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ahqkas · 6 months ago

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BELLA ITALIA ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! in the moment of darkness, he was your light (or when theodore nott noticed a pretty girl struggling to communicate in english and decided to step up) (based off this req.!!)

WARNINGS AND TAGS! fluff, reader is from italy, italian theodore, translation of foreign language

WORD COUNT! 1.7k

NOTES! i’m trying to learn italian on my own and when i hear this man speaking italian i am WHIPPED 😿😿

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

MOVING FROM ONE COUNTRY TO ANOTHER CAN BE AN INCREDIBLY CHALLENGING EXPERIENCE.

The first problem is often the language barrier. Suddenly finding yourself in a place where you don't speak the native language can be isolating and overwhelming. Simple tasks like ordering food or asking for directions become daunting challenges, and the fear of being misunderstood or ridiculed can make even basic interactions fraught with anxiety.

The weather can also play a big role in the adjustment process. Going from a sunny, warm climate to a cold, rainy one (or vice versa) can have a profound impact on one's mood and well-being. It's not just a matter of dressing appropriately — it's about learning to cope with the changes in daylight, temperature, and overall atmosphere. You left the sunny shores filled with ocean breeze and moved to rainy afternoons that seemed rather sad than anything else.

And then, of course, there's the school. Being the new kid in class is never easy, but when you're in a completely foreign environment, it can feel like you're on an entirely different world. Everything from the way classes were conducted to the social dynamics among students was be vastly different from what you were used to, leaving you feeling like a fish out of water.

But perhaps the most challenging aspect of moving to a new country was the sense of displacement, of not quite belonging anywhere. You longed for the familiarity of home while simultaneously yearning to embrace your new surroundings. You missed the way the sun kissed your skin and the way the sea felt against your movements as you swam in the water with your friends.

And you wanted someone to understand you.

Navigating the labyrinthine halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you clutch your time table tightly, eyes darting from one corridor to another in search of the potion dungeons. The castle's vastness is overwhelming, its endless staircases and hidden passages a far cry from the sunny, open streets of your hometown in Italy. You knew your first day here would be hell.

The weather outside matched your mood: overcast and drizzly, the persistent rain casting a melancholic atmosphere over the stone walls. You miss the warmth of the Italian sun, the vibrant colors of your old school. Here, everything feels cold and foreign, a constant reminder of how far you are from home. Everything was gray and dark, the opposite of the vibrant colors you were used to.

You spot a group of students huddled together, chatting animatedly as they stood by a stone wall. Gathering your courage, you approached them, hoping they can point you in the right direction. "Scusa," you begin, your Italian accent heavy, each word carefully pronounced. "Where . . . potion class . . . dungeons?" (Excuse me.)

The students exchange puzzled glances, clearly struggling to understand your accented English because despite your try, it still came out quite wobbly. One of them, a tall boy with a shock of red hair, furrowed his brow and shakes his head slowly. "What?" he says, not unkindly, but with a hint of frustration at this situation.

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You try again, your voice wavering slightly. "Potion dungeons," you repeat, gesturing with your hands as if that might bridge the gap between your language and theirs. "Next class . . . I need find."

The red-haired boy shrugs, casting a sideways glance of help at his two friends who stood next to him. They all look at you with the same guilty expression, as if they would really like to help but there was no way. The girl with bushy hair smiled at you with an expression of 'Sorry', and you felt a knot of anxiety tighten in your chest. They don't understand, and you're too flustered to find the right words.

"Sorry," the ginger boy said finally, shaking his head again. "I don't know what you're saying."

Disheartened, you nodded and mumbled a quick "grazie" before retreating. You wandered through the corridors, frustration mounting with each wrong turn. The stone walls seemed to close in around you, the ancient tapestries and suits of armor blurring together in your anxious haze. You felt lost, not just in the physical sense but emotionally, adrift in this unfamiliar place where even asking for directions was like a challenge for you.

Your mind was still reeling from the embarrassing encounter as you hurried down the corridor, your thoughts tangled in a web of frustration and self-doubt. How could something as simple as asking for directions feel so impossible? The sting of the students' puzzled looks and guilty smiles lingers, making your cheeks burn with residual embarrassment. Lost in your thoughts, you rounded a corner too quickly and collided with a solid figure. Your bag slipped from your shoulder, and your books spilled across the floor. You gasped at the sight, your heart leaping into your throat. Could you embarrass yourself any more today?

