locker room style communal showers.

Peter, who did not have the advantage of height compared to the collection of his coworkers (friends?) who were still standing, had been one of the last to see what all the parading had been about.

The last shower stall had been partitioned into two, with shiny new floor to ceiling doors.

The new middle partition — proudly gestured to by Tony in his best Vanna White impression — sported a single hole in the wall.

“This dial here can adjust the size to your… needs,” Tony was saying, giving a practical demonstration of the lever that opened and closed the hole like the aperture function of a camera lens.

Peter would’ve taken notes, but the rush of the alcohol and the implications and the Tony of it all caught up and deafened him with white noise.

—

So, it was a joke. 30 or so assorted superheroes, Avengers and otherwise, knew that a gloryhole existed in the communal showers on level B8 of the compound.

Theoretically, any of them could use it.

Peter wondered obsessively if anyone had tried it, joke or not.

He found himself lingering after a hard workout or training session, eyes closed under the spray of one of the normal shower stalls, and senses on high alert for the echoey pad of footsteps to the end of the room.

Eventually his curiosity graduated and he found himself walking down to the partitioned and private stalls, too. Ostensively just to look. Just to see if one door was closed and not the other. Just to see if anyone might be paying attention and follow him down.

Not that Peter would use the hole with anyone. Probably.

He wasn’t even sure what side he’d pick, or what he’d do — again, not that he was thinking about it.

He absolutely, definitely did not let his exploration take him into the farthest side, the door shutting with a final-sounding soft close clink, the lighting going dim in the stall.

A small green light, unobtrusive but obvious once you knew where to look, had startled him. Occupied.

(He definitely did not enter the little stall five more days in a row until on the fifth he gathered the courage to drop to his knees to asses the height of the hole relative to his mouth and fiddle with the adjustment knob.

Tony was, if nothing else, always the perfect engineer.)

-

Peter was hyper-aware when he was sharing a workout with anyone else. Waited to see if they’d follow him into the locker room.

Sometimes they did and he showered knowing someone else was a stall away. But no footsteps ever wandered to the end of the line of shower stalls.

He wasn’t disappointed, exactly. It was just. Whoever had complained that superheroes couldn’t get laid easily was speaking the truth.

Occasionally he would be working with Tony in the labs, on the rare occasion they were at the compound at the same time, and find himself wondering if Tony remembered the superhero glory hole he’d created several floors below him.

He’d wonder if Tony ever tried it.

He’d wonder if Tony ever thought about Peter trying it. If he’d seen Peter stumble away from the drunken group field trip presentation with blotchy red on his cheeks.

He’d wonder if Tony knew the height was perfect for the distance from Peter’s knees to his mouth.

He’d wonder if he was going a little crazy about the whole Glory Hole Joke.

-

“If I sit in this chair for another minute my back is going to spontaneously throw itself out,” Tony announces from his lab bench.

Peter smirks at him, sparing a glance up from his pipette and beaker. A quip is on his tongue, the perfect time for an old man joke, but the words die in his throat.

Tony is stretching slowly from a sit to a stand, arms over his head, faded t-shirt scrunching up under his armpits to reveal a few inches of soft belly skin dusted with hair.

“Gonna go get a workout in before lunch. Dinner? Midnight snack? Honesty no idea where we’re falling in the meal spectrum right now.”

Peter swallows around his dry throat. “Dinner,” he says, though he also has no clue what time it is. “Probably.”

Tony jerks his thumb toward the elevator across the room. “Maybe I’ll see you down there,” he says.

It sounds so casual. Maybe he will. Peter wants to die a little with how much he wants to see Tony on Floor B8. A little further past the gym than Tony has in mind.

“Maybe,” Peter agrees, turning back to his pipette, which he’s pretty sure has been steadily dropping too much of the base into his reactive acid this entire time.

-

Peter spends 10 minutes cleaning up his lab bench and another 5 staring blankly at the elevator doors.

The cheerful and non-descript elevator AI asks him what floor he wants three separate times. Peter is glad it isn’t FRI or KAREN. They’d have called him out by now.

“B8,” he says.

He walks out of the elevator with purpose, resolved to head to the rowing machine and get a pre-dinner workout in with Mr. Stark, shake off his nervous and pent-up energy until it’s sweat out of his system.

There’s a small snag in his plan. Tony is running on the omni-directional treadmill, back to Peter. He has Starkphones in, completely sound proof.

Peter licks his lips at the sight of the sweat on Tony’s back, the way it causes his shirt to cling to his spine.

He makes a split second decision, borne maybe of too many late night fantasy scenarios to count. It’s easy to walk past the treadmill and cross to the other end of the facility, past the boxing rings.

It’s easy to walk down the line of shower stalls, the overhead lights pinging on instantly as he walks further and further, steps getting quicker.

It’s — it’s not perfectly easy, he has to stop and take a breath before he walks into the farthest partitioned side of the glory hole. But then it is done: the door softly closes, the little green LED flicking on, and all Peter has to do is sink down to his knees.

All Peter did was walk across a room but his heart is beating wildly like he just went stealth mode on a dangerous stake out.

The reality is Tony didn’t notice Peter even enter the gym. He might finish his workout and go up to his own expansive compound rooms to shower. He might shower here, the echo of water driving Peter insane with mental images, and never even glance down to see the subtle green light.

He might see the green light, know that Peter is there, and leave anyway.

Peter bangs his head softly against the wall, nose catching the human-sized opening awkwardly, and resigns himself to letting his legs go numb from the knees down while he waits with all his hope in his throat, anyway.

-

A soft noise, the woosh of the main locker room door, makes every hair on Peter’s arms stand up.

He swallows, pitching forward in his enclosed stall as if that will bring him closer to the source of the noise.

It could be someone else, though Peter has no idea who could be on the weekend roster.

There’s a rustle of clothing he barely needs to strain to hear. The soft thump of something hitting the ground. The hiss of the pipes, not on a human frequency, before the spray of the water gushes out of a distant shower head.

The shower is over quickly, Peter notes, though time has gone soft and slippy. He closes his eyes.

Footsteps. Toward him. The slight air sound of a door opening. The well-known click of the private stall door shutting.

Oh, god. There is someone across from him. Peter forgets to breathe for a second entirely and has to fight from making a sound as he chokes between two inhales.

He can no longer distinguish the small noises from the rushing in his own ears.

The first movement in the hole nearly startles him; just a play of shadows as someone gets ready on the other side.

Then: a cock. It slides through, half-hard, resting thick and plump along the bottom edge of the hole as it passes through. The owner of the cock feeds it all the way, the fat head bending downward and then bobbing up. Toward Peter.

Peter inhales; the scent is clean and his lungs struggle to fill all the way. He rocks forward, drawn to the half-comical, half-arousing reality of the anonymous cock through the hole.

Is it really anonymous? Statistically, Peter thinks it should be Tony. He was in the gym. Would he know it was Peter on the other side? Tony invited Peter down to workout, so the odds were decent the other way around.

Tentatively, Peter darts his tongue out to lick across the head of the cock. It’s flushed darker than the root, and the salty sweet of it blooms on Peter’s tongue.

He may have just licked Tony Stark’s fat cock head for the first time. The idea of it thrills Peter to his bones, his own cock throbbing against the zip of his jeans.

There’s a chance it isn’t Tony.

Peter licks a bolder stripe across the head, swirling around the ridge. His saliva glands are over active, he’s practically drooling already at the idea of this.

There’s a chance it’s someone else. Peter may never even find out.

His cock twitches at that, too. Fuck. He wraps his lips around the entire head, drenching it with his own slick excitement as he opens his mouth up further and slides down several inches in his eagerness.

He gags, pulls back, and returns immediately.

The man on the other side of the wall is silent, but a slight bang against the wall — the slap of someone’s hand to the partition, as if Peter’s already doing such a good job they can’t help it — makes Peter shove more of the warm cock between his lips to muffle any of his own noises.

If he moaned, he’s sure someone could pick out the octave of his voice and just know. They’d know Peter is twenty seconds into this and already drooling for it.

Tony would know for sure. The thought makes Peter palm his own cock, wishing he’d thought to unzip his jeans while he waited, but not wanting to stop to focus enough to do so now.

He would’ve felt so pathetic, waiting alone, pants undone and cock half-hard with anticipation. Now, he’s stuck curling his fingers against the denim of his fly and worrying he might leak precome through his briefs and jeans by the end of this.

He tongues along the bottom vein of the cock in front of him, marveling at the weight of it and at the stretch of his lips around it as they drag slickly up and down. The angle is decent, but still strange, his neck stiff as he tries to bob back and forth to take the entire thing.

The cock in his mouth is definitely fully hard now, pulsing and flexing against Peter’s tongue, the tip bursting an addictive drop of precome every few passes. The taste is such a contrast to the soap-clean skin of the length that every taste forces Peter to swallow back a moan.

His nose mashes slightly against the wall when he focuses enough to take as much as he can down his throat. It feels deliriously good, a sense of terribly slutty pride coursing through him every time his nose hits the partition over the hole.

He’s slid all the way down when the owner of the cock abruptly slides back out.

Peter’s mouth opens around an unvoiced protest, barely catching a whine from spilling out before the cock slides back in, fucking back between Peter’s parted swollen lips and down his open throat.

He does moan at that, deep and hopefully muffled by his mouth full of cock.

Peter catches on quickly: he can keep his mouth open, his forehead and nose pressed hard against the wall, and the stranger on the other end can simply fuck his mouth.

It’s so simple to stay still, dragging his tongue back and forth and dragging his hand over his own trapped cock while he gets efficiently face fucked. It’s almost dream-like, two pinpoints of focus — the stranger’s pleasure and Peter’s pleasure — taking up all the space in his brain.

A hand slaps the wall on the other side again, harder this time, the cock in Peter’s mouth tensing and pulsing before his throat is coated with come.

Peter comes in his own pants, hips frantically bucking as he swallows down several continuous seconds of anonymous come. He bangs his head on the wall, hard, trying to balance and keep his position at the same time.

When the cock slides out from between hips lips, dragging and lingering on Peter’s bottom lip for a moment before disappearing, Peter falls back against the tile and inhales sharply.

He waits for the click of the door on the other side of the wall and for the padding of the feet to disappear. He doesn’t even have the mental energy to try and figure out if he recognizes the sound and weight of the softly echoing feet.

He forgets about dinner, peeling himself off the floor eventually and floating all the way to his room.

-

In the morning, Peter is slow to rise, feeling heavy-limbed and not awake enough to revisit the previous night.

When he finally manages to roll out of bed and head to the communal kitchens, the line of Tony’s back at the breakfast bar greets him first.

Peter flashes to the sweat-soaked gym shirt from the night before and swallows around a suddenly dry mouth once again.

“Hey shortstack,” Rhodes calls from the other side of the counter.

Peter gives him a tired salute, covering for his slight startle, and heads for the fridge behind Tony.

“You two see any ghosts while you were rattling around this place all by your lonesomes last night?” Rhody asks.

Peter just catches himself from overpouring his orange juice onto the counter as the dots connect in his head. He never did look at the weekend security roster.

Surely Rhody can’t mean he and Tony were the only—

“Ghosts? No, just me and Pete, who ghosted me for dinner.”

Tony turns and grabs the freshly poured orange juice glass from Peter’s hands, catching his finger tips as he pulls it free and sparking heat up Peter’s fingers in return.

“For me? You didn’t have to,” Tony says, catching Peter’s startled glance with a too-wide smile.

He takes a wide gulp, only breaking eye contact to turn around and set the glass down.

Tony slaps the counter with a small, satisfied groan. “Delicious,” he says brightly.

Rhody rolls his eyes and turns back to his phone and eggs.

Peter stands still. The slap echos over and over again in Peter’s head as he flushes. Oh.

——-

WELL I said I was going to answer these on my phone and I did. Oops. Will edit and whatever on my computer tomorrow hahaha.

#starker #ask box fic #whoops this is like 2700 words lol #will clean up and probably thrown on AO3 tmmrw #prompts open :)

[shaybreezy-17]

One Piece Monster Trio + Usopp as your Boyfriend Headcannons

TW: Fluff, suggestive behavior, stronger language, potential substance use.

16+

Luffy

Has no filter. “Y/N, your boobs are so soft and squishy. They’re my favorite pillows!” “Luffy! Did you really have to say that in front of Chopper? 🤦🏻‍♀️”

Chopper (confused as hell):

No personal space either… that boy wraps his entire body around yours, especially when you nap together. On sunny days, you have to beg him to loosen his grip around you because his rubber body gets too damn hot.

Super adventurous lover. Any time you wanna try a new position in the sack, he’s down with it. He can stretch out certain assets too ;).

It secretly hurts him to have to share food with the rest of the crew, but he willingly remembers to give you a bite or two every now when you sit at the dining table together. He also finds it cute when you have a mouthful of food and your cheeks are all chubby.

Doesn’t understand why he upsets you most times, but he always tries his best to make up for it and make you feel better. Also, bugs you constantly when you push him away until you give in and forgive him.

Always entrusts someone to take care of you during battles, usually Zoro or Sanji (even though Sanji hits on you every time, but Luffy doesn’t mind). He knows you can handle your own, but he can’t always be there to watch over you, so he needs someone to be his temporary pair of eyes and make sure you’re safe.

Zoro

Calls you “Stupid” sometimes. Results in an insult war between the two of you.

Shows tough love in front of others, but is pretty mushy behind closed doors. Ever since the rest of the Straw Hats found out you guys were dating, he opened up a tad and by a tad, I mean, an occasional side-hug. 😭

Doesn’t mind if you make the first move in front of others though. You sit on his lap every now and then when you and the crew are just kicking it, and he’ll wrap his arms around your waist, signaling you to relax your body weight on top of him.

On nights you can’t sleep, it comes in handy that Zoro is a night owl. Since he’s always napping during the day, he stays on watch for most of the night. When you find yourself particularly restless, you sneak over to keep him company.

Secretly likes when you watch him workout. It gives him a boost of encouragement knowing you’re watching his every move. You also force him to bathe with you after he’s done and he pretends to hate it, but it’s the only time he actually finds bathing enjoyable.

Always makes sure to take care of you when you’ve had a bit too much to drink. When you guys are drinking in a public setting, he makes sure to stay close to you, so no one tries to take advantage of you in your drunken state. Also, carries you bridal style whenever you whine that your feet hurt.

Dominant lover. He likes making sure you’re taken care of and satisfied, but he makes sure his needs are taken care of too. There’s no stopping until he’s satisfied so brace yourself for the aftermath because you might need a wheelchair to get around for a while.

Sanji

Grateful that you’ve even given him a chance, tbh. He used to swoon over every woman, but now he finds it hard to desire anyone but you.

Wakes you and the other girls up with breakfast in bed, but always adds a little heart shaped food just to your plate. You love how much of a gentleman he is with women.

Passionate lover. Loves every inch of your body and makes sure you know it. He loves biting your soft skin, caressing you all over. You’re also his favorite thing to eat ;). He also loves overstimulating you- it’s the sexiest thing in the world for him.

PDA! Sanji loves showing you off. He always either has his arm around you or holds your hand whenever you guys head into a town together. He’s very possessive of you which you don’t mind either, as you secretly want everyone to know you’re his too, especially other girls.

Swears up and down that Zoro wants to take you from him and reminds you daily not to let Brook see your panties. Also loves kissing you in front of Zoro because he knows he finds your affection atrocious.

Absolutely loses his mind whenever you wear his dress shirts, especially with nothing under. He’ll pull you closer to him by the already loosened tie and slowly unbutton his dress shirt that you have on…

Always goes the whole 9 yards when you’re on your period. He doesn’t let you lift anything even remotely heavy because he thinks you’ll squirt even more blood and hemorrhage and pass away… But, he totally caters to your cravings and gives the best belly rubs when you’re having cramps.

Usopp

Attentive lover. He isn’t very experienced in that sort of thing so he appreciates when you guide him. You love the fact that he tries so hard for you, so you end up showing him the time of his life because he truly deserves it and you love pleasuring him.

Actually doesn’t mind shopping for clothes with you. His sense of style isn’t half bad, so you always enjoy putting outfits together and seeing what looks good on each other.

Let’s you practice your aiming with him. As you practice, he boasts about all the armies he’s taken down with his super sniper skills and you eat it up! You know he’s totally lying, but he really does have good aim, and you know he could make that come true if he had to.

The most understanding when you’re having a bad mental health day. Since, he, himself struggles with some form of depression and anxiety, he does his best to cheer you up when you have your bad days. If you feel like laying in bed all day, he’ll lay with you. If you’re having a manic episode and want to buy an entire store, he’ll lug the items in his backpack.

Makes weapons and gadgets to aid you in battle. He knows he can’t physically protect you, but he decks you out in all you need to protect yourself when times get tough. He also keeps a watchful eye when you’re far away but close enough for him to snipe anyone who charges at you behind your back when you’re too busy fighting off someone else like your very own guardian angel.

Is down to smoke the devils lettuce with you if you’re into that sort of thing ;). His stories get even wilder after you both have a hit or two, and you enjoy them even more, laughing your butt off at his silly tales.

Is your biggest hype man so you make sure to return the favor when you catch his self esteem at an all time low. Usopp is such a catch, you just wish he would see that. You always make sure to remind him that he’s your brave warrior of the sea and he’s accomplished so much as Straw Hat Sogeking!

Other works: https://www.tumblr.com/shaybreezy-17/718404844798492672/zoros-first-time

#one piece #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #usopp #sogeking #luffy #headcanon #boyfriend #imagine #anime #manga

[rachi-roo]

Hii! I saw your requests open and I wanted to ask could you perhaps write some tickle headcanons for Vash from Trigun? Any version is fine, I just need more tickle content of that silly lil guy--

(Love your blog btw! <3)

-------------{ ☆°•○•°☆ }--------------

Trigun: Vash - Tickle Head Canons!

YES! YES! THANK YOU! I've wanted to write about this goobie woobie for so long! I've actually had some HCs written up for ages but never found silly Trigun fans to share them with! 😭 Bless your little socks anon!! Thank you for the opportunity to go HDBDIAOWKDBAI over my Vashy-Washy! XD Love you dust bunny!!!

--------------------☆ ☆------------------------

Lee:

Being inhuman has its perks. Not many but a few. Immortality is pretty cool. But in Vashs case, hanging out with the humans has brought upon a strange, problem, when it comes to physical touch.

At first, Vash had never heard of tickling or being ticklish. Why would he when everyone has only ever wanted to kill him? Until he met Meryl and Millie. One drunken party had led to a cuddle pile where the two females decided to attack the defenceless male, leading to the discovery. He is, in fact, very ticklish.

He is ticklish absolutely everywhere. Luckily, his huge coat and armour protect him most of the time. You'll have to catch him out of uniform to make him squeal.

Saying catch isn't really right, though. He loves being tickled and won't try to avoid an attack if he sees it coming. Like an obedient pup, he'll lay there and take it. Despite his wriggling, he does his best not to get away or stop those scribbling fingers.

His laugh is wonderful. Bright, loud, full of life. And he's very chatty whilst being wrecked. Being his usual goofy self, he'll say the most random things between his laughter.

"H-Hehey! Ahaha! Gohod I could reheheally go for a snAHAHACK rigihight now! Aha! Hah... Aww, why you stop?"

Brat. Brat. Bratty brat brat. Big playful goob. If he wants tickles, he'll follow you around all day until he gets them. Even if it means tickling you first to get a response, he'll do it. He'll poke you. Scare you. Steal a snack. Even throw some playful cheesy flirting your way.

His favourite are reward tickles.

"Didn't I do a good job taking care of those bandits? Come oooon, you know what to do~" He'd say, sprawling happily over your lap.

Praise him. Tell him how cute he is. It's the only time you might be able to fluster him instead of the other way round. If you manage to accomplish this, he'll cover his ears, trying to hide how red they go.

Drunk Vash tickles? Yes. His gangly limbs are so uncoordinated that he'll just flop around like a wet noodle. Hiccuping and snorting happily. Wolfwood takes full advantage of this as he's usually on the receiving end of tickles~

His most sensitive areas are his knees, ribs, and underarms. He also loves it when you tickle his palm. Having only one real hand means the one he's got needs extra love. The teddybear song is a personal favourite of his. Since he's a big kid, really.

Basically, he loves being tickled. Any time. Any place. For any reason. Laughter is so important to him. How could he not crave the sensation?

Ler:

Run. Just run. This man is a menace. Ever heard of the tickle monster? This guy gives him nightmares. In the best possible way.

For whatever reason, you look down in the dumps, or maybe you just committed the unspeakable SIN of eating his last doughnut. Vash is gonna getcha~

He'll chase you round all day, laughing with you as he puts on his 'villain' voice, cooing and teasing as he makes grabby hands at you as you try to flee.

"I'm gonna getcha~!"

"Mwahaha! You think you can escape the claws of Vash the humanoid Typhoon!? Nae! You will suffer at my hand, Mortaaaal!"

"Wow, you're quick! What's got you so frantic, I wonder? Haha!"

Once he catches you, it's over. He'll use his mechanic arm to hold your wrists, allowing his free hand to do the work.

He's a skitterer. Spider fingers are his favourites since they make his victims giggle the most. Changing spots every couple of seconds to keep you wriggling.

The sharpshooter had also invented his own adorable little game! He calls it 'Don't shoot'.

The ler surprises the Lee, aiming finger guns at them and calling 'Hands up!' The Lee has to respond quick as they can with 'Don't shoot!' Whilst throwing theirs hands up. If they're quick enough, the ler, Vash, approaches with his finger guns, circling and teasing the victim with anticipation. Faking a prod or two. The victim has to not flinch or giggle or they get 'shot' or rather, bombarded with tickly pokes.

Vash, being Vash, always makes the sound effects as he's poking you. "Pew! Pew! Pew! Should have stayed still, bandit!" He also loves being on the receiving end of this game, always losing, curling up as soon as those fingers get too close.

He's so gentle as a ler. Teasy and bubbly as always. He'll pull you into a hug, wriggling his fingers into your sides, blowing raspberries on your neck. He's a big guy, holding you still isn't difficult.

"Ah, Mon précieux, what a lovely singing voice you posesse~"

"A snort!? For me!? Oh my gosh, do it again!"

"Huh? Don't say tickle? Why shouldn't I say tickle? Is tickle a bad word? Is ticklish a bad word, too? What about tickled? Oh gosh, I'm saying all these awful tickly words! Oh well, I've sinned now, might as well go all out~ Tickle, tickle, tickle!"

Once he's tired you out, he'll hold you close to him, chuckling quietly at how flustered you are as he pets your hair. He'll share a doughnut if he feels he's been particularly mean~ Lucky you!

Vash, Vash, Vash. What a goobie woobie he is. My beloved sunflower 🥹 Making this a world build upon love and peace!!! 🤞 Marry me FUCK SAKE! XD

100% Switch!

---------------------☆ ☆-----------------------

#rachi roo #vash the stampede #Trigun #humanoid typhoon #1998 trigun #2023 trigun #lee!Vash #ler!Vash #Vash hcs #vashwood #trigun vash #tickle hcs #ticklish vash

[mackenzielovee]

sixth sense: part three

synopsis: "i'll keep my hands to myself from now on. i promise."

warnings: swearing, what i would define as domestic violence, crying, mentions of panic attacks

wc: 6k (yikes)

a/n: parts of this came out of absolutely nowhere but i hope you enjoy it regardless, thanks in advance for reading :)

series masterlist

      You clock out at two-thirty, Bryn following closely behind. You tug her back when she breaks for the door, wanting her to walk out with you given the fact that Campbell is still around here somewhere. 

For the last hour, Rafe had been drinking nothing but water while his friends continued to get even more drunk. He looks up from his place with his friends and grins when he sees you ready to go; breaking free with the promise to return. 

Bryn stands beside you, watching both of you closely as he approaches. His eyes never leave you, and when you glance over at Bryn, she’s giving you an amused smile. 

“Ready?” he asks, looking down at you expectantly.

You laugh, “You don’t really have to walk me out, Rafe. I’m fine.”

“It’s okay, I really don’t mind,” he replies. 

He’s antsy now; you can tell by the way he shoves his hands in his pockets and then shifts his weight from one foot to another. Bryn nudges your shoulder discreetly, but you ignore her. 

“Seriously, it–”

“Let him walk you, Y/N,” Bryn says quickly, flashing Rafe a quick smile, “Gotta bolt. See you next week.”

She squeezes your arm, then hurries out of the bar before you can say any more. You shrug and give Rafe an unamused smile, watching as he does the opposite. He relaxes and reaches for the door, holding it open for you to walk through first. 

“Thanks,” you mumble as you pass him. 

He follows behind you for the first few steps, but with his quick strides, he’s beside you in a moment. 

You wonder how sober he actually is as you two walk in silence – the debate on what to say is heavy on your mind. You want to apologize, but you don’t want to do that if he’s teetering on the edge of drunkenness at the moment. 

“Do you do this often?”

You regret it the second the words come out of your mouth. It seemed safe, yes, but with the way Rafe chuckles after you say it, you curse yourself silently.

“What?” he laughs again, “Walk girls to their cars at three in the morning because their ex-boyfriend is a dick?”

You shrug shyly, “Yeah, I guess. And how did you know he’s my ex?”

Rafe grins, “Didn’t ‘til just now.”

“Oh, my God,” you groan, shaking your head. 

He laughs and guides his hands into his pockets once more, stealing a glance at you. 

“No, I don’t do this often,” he says, “Only when a girl needs help and decides I’m not that guy.”

You don’t know too much about Rafe Cameron, but the one thing you’re sure of is he is right about that. He most definitely is not the guy who takes advantage of a drunk girl in need of help. You’re sure all he does is help. Expecting nothing in return. 

The image of that makes you feel even guiltier for the way you treated him earlier after class. To calm your conscience, you assure yourself that you will apologize to him. Just not until you’re sure he’s sober enough to forgive you. 

“So, you’re prepared to defend me if some guy walks up to us right now?” you tease him. 

“Oh, yeah,” he nods, “But they won’t. I have a look.”

“A look?” you raise a brow, “Let me see it.”

“No,” he laughs. 

“Come on,” you groan, “If this look is able to keep men away, I should know about it, right?”

He shrugs, “It could hurt you.”

“Your look could hurt me?”

“Yes, it’s very intense. I don’t think you could handle it,” he replies, amusement giving him away. 

You snort, “I don’t think you could hurt a fly, Rafe.”

“Depends on what it did to me.”

You laugh and so does he, giving you that same wide smile that always gets to you. You unlock your car to show him which one is yours, then watch as he stops about two feet from the driver’s side door. You reach for the handle but turn before you can open it, meeting his gaze instead. 

“Thanks, Rafe,” you say quietly. 

He nods, “You’re welcome.”

You give him a tilt of your head, then pull open your door. Your bag gets thrown onto the passenger seat, and just before you duck in, he speaks again. 

“You know something?”

Your eyes flash back up to his, your back straightening as you wait for him to speak again. 

“You’re fun when you’re not trying to push me away.”

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. He just stares at you, seemingly not regretting a single syllable of what he just said to you. 

He watches you take a deep breath and then slowly nod your head, trying your damnedest to come up with a response. The best you can do is promise him a future conversation. 

“I’m sorry about this afternoon. I was a bitch. Let’s talk about it when you sober up–”

“I’m sober now,” he says. 

“Rafe–”

“Want me to walk in a straight line? Tell you the alphabet backwards? I’ll do it, Y/N, but let’s talk about it. Before you regret it or decide I’m not worth it.”

Not worth it? You draw back a step, curious where that came from or how you gave him that impression. You’re sure you did somehow, but hearing him say it outloud makes your heart sink. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, “Fine. We can talk now.”

“You accused me of buying you,” he says, and you can tell by the weakness in his voice how much that hurt him, “Until tonight, I didn’t understand why.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on,” he scoffs, “I saw the watch on his wrist. The Ferrari keys he was spinning around his finger like an asshole. The black card he put down for his drinks. He thought the money would keep you around, didn’t he?”

Your throat constricts as flashes of your relationship with Campbell go through your mind; the credit cards he offered you, the new car be brought home for you – claiming he only accepted payments in his bed. Nothing Campbell ever handed you was without a price of your own.

“And the first time you ever even looked my way, I tipped you that twenty. No wonder you reacted the way you did. I’m sorry, okay? I had no idea about any of it. I was just trying to show you that I’m a decent guy.”

“Rafe,” you stop him, your voice hoarse, “You didn’t do anything wrong. No matter what – or who – happened to me, I projected, and that’s not fair.”

“Well, lucky for you, alcohol puts me in the mood to forgive.”

Your shoulders fall at that, which makes him crack up. He takes a step forward and stops you from diving into the car by placing a gentle arm around your waist. You freeze and turn around, observing him up close for the first time. 

Those blue eyes hold yours as if his life depends on it, and the feeling of his arm around you closes your throat almost completely when you try to inhale. 

“I was joking,” he breathes, “I swear.”

“It’s late,” you blurt, “I should–”

“Yeah,” he drops his arm and takes a step back, then clears his throat, “So, we’re cool?”

“We’re cool, yeah,” you confirm. 

He nods awkwardly and takes a step back, seemingly only now remembering his friends are inside. 

“Um,” he says, glancing back before you again, “I’m gonna be at the library Wednesday afternoon. Second floor, back left corner. Maybe, if you want, you could come by. We could study and review for the next exam.”

You bite down on the inside of your lip, concealing any sort of expression he could possibly misinterpret. 

“Maybe,” you nod. 

“Cool,” he grins, “See you then. Maybe. And maybe I’ll have a coffee waiting on you. Maybe you could tell me how you take it.”

“Well,” you give him a small, closed-mouth smile, “If I can make it, I take my coffee with two sugars.”

“Noted,” he nods, “Drive carefully, okay?”

You give him one quick head tilt, then turn back to your car. You listen to his shoes crunch in the gravel as he spins and starts walking back up to the bar, and that’s when you turn to look back at him. He sends a glance over his shoulder at the exact moment, and both of you break out into smiles before you can help it. 

You’re first to break it, turning and climbing into your car without looking back. You flex your hands a few times and then start up your car and drive away, unable to believe that Rafe Cameron has infiltrated your mind at all. 

     You changed your number after you and Campbell broke up to avoid his harassment and constant texts and calls, but without your permission, Jamie must have given him the updated one. 

You’re standing outside the library on Wednesday, staring up at the building with hesitance. Going to see Rafe Cameron outside of class and the bar – an environment you feel in control – seems like a big step. You have no idea how to proceed, how to let him in, without opening the floodgates that you call your emotions. 

Your phone buzzing in your back pocket breaks you out of your thoughts, and when you see the message, you know who it’s from. 

Didn’t appreciate your little friend the other night. Let him down easy, sweetheart. You and I both know you’d never stick around for a guy like that. 

Campbell’s words are the push you need. Before Campbell, you know you’d never have thought twice about Rafe. He’s not necessarily what you’d define as your type; but the fact that Campbell checked off all your boxes when you first met him, you decide to reassess your standards. On an updated list, you’re sure Rafe Cameron meets more of your expectations than anyone else you know. 

You swallow down a sense of anxiety when the elevator doors open to reveal the second floor, and the thought of seeing him in no less than two minutes has your mouth running dry. Maybe it will be terribly awkward, you think. At least that way, it’s a definitive sign that the two of you are meant to be nothing more than classmates. Your life will return to normal, you won’t feel like everything is upside down and backwards. 

He grins and stands up from his table when he sees you round the corner. Your steps falter, only for a moment, as you take him in. A part of you feels like you can’t breathe, the other feels like it’s the first deep breath you’ve taken since you’ve seen him last. 

He’s in a tee shirt and ditched the hat today; his hair slightly messy from where you assume he’s run his fingers through it. Two coffees sit at the table and his laptop and textbook are both open. 

“You came,” he practically sighs in relief once you’re close enough.

“I did,” you reply, your voice rough, “How long have you been here?”

“I usually study here all day on Wednesdays. I got here at eight.”

You freeze, “In the morning?”

He laughs and watches as you set your bag down on the table, not moving to sit until you do. 

“Yeah, eight in the morning,” he confirms, “But don’t worry. I pegged you for a late sleeper, so I got your coffee about half an hour ago. It should still be hot.”

He points to the cup in front of you, packs of sugar sitting beside it. You stare at it for a beat too long, telling yourself that it’s just a coffee, and he’s just being nice. 

“Thank you,” you murmur. 

“You’re welcome,” he replies, smile gracing his features. 

He watches as you unpack your laptop and your textbook, doing so carefully when you realize you’re under his watchful eye. 

Studying is not something you generally do much of – let alone with someone else who knows every single answer on an exam. You steal a glance at Rafe as you open your laptop, finding him leaned back in his seat and smirking. 

“I don’t really know how to do this,” you confess quietly. 

“Study? Or talk to me?”

You watch his smirk widen, but not in a way that makes him look cocky or arrogant. It makes him look cute – as if he’s trying to be coy and flirty, and he’s successful. You laugh before you can help it and shake your head, keeping your focus on your computer screen. 

“Study with other people,” you tell him. 

“Ah,” he finally sits forward, shifting his own laptop toward himself, “Don’t worry about that. I’ll email you my outline so far and we can go from there.”

“You don’t have to–”

“It’s the easiest way to get started,” he reassures, “I’m not handing you anything, okay?”

When you look up at him, you can see the doubt in his eyes. He’s trying, you’re sure, to convince you that he’s not buying you, not giving you things, not wanting you to run off on him again. His Adam’s apple bobs, and after a few deep breaths, you slowly nod. 

He’s not Campbell. He’s not going to demand anything. He’s not like that. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, “But I’ll do most of the remainder.”

His eyes bead into yours, his hesitation obvious. He breaks eye contact after a moment and types something into his computer, and a moment later, yours dings with a new email. 

“We’ll do it together,” he replies, and you don’t argue.

Instead, to show him that you trust him, you remove the lid from your coffee cup and tear open a sugar packet, pouring it in and stirring before sipping it. 

He smiles as you do this; a silent victory for both of you, it seems. You meet his eyes and give him a small smile as you set the coffee back down, then open up the document he had emailed you.

Your phone buzzes while the Google Doc opens, and you glance at it in your lap. The same unknown number, the same sinking feeling in your stomach. 

Flying to Milan on business Saturday morning. I got an extra ticket for you. I’m going to need some sort of entertainment, and all I’ve been thinking about is you in that black lingerie set I bought you. Bring it. 

“Everything okay?”

You look up and realize you probably look the same way you feel – concerned and annoyed. You nod and squirm in your seat, already forming a response in your head. 

“Fine,” you promise. 

Quickly, you type a message back to Campbell, then shut your phone off completely. 

I burned it. 

“Just need to change my phone number,” you continue, talking to Rafe. 

“Is it him?”

You sigh and sip on your coffee once more, eventually opting not to respond to the question. Instead, you flip to the correct chapter on Rafe’s half-completed study guide and remind yourself to focus. 

“I’ll cover typologies of long-term care, and you work on the need for prevention. Sound fair?”

He nods slowly, seemingly unsure if he should press the topic or not. You watch as he processes, then turns his attention to his textbook.

The two of you work in silence for a while. Rafe stays focused, which in turn keeps you focused, and you both type your own information while also watching the other type in the same Google doc. Rafe writes in blue; the perfect shade that isn’t too difficult to read, but helps to divide up the information. You choose a dark purple, citing those same reasons for yourself.

All of the sudden, his cursor pops up in your section of the document. You glance up at him, but his eyes remain on the screen as he types. 

Hi. 

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from smiling at his playfulness, forgetting all about the textbook beside you or the sentence you had half-typed out. You move your cursor under his greeting, fully aware that his eyes are on you.

Hi. 

You see him grin out of the corner of your eye. You don’t dare look up; sure he’d be able to see right through you with that smile. 

Want to know what I’m thinking about right now?

You steal a glance, but his head is now buried in his textbook. Anyone walking past might not even assume you know each other, let alone are typing in the same document instead of speaking.

The need for prevention in Cuba?

He laughs this time, and a part of you feels victorious.

No. I’m thinking about whether or not you’ll sit with me on Friday. Also wondering why Campbell is texting you. But mostly the sitting arrangement thing. 

You have to bite down harder to stop the smile. You pull your laptop closer and try to discreetly sink behind it, but he lets out a quiet laugh when you do this. 

Are you jealous or something? 

You hear him snort.

Of Campbell? No fucking way. I’m just trying to figure out how– 

Rafe stops typing then, and you swallow. You give him a beat, then two, and watch more letters appear. 

Prominent he is in your life. 

You stare at the words for longer than you probably should. Rafe asking you this could mean anything, but you’re almost sure you know where this is heading. You swallow and move your fingers over the keys, selecting each letter carefully as he watches them appear.

He’s nothing in my life. I changed my number after we broke up, and my boss gave him my new one on Friday, I’m assuming. I’m changing my number tomorrow. 

You sit up then, a more serious expression on your face. Before you can help it, your eyes are on him, and he’s watching you. His lips tip up and then his eyes travel back to his laptop, and he types with confidence. 

Will I be updated on this change?

You laugh. He grins. 

If you want to be. 

His response takes one second; his fingers practically slamming against his keyboard. 

You have no idea how much. 

You smile; a real, genuine smile, and he gives you one back. Your stomach is in knots and you feel dizzy – in a good way – so you sip your coffee to distract yourself. Rafe goes back to his screen and types again, earning all of your attention. 

By the way, there’s a party at my frat on Saturday night. If you don’t have to work, you should come by. 

You consider that for a moment, deciding all too fast that it’s a good idea to go. Getting to be around Rafe in a natural setting, where his focus is not entirely on you, or class, or Campbell, might help you determine who he really is. What he’s really about. 

Maybe, you reply. 

He scoffs. 

Maybe, huh? Maybe like how you showed today, or maybe like no chance in hell?

You laugh and look up at him, shaking your head. 

Maybe like today.

He grins widely then, and everything in you feels calm. When your eyes flicker up to him, he’s already watching you, his pupils dilated and smile prominent on his cheeks. 

“Stop distracting me,” he stage-whispers, “I’m trying to study.”

Your jaw falls open and you teasingly swat at him, making him laugh. 

“You distracted me,” you say back. 

“No, you distracted me first. I was staring at you for, like, five minutes before I typed anything.”

Your face falls out of shock; both that he would admit it and that it was happening in the first place. You sink back in your seat and watch as he crosses his arms over his chest, clearly not regretting a word. 

“You were?” 

“Yes,” he replies evenly, “Kind of hard not to.”

You laugh uneasily and rake a hand through your hair, fidgeting with yourself as you’re unsure of what to do.  

“We need to work,” you say quietly. 

He wants to push it, you can tell by the way he sits up and leans forward. Then, after a second, he sits back. You’re grateful; not wanting this to go too far too fast. You’re sure he can tell, somehow, and he nods. 

“Good call,” he murmurs. 

     You and Rafe work in silence for another two hours before you drop your head onto the table, your brain exhausted from the reading and the typing and the learning. Rafe laughs softly and reaches across the table, covering your hand with his own as a way of comforting you. You sit up immediately and pull your hand back, more startled by the touch than anything. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, “I wasn’t— Just making sure you’re okay.”

You shake your head as you chew on your bottom lip, and as a sign of good faith, you set your hand on the table again. 

“I’m good,” you promise, “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

A smile tugs at the end of his lips, and the feeling that erupts in your stomach at the view has you questioning this whole day. Rafe Cameron is slowly crawling under your skin and making himself at home, and you’re allowing it. 

“Are you expecting it now?”

You swallow and meet his glance, his killer blue eyes that could probably talk you into anything if you let them. There’s still that part of you begging to push him away, to shove him so far back that his laugh doesn’t make your heart beat faster, his eyes don’t make your blood stop in your veins. That voice is demanding you stop; walk away before he could possibly hurt you. 

“I should go.”

The words come out of your mouth before you can even realize you are the one saying them. His face falls, only for a second, before he collects himself and nods. 

“Yeah, um, for sure,” he clears his throat, “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah,” you agree. 

He watches as you close your laptop and your textbook, shoving them into your bag. Reluctantly, you stand, and he stands with you. 

“Thanks for coming,” he says, his voice almost shy. 

“Thanks for the study guide,” you counter, “I’ll see you Friday.”

“Same seats as last week,” he says. His hands get tucked into his pockets, and you wonder if it’s an anxious move. 

You tuck your bag over your shoulder and then collect your empty coffee cup and sugar packets to throw out. When you look back up at him, he’s practically begging you to confirm what he’s said. 

“Okay,” you say, your voice slightly hoarse. 

“Cool,” he grins, relaxing, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Rafe.”

You turn and walk away, tossing your coffee cup in the nearest garbage can. Just before you round the corner, you turn back, finding him still standing and watching you walk away. He laughs when you catch him, but you turn back before he can see you smile, too. 

     Friday comes slowly. So slowly, in fact, that you find your stomach swirling with excitement and anxiety as you walk to class, unable to believe you haven’t seen Rafe in almost two days. And that fact scares you. The fact that you’re now vulnerable – given then you’re looking forward to seeing him, makes you feel weak. That voice in your head tells you to run in the opposite direction every single time you think about those blue eyes. 

If you get hurt, it’s your fault. 

If you let him in and he isn’t who you thought, it’s your fault. 

Your heart has a completely different opinion. 

Rafe is not Campbell. 

Rafe is not going to hurt you.

You can’t push everyone away. 

Yes, you can. It’s keeping yourself safe. 

By the time you arrive at your building, you just want to shut it all off. You just want your brain to shut up, and your heart to stop pounding in your chest.

Rafe is already present in the room when you arrive. He’s seated on the opposite side, the side you sat in last week, and he sits up a bit when you enter. He smiles once you’re close enough, your heart pounding so loud that you’re sure he can hear it. 

“Hey,” he greets you. 

You collapse in the seat beside him and look over, giving him a small smile. 

“Hey,” you reply. 

Rafe goes quiet for a second, and you look around the room to try and calm your beating heart. You spy Lindsay, Rafe’s friend, staring at the two of you from across the room. She’s sitting in Rafe’s old seat, probably hoping he’d sit with her this week. You just shrug and look away from her, not concerned in the slightest. You also watch as your professor walks in and note that class starts in four minutes. 

“Look,” Rafe starts, leaning over to you, overwhelming you with his scent, “I’m sorry if I made things weird on Wednesday. I wasn’t trying to push you into anything. I’ll keep my hands to myself from now on. I promise.”

He smells like mint mixed in with his cologne, a scent you can’t quite pinpoint but feel intoxicated by the way it blurs your senses. 

“As you should,” you reply, avoiding those eyes. 

His shoulders fall slightly, which you note out of the corner of your eye. 

Your professor turns on the projector and stands up, forcing Rafe to face forward in his seat. Another wash of cologne hits you, and it snaps in place in your mind. Bergamot and a hint of lavender. Mixed with the mint of his breath, it quickly becomes your favorite. You give in and lean over to him, watching as his head shifts down to look at you. 

“But it’s okay,” you reply quietly, “I didn’t really mind it.”

He smiles then, and you straighten yourself in your seat. He watches you pull out your laptop and start taking notes the same way he does, entering them all into your own Google Doc. Just as you start typing, he leans over. 

“You’re distracting me again.”

He watches you shrink down in your seat, hiding your smile with all of your strength. 

The rest of class goes by without a peep from either of you, but you can feel the glances he steals every so often. When he doesn’t catch something your professor said, he leans in over your shoulder and looks at your screen, copying what you typed. You let him; every movement allows more of his scent to travel over to you. 

When class ends, you stuff your laptop in your bag and pull out your notebook. Rafe hurries to stuff his things into his bag to keep up with you, not even noticing how you scribble something down on the paper and then tear the piece from your notebook. 

You stand after you tuck your notebook away, folding and unfolding the slip of paper between your fingers. 

“I have to get to work,” you tell him, “Here.”

With no reluctance at all, he takes the slip of paper from your grip.

“What’s this?”

You walk backwards toward the door, smiling when you see it click in his head. 

“My new number.”

You turn before he can speak again, but those eyes burn into the back of your head for the entirety of your exit. 

     You’re not sure what it is, exactly. You’re not sure if it’s the fact that Bryn switched out of her shift, or that Jamie keeps brushing up against you every time he passes you behind the bar, or that you could swear you saw Campbell in the crowd. You’re not completely sure, and you try to keep yourself calm, but you can feel his presence. 

The second the crowd starts to die out, you tell Jamie you have to leave. It’s about one-thirty, and before he can give you shit, you clock out. 

“Didn’t do so hot on the tips tonight, Y/N,” he tells you, “Maybe wear shorts next week.”

You just roll your eyes, opting to keep your mouth shut. You escape out the side door, calming down a bit when your car is in sight. Checking your phone, you find a text from an unknown number. 

It’s Rafe. From Global Aspects. The guy you committed academic dishonesty with. Just in case you needed a refresher. Have a good shift.

You smile down at the message before you can help yourself. With the intention of replying, you glance back up to see how far you are from your car. You freeze, your heart sinking in your chest when you see a figure leaning against the driver’s side door. 

“No frat boy to walk you out tonight?” Campbell questions, feigning innocence. 

“Get away from me,” you snap at him, keeping your distance. 

Campbell laughs, “Come on, sweetheart. You can drop the hard to get act. You and I both know how easy you really are.”

Your jaw clenches at that, but he still has not moved an inch from the door. You debate running, but you have no idea where you could go that he wouldn’t catch you. 

“What do you want?” you ask him. 

“What do I want?” he repeats, indignant, “I want you to respond when I text you. When I ask you a fucking question. When I show how much I care about you by buying you a plane ticket I know you can’t afford on your own–”

“I don’t want your plane ticket, Campbell,” you stop him, “I’m not going to Milan, or Prague, or Bora Bora–”

In two strides, he’s in front of you. In one more, he has you pinned to your car, one hand on your throat and the other pressing your hip into the metal. You bite back your whine, not wanting to show him any weakness, even though you’re sure you’re one second away from a panic attack. 

“You’re a bit ungrateful, you know that?” he practically growls, “I buy you all these things, give you all new experiences, show you the life you could have, and you choose this? You choose bartending and a golden retriever frat boy? A piece of shit car that will fall apart any day now? No, sweetheart, I think you better think again.”

“Let go of me,” you demand, attempting to shove him off of you. 

His grip around your throat only tightens, and when you start to choke, when he sees the fear in your eyes, he laughs cruelly and releases you. You suck in breaths and try to calm yourself down, refusing to fall apart in front of him. 

He takes one singular step back, watching you as you try and get a grip on your emotions. 

“I love you, you know,” he says, grabbing your hand and squeezing it when you try to yank away, “I always have.”

You bite your tongue, figuring that it’s better for you not to say anything than to say whatever it is you’re thinking. He squeezes your hand again and then releases it, letting you dig through your bag to locate your keys. 

“You should get some rest, you look like shit,” he tells you, “I’ll be back from Milan next week. You’ll be good for me until I get back, won’t you?”

When you don’t look up at him, he leans down and wraps his hand around your jaw, gripping your cheeks and forcing you to meet his gaze. 

“Won’t you?” he repeats. 

He releases you only when you nod weakly. You find your keys and unlock the car, diving inside before he can say another word. 

“Be good,” he calls, but you’re too busy driving away through shaky hands. 

You make it exactly a mile and a half before you have to pull over. Your tears are blurring your vision and your hands shake too much to even try to grip the steering wheel. The second you’re in a parking space, you lock the doors and suck in a deep breath, willing yourself not to break apart in the parking lot of a McDonald’s at two in the morning. 

You grab your phone, intending to call Bryn. Instead, you unlock it and find the text from Rafe still sitting up on the screen, begging for a response. You’re not sure whether it’s Campbell’s words about Rafe, or just the thought of him comforting you, but you’re dialing the number before you can talk yourself out of it. 

The phone rings a time and a half before it gets picked up, his voice radiating through the phone and calming your nerves. 

“Hello? Y/N?”

You sniffle quietly, cursing yourself for not thinking this through. He’s going to know you’re upset, and he’s not going to let it go. 

“Hi,” you say weakly, your voice cracking giving you away. 

The end of his call is loud, and you hear him shuffle immediately once you speak. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks urgently. 

“Nothing,” you say quickly. 

Your voice is too nasally, and your sniffles tell Rafe all he needs to know. 

“Where are you?” he questions. 

His end of the call goes quieter. You hear a door click shut on his end, and it comforts you to know he’s alone now. 

“Y/N–”

You stop him, “Tell me something. I know nothing about you, Rafe. Distract me.”

“Okay,” he says reluctantly, “Like what?”

“What have you been doing tonight?” you ask. 

“I was just hanging out with some of the guys in my frat,” he says, “And then you called, and now I’m in my room, staring at my fan.”

You let out a sad laugh, and hear him laugh into the phone on the other end. 

“Tell me something real,” you murmur. 

“Okay,” he says again, but he’s far less reluctant now, “My mom died when I was twelve–”

“Jesus, Rafe, you really went from one extreme to another, huh?” you gape. 

He laughs again, “I’m trying to tell you something real here.”

“Sorry,” you smile. 

You can feel yourself relaxing as he speaks, and when your back meets the seat, you feel your first full breath come in. 

“Anyway, she died when I was twelve. My dad got remarried when I was sixteen, and I really wasn’t a part of his new family plan, you know? So, after I graduated high school, I got a job and then got accepted into UNC. I work four days a week as a receptionist at an accounting firm, which helps put me through school. It’s a lot of work, but it’s what my mom would’ve wanted. She always told me getting a degree is one of the best moves I could make. She even had an account for me and everything, but my dad transferred the money to my sister.”

“That’s not fair,” you tell him, as if he’s unaware. 

He laughs softly, “No. But it’s okay. I’ve made it work.”

You grow quiet for a minute, just listening to him breathe into the phone. You suck in a few breaths and wipe your cheeks, praying there’s not a Campbell sized bruise around your neck. 

“Thanks for telling me something real,” you say, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I’m sorry you’re upset,” he counters, “Do you want to talk? Or need me to come get you?”

You shake your head and sit up, swallowing back any rising emotions and telling yourself to move forward. 

“I’m okay,” you reply, “I should get home. Sorry to interrupt your night.”

“Y/N, you haven’t interrupted anything,” he says, his voice more serious than you’ve ever heard it, “You can call me anytime. Are you sure you’re okay to get home?”

“Yes, I’m okay,” you promise, “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Will you text me when you get home safe?”

You swallow down the emotions that request brings up, too. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

“Good. Drive safely.”

“I will.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Rafe.”

Tags: @witchwyfe @lurkymurker @ghostselena @goldenjo @storytellingwitht @scenesofobx @itsalexwin @onmykneesforrafe @valeriiecameron @lovedetlost @mardema @girlsneedloovee @wishing-i-was-rafes-princess @malums-trash-can @emotionalbruv @parkerreidnorth @rafecameronswhore @wanniiieeee @sarahwasfound @abrunettefangirlnerd @absolute-fcking-chaos @jordynsharum @premixed-margarita @anonymousobxfan @samcaniglia @iammirrorball @thisisthewayrose @r0und3bitch @thesimpletype @notdisneychannel @gillybear17 @solllaris @i-is-for-inspiring @sksliz @luversgirl @maybankxw @mattyskies @booktalks @mannstarkey @totallynotkaibiased

#rafe fic #rafe cameron #rafe #rafe cameron imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe obx #rafe imagine #rafe x you #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #outer banks netflix #outerbanks #outerbanks netflix #outer banks

[bananastarion]

I guess the weird thing about me is that often in my fantasies, things tend to go wrong instead of following some sort of ideal? Or maybe that's normal lol.

Like for example, I imagine post-ending Tav and Astarion getting to enjoy the night life a little and tavern hopping. Tav has taken on a nocturnal schedule to spend more quality time with their vampiric lover. As an aside, I envision a conversation between them at some point where Astarion feels bad that they have forsaken the sun when they don't have to, to which Tav responds "If I want to go out in the sun again, I will. But honestly, you are all the light I need in my life <3" Gosh I'm cheesy ok

I also have this (probably not DnD accurate) headcanon that vampires can catch a buzz off the alcohol content in blood, and in fact are acutely sensitive to it. So Tav gets drunk, and then they sneak out back so Astarion can get second hand drunk off their blood. You save a lot of money this way!

But one night, this all takes a turn for the worse. Astarion is drinking from Tav and they get caught by a drunk girl who had snuck into the same alley for a smoke. Instead of being frightened, she's curious about what they're doing and asks if he'll drink from her too. Normally this wouldn't happen, but Astarion is drunk and hungry, and impulsively decides to give her a nibble. The problem is, this girl was SCHWASTED, and possibly on some other things too.

You notice something's wrong as her blood kicks in, and decide it's time to go home. It doesn't take long before Astarion is drunker than you've ever seen him. Maybe more drunk than he's ever been in over 200 years. Normally he's a happy drunk, but at this point gradually he's becoming a weepy, sloppy mess. He expresses remorse about taking advantage of that drunk girl, that it reminds him of what he used to do and he feels disgusted by it. You agree that it wasn't right, and can't ever happen again. As you near where you're staying that night, he starts pouring his heart out to you, saying all the things he feels but is too restrained to express so sincerely normally. How in love he is with you, how he doesn't know what to do with himself, how scary and beautiful and overwhelming it is. How afraid he is, how happy he is, how he'd do anything for you. His confession is raw and confusing, but very sincere. In vino veritas.

It would almost be romantic, if not for the word vomit leading to actual vomit. Regular drunken puking is horrible, but when it's all blood... Gods, you're so glad he got that out of his system before you got inside. When you get to your room, you comfort him and make sure he's doing okay. At this point he's sleepy and incoherent, vacillating between asking you for a cuddle and asking you if he's a bad person. His voice is high, whiny and breathy, like it's taking a lot of energy just to talk. After babysitting him for a bit, you finally get to rest. He's got a wicked hangover the next morning, and is completely embarrassed about the night before and doesn't want to even address it. It puts you both off drinking for a while. But eventually, with time it becomes a night you get to tease him about mercilessly. And with even more time, the things he admitted to you that night come more easily, and without any alcohol needed in the equation.

#headcanons #tw vomit #astarion #dumb shit

[lutawolf]

TharnType Episode 2

I received a lot of feedback asking me to not stop these reviews. I'm not shying away from the ugly or the toxic guys. I'm facing them head on and recognizing them, but that doesn't mean I can't still love the characters and their story. To quote @idlebeks "Toxic characters have an important place in fiction. They can act as vehicles of catharsis and self-examination" And there is nothing wrong with enjoying the show as you make these revelations. It's actually what makes these self revelations easier to take in.

So we left off with Tharn having crossed the line, but we cheered, cause revenge. And who hasn't wanted revenge? In the cold light of morning, we laugh because Type squeezes the shoulder as if it's a boob, but we have to admit this feels awkward. Not gonna lie, the first time I saw this, I laughed. But the look of horror and remembering he is an SA had me throw up. How conflicting is that! As an SA, I'm programmed to want revenge, but seeing the revenge on an SA has me pausing and stepping back.

Type pulls the blanket over his head and there is this need to laugh. Because a grown boy is hiding. But that grown boy has reverted back to the past when he was a boy with no way to fight and could only hide. Tharn calls him a coward. This is why Type is hypermasculine because anytime weakness is show it's used against him. Remember how Techno said that he was made fun of and asked if he'd been molested. Any time Type shows weakness, it's used. It's just like earlier this week, I was told anon that I wasn't really a survivor, they were trying to exploit what they perceived as a weakness. But I'm a survivor, not a victim, so I'm hella harder to hurt. Type is still a victim and his weaknesses are being exploited.

Tharn asks Type if he is crying, and Type says no and gets aggressive. He's putting that armor on. You can see that Tharn is feeling bad about what he did. We get some humor to combat all these emotions, and it really does help us to kind of take a break and breath. It's the humor of his butt hurting from falling off the bed to finding the hickeys.

I love the conversation between Techno and Type. Type is pissed because Techno left him, and honestly, I think that's valid. But Techno says, and I quote, "Stop right there! This whole thing is your fault. You got yourself drunk when you knew exactly who you were with." but I've never heard this part brought up and talked about. Most likely because Type is a male and not female. In Techno's book, he gets drunk, and he has sex with Kla, Kla being completely sober and taking advantage of Techno's drunken state. Afterward, Techno feels responsible and later Type will say, "How did this happen. I made sure you were safe and in your house." Type is with Tharn when Techno's book is written, but that moment had a significance to Type. He made sure to try and keep Techno from having the same experience as him.

But when he finds out that in Techno's drunken state, he crawled into the wrong bed. He repeats Techno's words back to him. Are you seeing the multifaucet of the author? This lets us know a few things, that this is likely a common thought process in Thailand. But she switched the script, making the person male, and few people caught and noticed. Then she went on to take revenge on the person who said this, and everyone was mad because they love Techno and things like this shouldn't happen. But they didn't originally feel that way when it was Type. I fucking love how deep MAME takes her books.

Type suddenly doesn't want to switch rooms. He has unfinished business with his roommate. Is it true, or is he feeling a draw? There is a thin line between love and hate sometimes. And we have another victim, and we see how differently two SA survivors can be. One putting on an armor of hate and the other hiding from the world, afraid.

Tharn starting to feel guilty. We see it in his long puppy dog face. Then Type eats his snacks. "I ate it. So what." We see Tharn bitch about this but then smile at the sticky note and keep it. This indicates that he intended for Type to eat the snacks. Was it to help with his guilt, or because he too is feeling a pull that he'd much rather deny?

The whole porn group chat was hilarious. I also like how all the girls were like ew, like girls don't like porn. To be fair, I hate porn, for very personal reasons, but I do like the porn from these shows. It's the romance, romance changes the whole dialect. Anyway, he's got his tissue box and is ready to go to town. And then the getting caught. Legendary. It's like that horrifying moment when you lose your bikini bottoms in the water and come up mooning everybody.

The next part literally had me leaning over and being sick, but let's talk about it. Type pushed too far and pushed Tharn into an anger that he couldn't come back from. Remember how I said hate can push people to do ugly acts. Type is strong, but right now his brain has him in two places at once and is telling him that he has the strength of that kid. You know why elephants can be held tied by just one rope on the foot? Because as a baby they tried and tried to break that rope and couldn't. Their spirit was broken, and now the grown adult elephant believes himself weak. Type can be brutal when faced with verbal attacks, but physical attacks take him back to being a boy and weak. It freezes him, and it's very hard to break free from. Are you guys starting to see why I say that MAME knows too much about victims and survivors. How many of you who aren't survivors understood any of this prior to my review?

Now that, I've been sick about three times. So Type is about to spiral into self-hate. "Why am I so weak, how could I let this happen again, why didn't I fight harder, why am I weak. Did this happen because I deserved it." Yeah, pretty nasty verbiage that goes on in our heads. This is why therapy is a fucking must. I also want to talk about if you were unbothered by that scene, and you are a survivor. It doesn't matter how you reacted to that scene, we all handle our survival differently. You don't go around hurting people. Let yourself off the hook for how your brain chooses to cope.

Tharn is finally starting to think. Flashing back and putting some things together. Notice he doesn't talk to his bestie the way Type talks to his. That suggest that on some level, Tharn knew not to trust him. After the flashback, Tharn decides not to stay to eat. We then see Type tossing and turning in bed. He's having PTSD nightmares. Actually, nightmares are one of the primary symptoms that help to achieve the diagnosis of PTSD, because they aren't just regular nightmares. They lock you into place. When it comes to PTSD nightmares, what you dream can be just as terrifying as the original event.

Tharn walks in on the nightmare. He is very lucky he was not hurt. In a dream state, we will fight back. I have punched my husband. I'm not kidding, I've really hurt my husband when I've been in the throes of a PTSD nightmare. Comfort is a necessity and something that Tharn freely gives. I'm gonna be honest. The slap was expected for me. Imagine waking up from a living nightmare and seeing the person responsible for you going back to that. "What the hell was that for? I helped wake you up!" Why do people incite a riot and then get mad when you riot? Neither one of them are guiltless. Which is why they are actually very perfect for each other.

See how hard Tharn verbally hits, "I was kind enough to help a grown man who is afraid of nightmares." He let his anger take over and allows him to say ugly things. That's the point, neither person is fully good or fully bad, but they are controlled by their extreme emotions. It's leading them to be people that neither one wants to be. "I'm not afraid of nightmares. Back off if you don't know anything." Tharn softly asks, "then what are you afraid of?" but Type is hurt, and he'll put on his armor of anger. "Nothing! I'm not afraid of anything." That hypermasculinity to hide that he has any weaknesses. Tharn once again soft but then his voice raises in the end with his frustration, "do you expect me to believe that when you are trembling and crying. Stop being cocky." Completely unaware that he couldn't have said anything worse. They've both vicious cycle hurt each other with words, not yet willing to look at the other person's pain.

Fuck me guys! Do you really not see the beauty in this show? Type begins crying and holding himself. Doing self soothing gestures as he says, "I didn't ask for help." I'm not weak, I didn't ask for help. Therapy, people, therapy is the only way through this. We all wish there was a magical dick or pussy that can cure us. That's in part why we love this show, but it really can't.

We see Tharn looking into the mirror and the mix of emotions. A lot of times mirrors in art are used to reflect truths because mirrors can't tell a lie. The idea is that mirrors reflect a hidden truth, perhaps a window, a more realistic version of ourselves. The image that appears in a mirror can be thought of as being more revealing than surface appearance.

The stress has caused Type to become sick. Which happens, you have an anxiety attack with PTSD, it's like having a heart attack and can cause your body to overload. So yes, it is a real thing to stress yourself into being sick.

Techno calls a moody and sad puppy, Tharn, over to ask if Type is badly sick. Tharn offers to check on Type and steals the porridge from Techno. At this point, I think we can all safely assume that Tharn is gone on Type. Type is an asshole sure but before the whole gay reveal, they got along, they matched well. Then add in the fact that there are all these strong emotions flying around. Attractions were bound to happen, but Tharn is also a caretaker and Type is in need of caring. There are people who are naturally drawn to co-dependency.

Tharn takes care of Type as he has a fever and seeing the puppy dog Type does him in. You can see it happening. He started to feel the attraction at the soft and vulnerable Type, even if he doesn't want to admit it, and seeing it while he is sick is making the attraction stronger. Here is the thing. Type needs this. Type left the Island and his parents to get away. Whose really taken care of him? He clearly hasn't had therapy. He is starved for real love and affection, but he is too afraid of being called weak. They honestly are brilliantly imperfectly perfect for each other. And that's all us survivors want, we want someone to get past our walls and love us despite the ever present thorns.

Techno says it best when he agrees to not tell Type about Tharn nursing. "You two are equally weird." Type keeps questioning who cared for him because he is extremely smart. In the book this is brought up a lot, he is book and street smart. He knows it wasn't Techno that took care of him. Type pretends to be asleep when Tharn checks him for a fever, and Tharn calls him on it. Again, we get that comic relief. When things are too tense, we get something to help us take a moment.

Did you happen to notice them talk about Kla in the part where Techno and Type are playing video games. Techno's brother comes in with snacks from Kla who got them in Japan, and he hands the whole bag to Techno. Now if your best friend gave you snack from Japan, you just gonna give them away to your brother? Well yes, if your said best friend tells you to because he has a massive crush on your said brother. You guys think Type is bad, Kla is bad. Kla don't give a shit about nobody but Techno. He will use and abuse for Techno's attention. The only thing that keeps him in check is Type and his fear of him.

Techno is not as innocent as you guys think. He purposely lets slip that Tharn took care of him to Type. Remember me saying that Techno is the neutralizer here. That you get the truth from him. Three sides to everything, well Techno is the third as the truth. He tells Type, "Why didn't you realize it was the person you hate, your enemy, that cared for you because you know that's not me." Basically telling Type how great Tharn his and that he was well aware that it was Tharn that took care of him, but he didn't want to admit it. "If it had been me, you would have ended up in the hospital. Tharn is the right guy for this kind of stuff." He is telling us that Tharn is a caretaker.

One act of kindness did what anger could not do. It got through. Is Type a completely changed or better person. Not yet, but that true act of kindness created a crack. Where anger and hatred just created more divide. There are reasons why you can't match hatred with hatred. Story time. I grew up with someone who would later be an infamous killer, I won't say who, otherwise it will lead you right to where I live. Suffice it to say when I found out he had been executed, I cried like a fucking baby. And guys, I don't cry. But this person who had hurt, so many, was one of the few people to treat me with incredible kindness when I was harassed in school. Maybe if more people had shown him kindness, like he had shown me. Then maybe we both could have been saved. When the urge to hate happens. I think of that. I don't know what someone else is going through or what burden they are carrying, and could my one act of kindness to their hate be the ripple effect.

I sometimes debate on if I get to person. I do it because for me this is part live journal and writing. When I write a review, I'm honestly not trying to write for the audience as much as I'm trying to just convey my feelings. Which is why this got so freaking long. I'm kind of horrified at how long this got. Think I might go hide myself in music. So sorry about that, but hopefully you guys enjoy some of it. Thank You 💜💜💜

#tharntype #luta talks tharntype #bl series #thai bl series #luta opinion

[admirableadmiranda]

How to you feel about wwx sort of taking advantage of lwj when he’s drunk re: the kiss? (It’s a genuine question, I’m trying to instigate a fandom war or bash any character!)

Well first off anon, I think that framing it as "sort of taking advantage" already states where your thoughts on it lie. I recognize that you do likely mean to be neutral and are asking in good faith and just accidentally missed the word not, but the way you phrased the question does have a lead in.

Which is really unfair because I wouldn't call either stolen kiss in Modaozushi either one of them taking advantage of the other. They are both impulsive actions, taken then immediately regretted with neither of the kissed party punishing the other in any way.

The Phoenix Mountain Kiss has been done to death, but let's go ahead and talk about the DrunkJi 2 kiss. It might be a bit scattered because I was having some revelations myself about this moment when I was rereading the scene. Namely that LWJ is being a lot more consenting than it first appears.

They are both not sober in the moment. Wei Wuxian was drinking before Lan Wangji joined him, at the end of the scene he discovers that the whole bottle is empty while he's all rattled about it. I would hesitate to call Wei Wuxian drunk, but as someone who has had more than my own fair share of drinks, there is a point where you can still be very aware of your actions, your senses yet your instinct that pulls you back is numbed. And it does not necessarily take a lot of drinking to get there.

They have been playing a very flirty game. Lan Wangji was threatened if he got caught during chase to get licked and his response was to turn around and walk right into Wei Wuxian to be licked. He gets all shuddery and fluttery about it like the flustered maiden he is, but also goes back in for more. He is definitely very drunk, but every sign that Wei Wuxian is getting is not only a level of enjoyment, but actively seeking out more. In addition, this is the second time Lan Wangji has gotten drunk around Wei Wuxian, so it's not like it's a surprise to either of them that he's a bit of a wild child, running around, causing trouble and being a pouty baby when Wei Wuxian doesn't give him what he wants. Lan Wangji choosing to drink alongside Wei Wuxian is both of them acknowledging that this is going to go in interesting directions; Lan Wangji is not going to remember it and he trusts Wei Wuxian with his drunken inhibition free self.

Here's where we get to the first amazing thing I've discovered on rereading this. There is a lot more going on beneath the surface than framing this as Wei Wuxian suddenly kissing Lan Wangji out of nowhere. This whole scene is showing us what their dynamic really was when they were younger and how only now do they have the ability to actually pick up on these confused signals that they were sending each other as teenagers.

Lan Wangji may be drunk, but for the first time, Wei Wuxian is absolutely picking up on what he wants.

As he was pondering, Lan WangJi turned around, his face as calm as always, “Again.”

Wei WuXian, “Again? Again what?”

Lan WangJi hid behind the wooden screen once more and peeked at him with only half of his face showing.

His intentions were as clear as could be—again, you chase, I run.

Speechless for a moment, Wei WuXian obeyed and did it again. This time, having only been chased for a short while, Lan WangJi ran into him again.

Wei WuXian, “You really are doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

Again, Lan WangJi brought Wei WuXian’s arms around his neck as though he couldn’t understand what his words meant, waiting for him to fulfil his promise again.

These are not the actions of someone who just wants to play. There is a whole other layer going on beneath the surface. A context clue clicks into place for Wei Wuxian and presumably the audience as well, although that latter one I strongly doubt given that I only really caught onto it now myself.

Lan Wangji is not running because he is afraid or because he isn’t enjoying it. Lan Wangji is running because he wants to be chased and caught. He wants to resist up to a point and then give into Wei Wuxian and surrender the need to pretend and protest. Wei Wuxian is teasing him as though he were a playful kid, cause licking is gross at that age and it theoretically should make Lan Wangji run faster. Instead he makes it a few steps, turns around and walks right into Wei Wuxian’s arms.

It is rather an intensely vulnerable scene as I reread it for this. For just a moment, Wei Wuxian lets his guard down because Lan Wangji is asking him for something very different than he might sober and he is responding to that deep attraction within the both of them. He has picked up on that Lan Wangji was a little frightened of the deepness of the emotions within, but also he really does want it. Thus he continues because he for a brief few splendid moments has no doubt.

With his arms around Lan WangJi, Wei WuXian returned to the bed with him, then asked, “You like this, don’t you? Don’t turn around. Speak. Do you like it or not? If you like it, we don’t have to run around every single time. How about I let you have as much fun as you want?”

As he spoke, he held up one of Lan WangJi’s hands, bent down, and kissed between two of his slender fingers.

Lan WangJi wanted to take his hand away again, but Wei WuXian held it tightly, not allowing him to do so.

And then, Wei WuXian’s lips pressed onto his distinct knuckles. Softer than the touch of feather, his breaths wandered to the back of his hand, and he kissed again.

It is easy to forget, especially since the extent of Lan Wangji's strength won't be shown until the Guanyin Temple, about sixty chapters away from this point, but he is very strong and Wei Wuxian is in the body of a normal person who has not cultivated a golden core. The text here in ExR Allure says that Wei Wuxian wouldn't let him pull his hand away, but if he actually really wanted to stop it, he could easily pull his hand away or push Wei Wuxian off. He is not resisting because he doesn’t want it, he is resisting because he is continuing to play hard to get.

He is still being chased, Wei Wuxian is about to catch him.

Lan WangJi couldn’t pull his hand back no matter how hard he tried. He could only clench his fingers together into a tight fist.

Wei WuXian lifted up his sleeves, revealing the pale-skinned wrist, then kissed it as well.

After he kissed, he didn’t raise his head. He only turned his eyes to Lan WangJi, “Is that enough?”

Is that enough for Lan Wangji, hapless fragile maiden being seduced by the man he really, really likes? No, no he would like a little more romancing please.

Lan WangJi pursed his lips, refusing to speak a single word. Wei WuXian finally sat up straight again and continued, his voice unhurried, “Tell me. Have you burnt any paper money for me?”

There was no answer. Wei WuXian laughed out loud and inched toward him. Over the clothing, he kissed where his heart was, “If you don’t talk, I’m not gonna give you any more. Tell me. How did you know it was me?”

Lan WangJi closed his eyes. His lips quivered, as though he was on the verge of confessing.

Suddenly, however, as Wei WuXian stared at those soft, pale-red lips, he didn’t know what had taken over him, but he suddenly went and kissed them.

After the kiss, he even licked them, as though a kiss wasn’t enough.

Wei Wuxian accidentally flips the game here. Lan Wangji is being coaxed slowly here and he is about to give in. Presumably to confess something that he might have wished he was sober to say, but as we’ve ascertained in both this and the previous DrunkJi he won’t speak if he doesn’t want to. Then Wei Wuxian gets a bit caught up in the moment and his lowered inhibitions get the better of him and he suddenly has to kiss Lan Wangji.

And there is no denying it that it is an impulse. He is shocked and rattled by what he’s just done and panics, throwing himself on the ground while Lan Wangji knocks himself out. Now I may be crucified by the purity police, but I’m pretty sure that taking advantage of someone involves some intent to y’know, take advantage of them. Not get caught up in the moment when you’re romantically playing with the guy you’ve been in love with since you were fifteen and get overwhelmed by instinct before remembering the situation and panicking. It throws him off balance so badly that he needs some time to recover from it.

Both of them widened their eyes.

A moment later, Lan WangJi raised his hand. At once, Wei WuXian was startled into realization. He immediately broke into a cold sweat, fearing that Lan WangJi would smack him dead on the spot, and quickly scrambled off the bed. Turning around, he saw Lan WangJi smack his own forehead. He now lay unconscious, collapsed on the bed.

Inside of the private room, Lan WangJi lay on the bed as Wei WuXian sat on the ground. A cold gust of wind rushed inside through the opened windows, sending chills down Wei WuXian’s back. His head finally felt clearer.

He stood up from the ground, pushed the table to where it used to be, then sat down beside it.

After spacing out for a while, he used his teeth to bite at the knots on the forehead ribbon. With effort, he finally managed to open the stack of lumps.

Now that his hands had been loosened, to get over the shock, he went to pour himself a cup of liquor. He held the cup to his lips for a few moments, but not a single drop entered his mouth. Looking down, he finally saw that there wasn’t any liquor in the cup at all. He had already downed the entire pot. Even when he was pouring, he failed to notice that nothing was being poured out.

Wei Wuxian is not exactly at his finest moment here. He might be a little bit rattled. First he has to sit on the ground for a bit. Then he moves the table, sits down and spaces out again. Even the exertion and effort required to untie himself still doesn’t snap him out of it as he still fails to notice that there’s no alcohol in his cup until he tries to drink it. Again, I would not call this taking advantage of Lan Wangji in any way as the very fact that he lost control for a moment and went that far has clearly shaken him up pretty badly.

There are definitely some things with consent in Wangxian, both in them crossing lines and in learning how to communicate with each other. But the fact that people want to blame one of them for their actions when what we get is that one of them makes a mistake and the other both forgives them and they learn from it frustrates me.

I’m not going to say that Wei Wuxian took advantage of Lan Wangji here. I’m not going to say that Lan Wangji took advantage of Wei Wuxian on Phoenix Mountain. I am going to say that they were two people who had no one to offer them guidance who sometimes fumbled a bit on the path to building a lovely, healthy, happy, trusting relationship.

Because sometimes it really actually doesn’t matter that much and people put way too much emphasis on making sure that every action someone takes is the perfect correct action and anything that even hints at maybe not being perfect must be apologized and corrected for. It’s a horribly restrictive way of looking at relationships and to me speaks of people not trusting each other at all.

Wangxian don’t hold any of these actions against each other, why are we?

#mdzs #wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #drunkji #asks #anon #anon asks #consent talk #what is with this need to blame wangxian for their actions #especially considering that wwx's response to finding out that lwj kissed him all those years ago #is to be super happy that it was lwj because he's never wanted to kiss anyone else #lwj's reaction on waking up isn't to wonder what happened or be concerned #it's to tease wwx that he reaps what he sows #they trust each other so much #why do we need to take that away for consent debates

[krikeymate]

I’m writing a Tara, soccer playing AU. Kind of, maybe. I don’t know, it’s still in development. (I have like 2000 ish words)

I was just wondering how you thought Sam would react to Tara getting injured/hurt during a game? (Or just any thoughts in general. - Sorry, bit of an odd one but I look up to your writing and way of thinking and just yeah)

She’s 11 when she joins the team in middle school, Sam hates the idea. Tara’s tiny, small for her age and the other kids tower over her with ease. Her fear of Tara getting hurt is overwhelming at times, she wants to make her quit on numerous occasions but doesn’t have the heart to do so after seeing how much joy it brings her. Especially after her mother makes a drunken comment about how girls don’t play soccer, that Tara is too small and weak for sports. She knows Tara will prove her wrong.

She’s their star player after all, her size actually working to her advantage, allowing her to dip and weave between players with speed.

Tara inevitably gets hurt in a game, some small neighbouring town where the team is made up of older kids from higher grades. Sam on the side of the pitch, absolutely seething at what was clearly a intentionally bad tackle. She knew this would happen, her initial emotional response leads to her wanting to tell her sister I told you so. But Tara is still on the ground, clutching at her leg as she cries in pain, her team starting to crowd around her in concern.

She finds herself toe to toe with the ref and opposing teams coach nearby to her sister, shouting in their faces about what has happened until she hears Tara calling her name.

“Sammy?” There’s a quiver to a voice, one that makes Sam’s entire chest contract painfully. It only fuels her rage that someone had caused this but right now Tara needs her sister.

Tara is her focus. It’s not like she could beat up the kid in front of the entire crowd of parents. Although she wishes she could.

SPORTS? In my pagan inbox? HELL YEAH! You make that AU buddy, sounds like you're doing so well so far, a couple thousand words is nothing to scoff at!!

This sounds so good, and I hope you share it with us when (if) you're ready. I love what you've said, it works perfectly! I think you've got a great grasp on the characters.

I feel like Sam sees Tara go down and she's definitely elbowing people out the way, climbing over a barrier if there is one. She can hear Tara sniffling, but she's not bawling, she didn't scream, so it can't be a serious injury. She gets in the face of the kid who barreled into her, screams, asks them "what the fuck was that!" The ref and the coach gets in between them, tells her to take a step back. Then Tara's calling for her.

Her legs hurts so much and it's so loud and she's feeling overwhelmed. She just wants her sister.

Sam has more to say, but she turns and scoops Tara up on her arms.

Her teammates will make fun of her for being a baby later, but Tara doesn't care when Sam's arms are around her. It only makes her more determined to do better next time.

#/mp #ask box #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #miscellaneous scream au's

[corrodedseraphine]

playlist | #4 it could have been me

pairing: eddie munson x henderson!reader

summary: Just when you thought the boy you were in love with all through high school was gone, he suddenly reappears as your little brother's friend. Fate has once again decided to join your paths, however, everything turns out to be a bit complicated. Will Eddie Munson's sudden return to your life bring with it even more changes?

the story is also avaliable on ao3

masterlist | eddie munson masterlist | general masterlist

songs which I used in this chapter: Elle King - America's Sweetheart and The Struts - Could Have Been Me

The concert part was really fun to write, I hope you will like it!

"Can I come in?" Steve asked tilting the door to Dustin's room slightly. "I can't stand them anymore." Eddie wasn't sure if he was comfortable in the presence of the former king of Hawkins High. From the kids' stories, it looked like his character had changed a hundred and eighty degrees, but he didn't know if he could take their word for it. On the other hand, he may indeed have changed, but not everyone was necessarily affected by this change. Had King Steve really stopped being an asshole? He hoped so. Without a word, he shifted on the bed, and Harrington threw himself into the vacant seat with a loud groan.

"I swear they're insufferable sometimes." he commented, and when the sound of yours and Robin's laughter reached them he rolled his eyes.

"What did they do again?"

"We started watching a new series, The Boys, y'know about those superheroes who are actually evil..."

"I like that series." Eddie commented.

"The series is cool, but their behavior?" he replied pointing with his hand toward the living room. "They suck."

"What do you mean?"

"When Kimko appeared on screen Robin almost licked it man, and y/n? She can't stop marveling at Hughie, you can't even focus properly on watching because they won't stop talking!"

"Oh no! How about Diego Hargreeves having to share y/n's heart with ANOTHER fictional character?" your brother said sarcastically.

"I don't know, but the list is getting longer and longer." laughed Steve. "What are you studying?" he asked.

"The queen of science, math." said a somewhat embarrassed Eddie handing him a book.

"Shit, I remember that section, I barely managed to pass it."

"I don't understand what could be difficult about it." Dustin interjected.

"Oh, just shut up." groaned Eddie.

"Yea, dude, shut up." Steve agreed, throwing a pillow at the younger boy. Maybe Steve Harrington had actually gone to the bright side of power?

You were sitting with Robin in the living room watching the TV. Steve had disappeared into Dustin's room more than an hour ago, and from time to time you could hear the loud laughter of all three of them. You definitely doubted that it was the math that amused them so much.

"So, how's the situation with Tom?" Robin asked taking advantage of the moment that you were alone.

"Nothing new, we're not talking to each other again." you replied. "He took offense at me because I didn't want to go with him and his friends to the lake for the weekend."

"Why didn't you want to?"

"I was supposed to go and guard a bunch of drunken idiots so they wouldn't drown? And "party" all weekend listening to the same thing over and over again?"

"Right..." she sighed, leaning her head against your shoulder.

"I know I'm not the best girlfriend in the world, but I really didn't feel like going there and getting tired. I'm increasingly wondering if this relationship even makes sense."

"I mean..." she began slowly.

"Don't finish. I know what you want to say, but I think I have to come to that conclusion myself in due time."

"Just remember that I'm here for you."

"I know."

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. You lazily got up from the couch completely not expecting to see Will there with tears in his eyes.

"Will, what happened? Are you okay?" What a stupid question, if everything was okay he wouldn't have come here all weepy. "Come in." You said taking his hand and led him to the living room couch. Seeing his condition Robin rose from her reclining position and looked hard at him.

"Okay kid, who do I have to kill?" she asked in a serious tone.

"Can you handle half the school?" he asked while sniffling.

"Do you want to find out?" she asked with a sinister smile causing him to chuckle quietly, but after a moment sadness took over his face again.

"I didn't know what to do with myself, Jonathan is in Miami with Argyle," he said.

"You know that you can come here at any time." you replied and you both sat down so that Will was between you and Robin. "Now tell us what happened."

"It's about a boy..." he sighed deeply. At the very beginning of high school, he got the courage to do a coming out in front of the whole group. You all unanimously announced that you were glad that he had decided to trust you in this matter and had your full support.

"Oh no, now I'm really have to murder someone," she said.

"Do you think Hopper will let us bury the corpse in your garden?" you turned jokingly to young Bayers.

"It's Liam, from the basketball team." he continued ignoring your question. "We've been writing with each other since the beginning of the school year, sometimes when he wasn't hanging out with his teammates we spent our breaks together, he always came to art club before his practice to talk. Sometimes...Sometimes when we were just the two of us he would grab my hand, so I thought he liked me too. Sometimes I felt like he was flirting with me? I don't know..."

"Turns out he doesn't feel the same?" Robin asked in a voice full of sympathy and put her arm around him.

"I think so..." he replied. "For a while he kept mentioning that we should hang out outside of school, just the two of us, so I thought I'd invite him to tomorrow's concert."

"He didn't agree?" you interjected. The boy was silent for a long moment, and tears once again came to his eyes.

"I wanted to go there with him, I even asked Hopper if he would drive us, since it's about a twenty-minute drive. Lucas told me they were having a training session after class today, so I wanted to catch him before. I hadn't thought through the fact that asking him out in front of a locker room full of his teammates would be a mistake." He hid his face in his hands. "As soon as I finished speaking Jason jumped out of the door and started making fun of me. The entire group except Lucas joined him. Including Liam."

"I swear I'll strangle that kid one day." you were furious. Furious because you knew Jason all too well. Ironically, the biggest enemy of your brother and his friends was your boyfriend's brother. "Do you want me to talk to Tom about it?" you suggested, hoping that maybe he could somehow control Jason.

"No, please. It's going to get worse."

"Fine." You said hugging him.

"Did we miss the cuddle party?" Steve asked seeing the three of you cuddled up together on the couch.

"What happened Will the Wise?" Eddie added seeing the boy's reddened eyes. The man looked at him uncertainly and then at you mutely asking you if he could trust Eddie on the matter.

"I think you can tell him. He's a good guy." You said squeezing his shoulder and sent Eddie a shy smile. You knew he would never do anything to hurt one of his sheep. More than once you heard stories where he himself shielded them from attacks by bullies from the school.

Will once again got through telling the story, this time it came much more calmly.

"Carver is a piece of shit. I don't know who's more hopeless, him or his asslickers. I think Sinclair is the only sane person out of the whole squad." Eddie commented.

"Yes, Jason is a piece of shit, and I can't believe my sister is still dating his brother!" exclaimed Dustin.

"I started dating Tom before you went to high school you little asshole! Besides, you liked him at first."

"I liked him! Past tense! Now it turns out that being hellacious idiots runs in their family."

"Dustin!" Robin shouted wanting to stand up for you.

"What, when was the last time you saw her happy around him? Because I only associate numerous quarrels, which unfortunately I also hear!"

"Dustin, stop talking." Steve added.

"You all know I'm right!" your brother rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen.

"We're not talking about me now Dustin!" you shouted in exasperation. The worst thing about it all was that he was right. You slowly began to hate who Tom was becoming. Maybe he had always been like this and with you he was just pretending? There was a stunned silence in the room. You looked around at everyone gathered there, each of them pretending to be interested in something completely different. Your gaze was stuck on Eddie, who was nervously playing with the rings on his hand. After a moment, however, he lifted his gaze and your eyes met. He felt sorry to see your sad expression. You looked as if you felt guilty for being in a relationship with Jason's brother. He smiled at you slightly wanting to comfort you in this way, but you quickly looked away.

"No more spitting venom!" Robin said. "I suggest a movie and pizza, how about that?"

"Sounds good." replied Will.

"So I uh- probably should get going, thanks for the lesson Dustin." said Eddie a feeling a little uncomfortable.

"Aren't you staying with us?" asked a puzzled Steve.

"Do you want me to stay?" asked an even more shocked Eddie.

"Yeah, why not? The couch is big enough."

"And, if these two start being at each other's throats we could use another pair of hands to separate them." Robin added with a wince.

Thus, the rest of the day passed by eating junk food and watching movies. You tried to ignore the fact that you and Eddie very often reached for the popcorn bowl at the same time and your hands touched then. You tried very hard to ignore the strange shiver that ran through your body at that moment. When he caught you looking at him from time to time he immediately smiled at you and you reddened and reciprocated. Later, you were embatteled by the asking gaze of Robin, whose attention could not escape anything. You had the feeling that every glance of this kind from her burned you to the ground.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" asked Will when everyone was getting ready to leave.

"Propably nothing." Steve. answered.

"Do you guys wanna go to the concert? I still want to go to it, but not alone. Especially since Jason and his moronic friends might be there."

"That's a good idea, but we won't fit in my car. Eddie, can you handle taking y/n, Dustin and Will with you? I'll take Robin, Max and Lucas and we'll meet you there."

"Oh- sounds like a plan." said a surprised Eddie. Spending time with you for the second day in a row sounded extremely tempting to him. In addition, there was also another new feeling. For the first time in a very long time, he felt wanted somewhere. He felt included in the group hoping that this would not be a one-time action.

When you said goodbye to everyone and closed the door you saw Dustin sitting on the couch. You could see by the look on his face that he was thinking hard about something.

"Hey." you said, sitting down next to him.

"Hey..." he replied quietly. You took the remote control and started switching channels in silence. "I'm sorry." he said after a long moment.

"It's fine." you replied. "I'm not mad," you said.

"He just annoys me so bad y/n. I really can't remember the last time you were happy around him. You are constantly arguing, avoiding him and meetings with him."

"How do you know?"

"He texted me today."

"What?"

"You told him that you don't want to go to the lake with them and you have to watch me. He wrote to me to check on you." Blood boiled inside you.

"Thank you for covering my ass."

"After all, that's what brothers are for, right?"

"True."

"I miss the times when you were happy. It's so much better than the grumpy version of you that trails around the house most of the time."

"I know Dustin, and I promise that will change. But it's not as easy as it seems, y'know?"

"Yeah." He sighed and stood up. "I'm going to go to my room now."

"Goodnight."

"'night."

You were left alone. Maybe not entirely alone. You were accompanied by thoughts that poisoned your brain and your mood. You knew your night will be hard and full of thoughts, questions and doubts.

On Saturday Eddie woke up full of energy, excitedly walking around the apartment humming something under his breath. He spent a little more time today than usual wondering what he should wear. When Uncle Wayne woke up a little earlier than normal he found his nephew throwing all the clothes from the laundry basket onto the floor.

"What are you looking for, kid?" he asked leaning against the doorframe. Eddie only made an irritated sound to return to his room and do the same with the clothes from the closet. An amused Wayne watched the boy closely.

"Have you seen my vest?" the boy was now flipping through the pile of clothes on the floor. "I can't find it anywhere!"

The elder Munson only shook his head and went to the bathroom, where the "missing" vest was hanging on the dryer along with other things Eddie had pulled out after washing yesterday. When he returned to the room, he handed it to his nephew and sat on the bed watching the boy throw all the things back into the closet.

"Any special occasion that you're dressing up like this?" he asked after a moment.

"I'm going to a concert."

"Alone?"

"With...friends." For a moment he wondered if he could call you that. Of course he could say that about all of Hellfire, but could he say the same about Steve, Robin, Max and you? He would have liked to. Especially if it was about you.

"Since you're so worried about your look, I think you should wear that new pink sweater that's been hanging on the rack for a while."

"Oh." his face suddenly turned hot. He knew perfectly well which sweater he was referring to. He knew perfectly well that he was referring to the sweater that he should return to you the next day, but he was always held back by the thought that it might be an excuse for an extra meeting with you.

"Okay, you know I don't mind you bringing home guests while I'm at work, but I hope you know I'm not going to raise another Munson?"

"Jesus Christ Wayne!" shouted Eddie. "It's not at all what you think!" Shocked by his uncle's judgment, he immediately began to explain. "We met at a party that we both wanted to get out of as soon as possible so we bought pizza on the way and came here to see a movie, nothing more!"

"Sounds like a nice home date." Wayne shrugged his shoulders.

"She's got a boyfriend!" yelled Eddie suddenly, wanting to convince himself more than Wayne that your intentions toward him were purely friendly. "She went to that party with her boyfriend," he said.

"And she came back from it with you?" the man raised his eyebrows curiously.

"He's a real creepy ass Wayne, when she told him she was leaving he didn't even care. He didn't care how she got home or if she was safe."

"That doesn't sound very good." he mused. "If that girl is at the concert tonight make sure the sweater comes back to her."

"I know, I'll give it back to her." Eddie sighed. His uncle patted him on the shoulder and moved toward the door.

"And, Eddie?"

"Yeah?"

"No matter what you decide to do with the sweater...Remember I'm on your side." he said, closing the door behind him, leaving Eddie alone with his thoughts and the realization that he wasn't talking about a piece of clothing at all.

More than an hour before the scheduled time, you heard a knock on the door. Your mother, however, was quicker. Behind the closed door you heard muffled voices, you weren't sure who they belonged to. Your phone vibrated, you took it quickly in your hand hoping that Tom had mercifully written back to one of your messages, but it was only Robin sending you a video of a funny cat. You sighed and threw the phone to the other end of the bed. You imagined what his morning must have been like. They woke up hungover, then ate something, and now they were getting ready for another evening of partying. You didn't regret your decision. You didn't want to be there, however, you guessed that some of Tom's friends would be eager to take advantage of your lack of presence. You were pulled from your thoughts by another knock on the door, this time yours.

"Come in!" you shouted. A moment later, a familiar tumbling curls emerged from behind them. At the sight of his smile, your heart sped up slightly and all thoughts related to Tom disappeared as if by magic. Naveen, seeing one of his favorites at the speed of light, jumped off the bed and started jumping around Eddie, who after a while took him in his arms.

"I know I'm a little early, but I thought I might be able to use your services like last time," he said. Still holding the dog with one hand, he reached into his pocket with the other and pulled out a bottle of black nail polish.

"You are lucky that the salon is still open and waiting for your favorite customer. Feel free to come in!" with a hand gesture you pointed to the free side of the bed. Eddie lay down on his stomach and took one of the plush toys lying on the bed and used it as a prop putting his hands in front of you.

"Your nails look very metal too." he replied while looking at your hands with nails painted red.

"Do you want to go wild?" you asked sending him a mischievous smile. Seeing his puzzled face, you quickly jumped off the bed and ran to the drawer where you kept your cosmetics. From it you took out the red polish you had painted your nails with earlier. "We can mix them up. One finger in red and the rest in black! Or alternate them! Whatever you like."

"How about here, here and here red, and the rest black?" he suggested. He didn't know why the knowledge that you would have matching colors made him feel excited. He ended up with red on every finger he had a ring on, and the rest black. In the meantime, he told you about ideas for the next campaign, which was going to be one of the tougher ones they had so far. When Dustin returned from the store Eddie and he disappeared into his room and you had a moment to get ready. You checked your phone one last time, but seeing no news from Tom there, you muted it and promised yourself not to bother with it again today.

When you arrived at the place there were already crowds of people. There were plenty of food stands, benches to sit on, picnic tables with flyers on them, and posters with the names of the bands that would perform today. Most of them were local bands well known to everyone in the area.

"And where's Corroded Coffin?" you asked with a snort.

"Gareth is away with his family, we couldn't perform without our drummer."

"That's a shame, I'd love to see the real stars in action," you said.

"I mean- I know some of the bands that are performing here, if you want I can introduce you." he said embarrassed by your compliment.

You were poking around a bit when Eddie spotted one of the familiar bands that used to take turns playing with them at the Hideout. They were sitting at a table, and when they spotted the metalhead they immediately called him over. Munson introduced you to each other and you sat down with them. Robin immediately found company, bombarding the bass player with questions, and later they talked about the parties they attended together with Corroded Coffin. You didn't speak much while listening to the crazy stories and watching everyone. In addition to the animated Eddie, from whom positive energy was emanating, one more thing attracted your attention. The conversation passed pleasantly between you, but finally after some time they announced that they had to slowly get going because they wanted to practice before going on stage. You stayed at the table, and after a while Steve, Dustin, Eddie and Lucas went to buy you some drinks. You decided to take advantage of the moment that Will was left alone with you and started talking.

"Okay, was I the only one who noticed how the drummer was eyeing our Will? He couldn't stop staring at you!"

"Oh my God, yes!" Robin backed up. "Drummers are much better than basketball players William, trust an old friend. No offense Max." she said lightly nudging Max with her shoulder.

"No problem, if Lucas heard this I'd probably nod at you, he knows very well that I hate his brainless teammates" she rolled her eyes. "Oh, well, speaking of the devil." At that moment, almost the entire basketball team passed in front of your table, headed by Jason, to whom you sent a murderous glare when neither he nor his friends could refrain from making unpleasant comments in Will's direction. Abashed, he moved closer to you and you immediately snuggled protectively on his shoulder.

"Fuck those assholes. Let's focus on the super-handsome drummer you definitely caught the eye of." you said, and laughed as you saw his cheeks flush red. "Maybe Eddie could set you two up somewhere together sometime?" Max wondered out loud. "Or he can take us to their concert, where you can flood him with tons of compliments later!" Buckley added excitedly.

"Can we stop talking about me?" he asked embarrassedly.

"Do you have any better topics?" asked Max raising her eyebrows.

"Actually, yes." He replied after a moment. "What was the pink sweater of y/n doing in Eddie's car? I'm sure you didn't take it from home, because when he came to pick me up, and I was the first, the sweater was already there." He looked at you squinting his eyes. Immediately you felt Max and Robin's gaze on you, and that was even worse. Now it wasn't Will who was blushing. Panicked, you looked around you hoping that the rest of the group would return to the table and save you from this situation, but there was no sign of them.

"I was trying to ignore the fact that your nails suspiciously matched." Robin began.

"Or the weird texts about seeing real rock stars on stage," Max added.

"And those weird smiles during Hellfire? Whenever you leave the room he suddenly loses track of what's going on during the campaign, as if someone else's presence is distracting him."

"Can we get back to talking about Will?" you said, placing your forehead on the cold table top.

"Y/n Henderson, we demand an explanation. NOW." Robin aggressively tapped her finger on the table.

"We are friends with Eddie, okay? Nothing more, we were good friends in high school and now we've renewed our friendship!" you groaned. "I can't have friends anymore?"

"That still doesn't explain the mystery of your sweater in his car." said Max ignoring your question.

"imusthaveleftitathishouse." you muttered under your breath.

"Oh my God y/n! you know that my eighty-year-old grandmother has better hearing than I do. Speak up."

"I must have left it at his house!" you raised your voice. All three looked at you in disbelief. The shock made them all fall silent, speechless. When Robin had already recovered she unleashed chaos.

"You. Y/n Henderson. You were at Eddie's house. And I don't know about it!"

"Now we definitely need details!" Will shouted.

You felt like collapsing to the ground, but you knew they wouldn't let you off the hook. So you started telling about the evening when you went to his house after the party, all the while emphasizing that the whole meeting was on a purely friendly basis. Before they had time to bombard you with comments the guys returned with drinks, so the topic was dropped at the right moment. Steve and Eddie handed out bottles of drink to each in turn, and when you got yours Buckey immediately snatched it out of your hands.

"You don't deserve this! Traitors don't deserve it! " she shouted.

"What the hell?" asked Steve watching you.

"We don't like her anymore Steve. She is not our friend. She has secrets from us, Steve. Secrets." Pretending to be heartbroken, she placed her hands over her heart. "She broke my heart. She's not even worthy of a drop of dirty water."

"Okay drama queen, enough. I told you everything you wanted to know, now let's go, it's about to start." You said rolling your eyes and got up from the table. Everyone moved behind you. The concert got going very quickly, the bands performed their own songs alternating with covers. People sang, danced and enjoyed themselves like there was no tomorrow. This energy quickly infected you. When a band that included robin's friends from the school orchestra took the stage she climbed on Steve's shoulders and shouted the loudest of the crowd. You watched her with amusement when suddenly Eddie crouched down in front of you.

"Come on," he said. "Hop in and join Buckley in her little madness." After a moment's hesitation, you agreed. Eddie was strong. You had to give him credit for that. Being now on the same level as Robin you sang that you were not America's Sweetheart, along with the singer on stage who sent invisible kisses every now and then in your direction. Making sure you didn't fall, you felt Eddie's hands clasping your thighs with just the right amount of force. And when you weren't holding your hands up or holding Robin's hand you took the opportunity to sink your fingers into his curls. You had to occupy your hands with something so they wouldn't accidentally go lower and meet Eddie's on your thighs. Playing with his hair seemed to be the most sensible solution. When you finally unburdened the poor guys the whole group went to the hot dogs all the time feeling the positive emotions of the place flow through you. After resting for a while, Steve and Eddie started competing at the stalls where you could win teddy bears. Throwing darts has never been as much fun as it was tonight. Rapt in competition they lost a fortune ending with a tie. They each won four plushies. The plush dinosaur straight from Eddie's hands went to yours. He kept the little bat to himself claiming it would be perfect for the Corrorded Coffin mascot, he gave Robin and Max the two teddy bears that had left.

When you returned to the stage Eddie's friends were just starting to enter it. After a short break, everyone was again energized for more craziness. Halfway through the performance, a familiar melody reached you. It was one of the many songs that you and Will loved to scream to the point of tearing your throat out. It was definitely your song, and Dustin's, who, as always, tried to hide his excitement and be "cool." Seeing your little brother roll his eyes young Bayers turned to you.

"Come on!" he shouted and grabbed your hand pulling you in front of the stage. Due to the fact that coincidentally Eddie was standing right next to you you automatically grabbed his hand and pulled him behind you. This way you were in front of the stage, in the front row screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs.

I wanna taste love and pain Wanna feel pride and shame I don't wanna take my time Don't wanna waste one line

You didn't care about anything. It's been a very long time since you felt so happy. And Eddie? Eddie felt your happiness with all of himself. You looked happy, free and wild. That's the kind of you he wanted to see forever. He wanted to witness as much of that as possible. In addition, all the time your hand held his firmly.

I wanna live better Days Never look back and say It could have been me It could have been me

3 minutes. For three minutes straight you held his hand. And although the whole world and the rest of the evening seemed to move on he stayed in those three minutes until the very end still feeling your touch despite the fact that your hand no longer held his.

You were already lying in bed ready to fall asleep when you got a message from Tom. It was cool that he remembered your existence. In the message was a screen of Max's Instagram story, which included a photo of you and Robin sitting on Steve and Eddie's shoulders holding hands and smiling widely. You didn't even pay attention when she managed to take this photo, nevertheless you smiled at the sight of it. After a while, a second message arrived.

Tom: I thought you were supposed to watch Dustin this weekend

You: I was watching im, we went to a concert together

Tom: you were watching over him while sitting on that weirdo?

Something boiled inside you. Normally you would have felt guilty. You knew that sooner or later remorse would get you, but you didn't want to do it now. You had spent one of the best evenings of your life tonight and you didn't want to let his stupid jealousy take that away from you. Besides, who is talking about jealousy here? He wanted to play that way? Go ahead. You quickly went on his instagram and took screenshots of all the photos where he was tagged and where he was hugging other girls there, or holding them on his lap. You sent them back to him with the caption "wanna talk about this too?" You did not receive any more answers. Your good mood like a soap bubble popped. Hearing the arrival of another message you were in a combative attitude for an argument, but saw that it was not Tom you immediately softened.

Eddie: you up?

You: nope, what's up?

Eddie: thinking about Byers, what do you think?

He sent you a Hellfire T-shirt design, only this time the lettering was rainbow. In later messages, he explained that he wanted to show Will in some way that he had their support. The T-shirt topic, however, was just the beginning. The two of you texted together for a few more hours before you fell asleep having a small plush dinosaur in hand.

taglist: @i-me-mine

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie stranger things #stranger things fanfic #justice for eddie #stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #stranger things eddie #fanfiction #fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson stranger things #modern au #modern au stranger things #modern stranger things #modern au eddie munson #modern eddie munson #america's sweetheart #elle king america's sweetheart #could have been me #the struts could have been me #corrodedseraphine #corrodedseraphine playlist #corrodedseraphine fanfiction #ao3 fanfiction #ao3 fanfic

[fics-by-em]

Amorous Facades - Chapter Four

A wild night out leaves the lives of Jamie Tartt and Ophelia Adams more intertwined than they ever would have imagined.

Will their decision to try and use the situation to their advantage work out in their favour or will they realize that they should have cut their losses when they had the chance?

———-

previous chapter

———-

The atmosphere at AFC Richmond was very different the second time Lia was there. 

The feelings of dread and pure anxiety that she’d felt when Jamie had dragged her into Rebecca’s office less than a week earlier were gone and replaced by a tentative excitement that - based on the vibe of anticipation that she felt buzzing around her - was shared by all of the staff, team and fans who were present. Even for someone who wasn’t particularly interested in the sport, the feeling was electric and Lia was intrigued to see how the match would unfold.

After parting ways with Jamie by the locker room, she navigated her way through the building to Rebecca’s office where she’d arranged to meet Keeley. She’d been told that they would be sitting in the owner’s box with Rebecca for the game, but they had some time to kill first and Lia was feeling a little bit nervous. Keeley and Rebecca had seemed very nice in the brief amount of time that she’d spent with them - they hadn’t laughed hysterically at her for being dumb enough to partake in a drunken ‘wedding’ and they’d been supportive as she’d tried to work out the details of the arrangement with Jamie - but they also appeared to be quite accomplished women. While they were also older than Lia and therefore had had more time to get established, her current lack of ambitious goals had her feeling a little intimidated by such strong and confident women.

However, the moment she walked into the office, she felt her worries begin to ease as Keeley’s naturally warm demeanour made it hard to feel on edge.

“Hi, Lia!” She smiled as she waved from where she was relaxing on a couch by the window next to Rebecca as they each had a glass of champagne in hand. “Are you ready for your first AFC Richmond match?”

“My first football match ever actually,” she clarified. “I’m not entirely sure that I’ve ever even watched one on the telly.”

“Well, you certainly dressed appropriately.”

Rebecca gestured to the shirt she was wearing with Jamie’s name and number on the back as she spoke and Lia smiled as she twirled around to show it off. 

“I thought it was what would be expected of Jamie Tartt’s wife,” she informed them. “Even if it’s not the most flattering shirt I’ve ever worn.”

The shirt that Jamie had managed to acquire for her seemed to be at least two sizes too big and she felt like she was drowning in it even with the front tucked into her tight fitted jeans, but the look on Keeley’s face showed that she clearly disagreed.

“You look adorable,” she assured her. “But we can find you one that’s more comfortable for next time. Even though, I think the guys just always find it hot when their girl shows up wearing their number no matter how the shirt actually fits.”

“Well,” Lia shrugged as she joined the two women on the couch. “I’m not actually his girl, am I? So he probably doesn’t really care about that.”

A knowing look was exchanged between Keeley and Rebecca that piqued Lia’s curiosity, but Rebecca spoke before she could question it.

“How is it going with our star striker?” She asked. “Is he treating you well?”

The question had a smile sliding onto Lia’s face as she reflected on their last few days together and she had to admit that he was. The teasing and jokes about her being in love with him had increased since the night that she’d wrapped herself around him in her sleep, but overall things were going well between them and Lia had found that playing house had been fairly enjoyable. It was nice waking up beside someone and navigating around his presence as they went about their morning routines and catching up at the end of every day had started to become something that Lia always looked forward to. It may have only been about a week since they’d been tangled up in each other’s lives, but Lia had a feeling that they were setting the foundation for a pretty solid friendship.

“It’s been going really well, far better than I expected,” she informed them, sharing her thoughts. “I’ll admit that I had very low expectations, but he’s been pretty sweet and definitely tried to make me feel at home in his house.”

“I’m glad to hear that, but I’m not surprised,” Keeley smiled despite the relieved look on Rebecca’s face that definitely was laced with shock. “I always knew he could be a gentleman if he wanted to, he just never bothered to try. I think he really does want to be better now though.”

Again, Rebecca’s face said more than enough without her saying a word as she was clearly skeptical of Keeley’s confidence in Jamie, but it did raise a few questions for Lia as well.

“Can I ask you something personal?” She asked Keeley, waiting for an enthusiastic nod before she continued. “If he’s changed so much and you believe that he can, doesn’t that make you want to get back together with him?”

Keeley looked taken aback by the question, but Lia waited patiently for her to think it over before she answered.

“No, what we had is over,” Keeley assured her, her voice soft but firm. “Jamie’s changed, but so have I and I’m really happy with Roy. Being with Roy has shown me what I’ve been missing in pretty much every relationship I’ve ever had so I’ll always love Jamie, but we’ll only ever be friends from now on.”

From Jamie’s reaction when she’d broached the subject with him, Lia wasn’t entirely surprised by Keeley’s answer, but the confirmation was comforting.

“Okay, I’m pleased to hear that.”

“Why?” Rebecca smiled, sipping the champagne in her hand. “Because you’re growing fond of him yourself?”

“No!” Lia hoped that the speed with which she protested wouldn’t discredit her at all. “I just wanted to make sure that my agreement with Jamie wasn’t stepping on any toes or getting in the way of anything.”

“You’re definitely not,” Keeley assured her as she flashed her a smirk. “Jamie is all yours, Mrs. Tartt.”

“Thanks.” Lia’s tone was dry as she rolled her eyes before changing the subject. “Can we talk about more important things now? Like maybe a quick rundown of how football actually works? All I know is that they kick the ball around and try to get it in the other team's goal without using their hands.”

“That sums it up quite well,” Rebecca commended her as Keeley nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, and all we have to do is shout things at the right time to make it seem like we know what’s going on,” she added. “Like ‘referee!’ or ‘c’mon Richmond!’.”

The enthusiasm with which Keeley demonstrated the words had a giggle falling from Lia’s lips.

“I think I can handle that,” she assured them. “I’m actually a little bit excited, it’s always fun when you have a team to get behind.”

“It is,” Rebecca agreed with a sigh. “But it can break your heart too. It was much easier when I didn’t care at all whether we won or lost.”

The comment struck Lia as odd considering she was the owner of the team and it was hard to imagine why there would ever have been a time that she didn’t care if the team won, but Keeley chimed in before she could dwell on it for too long.

“Well, we won’t be losing today,” she optimistically declared before tossing back the last of her drink. “Our boys are gonna do great! Shall we head to our seats?”

A glance out the window showed that the stadium was quickly filling up with fans so Lia and Rebecca happily agreed and followed Keeley to the owner’s box.

-

Even for someone who had no idea about the ins and outs of football, Lia had to admit that it was an exciting match. Both teams seemed to be playing in top form - not that she was an expert on the matter - and kept the pace very high. They were constantly back and forth, never staying in one team’s endzone for too long and keeping the score tied at zero as they all thwarted every attempt at scoring a goal.

It took Lia a while to settle in, but Keeley’s continued enthusiasm as she shouted complaints at the referee and support for the team just looked like too much fun to ignore. While Rebecca stayed seated and composed like the classy woman that she was, Lia quickly found herself hopping up beside Keeley to join in with her cheers as much as she could and was surprised by how enjoyable it really was to let loose and show a little enthusiasm.

However, what she enjoyed most of all was simply watching Jamie play. His footwork, his speed, the way he manoeuvered around the pitch. She would have been lying if she said that she wasn’t just a little bit attracted to him as she watched him control the ball so masterfully and he truly exuded raw talent. Which is why she was confused when after a lull in the game the coaches caught Jamie’s attention with the sole purpose of flashing him a very rude gesture.

“Why are they doing that?” Lia asked, frowning and furrowing her brow as she felt a flash of protectiveness over her ‘husband’, but Rebecca and Keeley seemed just as stunned as everyone else as she pushed for more information. “It seems a bit aggressive. Is it common?”

“No,” Rebecca admitted. “Usually they keep things a bit more professional than that…”

“At least on the pitch,” Keeley agreed, but almost as soon as the words left her mouth a look of realization washed over her face. “Oh! Roy told me about this! It’s a signal!”

“A signal for what?”

“For Jamie to start being a prick.”

The explanation did little to help Lia’s understanding, but it sounded like the team had some kind of plan and it wasn’t just another way for Roy to pick on Jamie so she sat back to watch it all unfold. Jamie immediately ran over to a player on the opposite team and while it didn’t seem unusual - it just looked like he was blocking him - it became obvious as soon as Jamie had the ball that he had said something that irritated the other player as he chased him down before sliding under his feet and sending him flying. Lia gasped as concern flooded through her while Keeley jumped up once again shouting ‘referee!’ until they finally called a penalty. However, the consequences didn’t appear to be strong enough for the other team as the man who’d unfairly tackled him lost his cool and went for Jamie again and Lia felt another strange jolt of protectiveness and indignation at the way Jamie was being treated even though it was clear that he was perfectly capable of handling the situation himself  - a fact that was confirmed as Rebecca chuckled and shook her head.

“Oh, Jamie,” she sighed affectionately. “One thing is for sure, that man knows how to get under people’s skin.”

“And luckily,” Keeley added. “He can sometimes channel it for good.”

“But he’s so far away from the goal. He can’t score from there, can he?”

It seemed impossible in Lia’s uninformed opinion, but her question earned a smirk from Keeley as she comfortingly squeezed her shoulder.

“If anyone can do it, Jamie Tartt can.”

It surprised Lia how invested she felt as she turned her attention back to the match. She found herself holding her breath as she watched Jamie line up the shot and she gripped onto Keeley as they watched the ball sail through the air before slamming perfectly into the net in a way that seemed to defy physics. Instinctively, they joined the crowd and leapt to their feet as they cheered for the team along with the entire stadium of fans and Lia was relieved to realize that attending football matches might not be as tedious as she’d anticipated.

-

The rest of the game only solidified that realization for Lia as it was quite a rollercoaster of emotions. It wasn’t long after Richmond scored that one of the coaches left the pitch and that proved to be distracting enough to the players for the other team to seize the opportunity and tie up the score. It also distracted Rebecca enough to have her standing from her seat and excusing herself - presumably to figure out what was going on with her coaching staff - but before Lia could ask any questions, Keeley drew her attention back to the chaos on the field. Despite their moment of floundering, Richmond had quickly regrouped and it wasn’t long before another goal from Jamie led them to victory.

Again, Lia and Keeley leapt from their seats to join the crowd in their celebrations and Lia laughed as the sounds of Jamie’s name sung to the tune of Baby Shark echoed around them.

“C’mon,” Keeley smiled, linking their arms. “Let’s go see our boys.”

Without waiting for Lia to agree, Keeley pulled her away from their seats and through the stadium and Lia held on tightly to her new friend as the once quiet hallways were suddenly swarming with people. The atmosphere was incredible as the excited chants from enthusiastic fans could be heard coming from all directions, but Lia was very grateful to have a guide navigating her through the maze of corridors and people until they made it down to the area where the locker room was. It was quieter down there, but chaotic in a different way as the reporters were swarming the area, preparing for the upcoming press conference or hoping to catch a player and wrangle a good quote about the match.

Keeley protectively tightened her grip and picked up her pace as she tried to skirt around the edge of the crowd, but they were forced to come to an abrupt stop as a man stepped right into their path.

“Trent Crimm, the Independent,” he introduced himself, flashing them a disarmingly friendly smile. “And you must be the lovely Mrs. Tartt. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“Careful, Lia. He’s nice, but that’s what makes him dangerous.”

Keeley’s warning was murmured under her breath, but the chuckles that it earned from the man in front of them told them it had clearly been overheard.

“There’s no danger here,” he assured them. “But I am wondering if you have any comment on what Jamie’s father had to say about your recent nuptials?”

She felt Keeley tense beside her which only made the panic that had immediately flooded through her even stronger. She didn’t have a comment ready because she didn’t know that Jamie’s father had said anything about their ‘marriage’. Jamie had told her that he didn’t speak to his dad very often so she wasn’t sure if he ever got around to letting him in on the secret that it wasn’t actually real or what exactly had happened between them that led to the distance Jamie had alluded to. Luckily, Keeley’s marketing training kicked in before Lia could blurt out anything embarrassing.

“What exactly did he say?” She asked. “We aren’t aware of any comments made by Jamie's family.”

“Well,” Trent started, looking a bit sheepish as he referred to the notes in his hand. “He said that you are a gold digging whore who’s only after Jamie for his money and his…well, a certain part of his anatomy.”

The panic that Lia had felt was quickly replaced by complete humiliation. Even if her arrangement with Jamie could be considered questionable to some people, she wasn’t the kind of person that Jamie’s dad had described. She didn’t choose men based on their money and she certainly wasn’t after Jamie for any parts of his anatomy. There were many things she wanted to say in response to such an accusation, but she knew that it was a delicate situation and she didn’t want to say anything that might cause any repercussions for Jamie so she tried to control her emotions despite the scoff that slipped from her lips.

“No, I have nothing to say to that,” she informed him, standing a little bit taller in an attempt to seem more confident in her words. “But I will say that I love Jamie and we’re very happy together.”

Trent nodded as he jotted down what she’d said, seemingly satisfied by her answer. The way that he didn’t press her for more information made her realize what Keeley meant by his niceness being dangerous as she felt more inclined to add further explanation, but she was grateful when the trained PR expert by her side thanked Trent for his time and dragged her away from him before she could say anything that she regretted.

“You handled that perfectly,” Keeley commended her as they paused in the hallway just outside the locker room. “It’s always best not to give a comment, but what you said was amazing given how he put you on the spot.”

“Really?” Lia asked, breathing a sigh of relief at her reassurance. “Jamie hasn’t told me much about his dad so I didn’t want to say too much, but just sticking to ‘no comment’ didn’t seem like enough.”

“You nailed it,” Keeley insisted, flashing her a comforting smile. “But if I was you, I wouldn’t mention what Trent said to Jamie just yet. If he doesn’t know about it then it will ruin his night and if he does know then it’ll just be a reminder of something that will piss him off.”

“Okay,” Lia nodded, but knowing that she’d have to bring it up at some point had her pushing for more information. “What’s the story with his father?”

“That’s not my story to tell and I don’t even know all the details, if I’m honest. Jamie really doesn’t like to talk about it and talking was never high on our priority list if you know what I mean.”

The admission was made sheepishly, but Lia respected Keeley’s decision to keep whatever she did know to herself. If Jamie wanted her to know then he would tell her when he was ready and she didn’t want to pry - even if she now had her own concerns about his dad’s behaviour.

“I respect that,” Lia nodded. “I won’t say anything to him about it right now”

“Perfect,” Keeley smiled. “Now, let’s forget all about that and go celebrate how fuckin’ talented our men are.”

Again, she didn’t wait for a response before she threw open the locker room door and the raucous sounds of celebration hit them full force.

“Hello, boys!” Keeley cheered. “Congratulations!”

Her greeting was met with nothing but enthusiasm as the boys bounced around the room singing a song about Richmond. It was a heartwarming sight, but Lia could feel herself shrinking as if she was almost trying to hide behind Keeley - a move that tended to be her instinct whenever she was in a large group of people. She was perfectly satisfied just watching from the sidelines - more of a wallflower than the life of the party - and while she was happy to be there and share in their joy, she wasn’t eager to have anyone’s attention on her. However, her ‘husband’ had no shame when it came to wanting to be the centre of attention and he quickly reminded her of that conflict in their personalities.

“There she is!” He called out, flashing her a smirk as he moved across the room towards her. His arm slid around her waist and effortlessly pulled her away from Keeley until she was pressed against his chest. “There’s my girl.”

The possessiveness to his words had Lia’s cheeks heating up, but before she even had time to really process what was happening, Jamie leaned down and captured her lips with his. At first, she tensed with surprise, but she quickly realized what he was doing. They had an audience and appearances to keep up. So, she played the role of supportive girlfriend who was wrapped up in the excitement of an amazing victory and let her arms slide up around his neck as she moved her lips against his.

It felt far more natural than she would have expected - especially considering she had no real memory of any of the genuine kisses they’d shared the night they met - but it was easy to let herself indulge. The feel of his toned body under her touch, the pressure of his grip on her waist, even the smell of his sweat that lingered from the match, it all felt so manly and had her knees feeling weak as she melted against him. All too soon, the sounds of the team jokingly jeering at them pulled them out of the moment and Lia moved out of the embrace.

“Lads,” Jamie grinned, keeping an arm around her waist as he turned back to face his team. “This is my girlfriend, Lia. Lia, this is the team.”

There was a chorus of hellos and nice to meet yous as Lia shyly waved at the large group of men in front of her, but the pure shock on the faces of Keeley and Rebecca and Roy - who were standing in the doorway of the office - didn’t escape her notice. They were the only people in the room who knew the extent of their little arrangement and that they weren’t actually dating so it wasn’t entirely surprising that they might have some questions after witnessing a kiss like the one she’d just shared with Jamie, but she was grateful when Jamie whisked her off before they could ask her anything. Her head was spinning enough without trying to explain to anyone what just happened.

And the rest of the evening did nothing to ease her muddled state of mind as Jamie so effortlessly slid into the roll of her boyfriend.

As the celebrations unfolded in the locker room and beers were passed around for the team, Jamie made sure that he always had a hand on her until he eventually settled on the bench in front of his locker and pulled her down into his lap. Again, she was tense and uncertain at first, but just like before, she quickly relaxed as Jamie mindlessly rubbed his thumb against her skin where her shirt had slightly ridden up. He was so effortless with his physical affection and Lia was so touch starved that it was hard not to just embrace the sensation of someone’s hands on her body.

Even as the party moved on and the team headed to a pub - parting ways with the increasingly suspicious group of Keeley, Roy and Rebecca - Jamie continued his act as a doting boyfriend and Lia found herself feeling completely charmed. Gone was the cocky attitude he’d returned to during the match and any trace of the arrogance that had popped up throughout their conversations over their week together. The Jamie she was with that night was nothing short of enchanting. He pulled out her chair, he ordered her drinks - non-alcoholic so she could drive some of the boys home after their well-earned celebration - and he held her hand even when it was under the table and out of sight. He stole soft kisses as frequently as the opportunity arose, and he looked at her so fondly that by the time they were leaving the bar later that night, she was starting to feel a flicker of something in her heart that made her wonder if they could possibly have something more real than the facade they were supposed to be upholding.

However, almost as soon as they walked back into their house when they finally got home, something shifted in Jamie. His posture stiffened, his body language became more closed off and the adoring smile that had been on his face all evening was replaced by a tight lipped frown.

“You did well tonight, yeah?” He commended her. “You’re a great actress.”

The words were sincere and yet Lia felt her heart sink as the realization washed over her like she’d been doused with a bucket of cold water. That’s all it had been to him - just an act - and that made sense because it was what they’d agreed on. He didn’t owe her any more than that and it wasn’t his fault that she was so deprived of intimacy that she’d got swept up in the moment.

“Thanks,” she murmured, forcing a smile despite the disappointment twisting her stomach into knots. “You did well too. And you were amazing in the match. You really earned that win.”

The compliment earned a weak smile and a ‘thanks’ in response, but the exhaustion was clear on Jamie’s face as he changed the subject.

“Do you mind if I take a quick shower before bed?”

“No, not at all, go ahead.”

Jamie nodded and made a quick escape up the stairs towards their bedroom and Lia stood frozen in turmoil by the front door. She waited until she heard the shower running to follow him and raced through her bedtime routine so she could be curled up pretending to be asleep in bed by the time he was done. In some ways, she was relieved that Jamie had managed to remind her of their boundaries before she could have said anything foolish, but she couldn’t shake the conflicting feelings bubbling up inside her and was hopeful that a good night’s sleep would help her wake up feeling refreshed and more level headed about the situation.

Because otherwise she was going to have a very difficult time existing platonically around Jamie for the rest of their little arrangement.

-----

chapter five

#jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #jamie tartt #ted lasso #jamie tartt x ofc #amorous facades