"Scusa, scusa!" you blurted out in Italian, crouching down to gather your scattered belongings. The words tumbled from your lips in a rapid, nervous stream. You didn't even think the person wouldn't understand your sentences. "Non stavo guardando dove andavo. Mi dispiace tanto!" (Excuse me, excuse me! I wasn't watching where I was going. I'm so sorry!)

As you frantically picked up your books, you glanced up to see who you've bumped into. Your eyes widened in surprise and relief when you recognized Theodore Nott, the quiet Slytherin who always seemed to glide through the halls with an air of calm detachment and mysterious aura. You braced yourself for confusion, expecting him to look as puzzled as the others had.

But instead, Theodore's lips curved into a slight smile and a warm glint appeared in his usually cool eyes. "Non ti preoccupare," he replied in perfect Italian, his voice soothing and accent deafening. "È tutto a posto. Lascia che ti aiuti." (Don't worry. It's all right. Let me help you.)

The shock of hearing your native language from his lips momentarily left you speechless. You watched in amazement as he got down on his knees, helping you gather your books with nothing but ease. The knot of anxiety in your chest began to loosen, replaced by a flutter of gratitude and something else — an unexpected connection.

"Grazie," you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly. "Non sapevo che parlassi italiano." (Thank you. I didn't know you spoke Italian.)

Theodore's smile widened just a fraction, a hint of amusement danced in his eyes. "Mia madre è italiana," he explained, handing you the last of your textbooks from the floor. "L'ho imparato da lei." (My mother is Italian. I learned it from her.)

You stand up, clutching your books to your chest, and for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. Here is someone who understands — not just your words, but the feeling of being caught between two worlds.

"Grazie mille," you repeated, your smile genuine this time. "Mi sentivo così persa." (Thank you very much. I felt so lost.)

Theodore nodded, his expression softening. "Capisco. Hogwarts può essere un posto molto grande e confuso. Vieni, ti mostro io dov'è la classe di pozioni." (I understand. Hogwarts can be a very big and confusing place. Come, I'll show you where the potions class is.)

As you walked beside Theodore through the corridors of Hogwarts, the oppressive weight of the castle's vastness seemed to lift slightly. His calm demeanor and fluent Italian became a comforting anchor in this world full of unfamiliarity.

"Da quanto tempo sei qui?" you asked the boy next to you, trying to make conversation. (How long have you been here?)

"Questa è la mia sesta anno," he replied. "Conosco il castello come le mie tasche ormai." (This is my sixth year. I know the castle like the back of my hand by now.)

"Sei fortunato," you sighed, your hold on your bag tightening. "Mi sento come se fossi in un labirinto." (You're lucky. I feel like I'm in a maze.)

Theo chuckled and the sound was low and warm. He was nice. "Capisco. Anch'io mi sentivo così i primi giorni. Ma vedrai, presto ti abituerai." (I understand. I felt the same way in my first days. But you'll see, you'll get used to it soon.)

As you continued to walk, the conversation flowed more naturally, easing your nerves. "Cosa ti piace di più di Hogwarts?" you asked him, genuinely curious. (What do you like most about Hogwarts?)

"Direi la biblioteca," Theo said after a moment of thought. "È enorme, con così tanti libri rari. E i corridoi segreti. Sono divertenti da esplorare." (I would say the library. It's enormous, with so many rare books. And the secret corridors. They're fun to explore.)

"Sembra affascinante. Mi piacerebbe esplorare di più, ma ho paura di perdermi." (It sounds fascinating. I'd love to explore more, but I'm afraid of getting lost.)

He gave you a reassuring look. "Se vuoi, posso mostrarti alcuni dei posti migliori. Così non ti perderai." (If you want, I can show you some of the best places. That way you won't get lost.)

Theo was the kindest person you've met here in the entire time since the beginning of the school term and your heart warmed at his kindness. "Mi piacerebbe molto, grazie." (I'd love that, thank you.)

Finally, you reached the entrance to the dungeons. "Eccoci," Theo exclaimed, stopping before the heavy wooden door. "La classe di Pozioni è proprio qui dentro." (Here we are. The Potions class is right inside here.)

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. "Grazie, Theo. Sei stato davvero gentile." (Thank you, Theo. You've been really kind.)

He offered you a nod, his smile reassuring. "Prego. Se hai bisogno di altro aiuto, basta chiedere. Buona fortuna con la tua lezione." (You're welcome. If you need any more help, just ask. Good luck with your class.)

With one last grateful look, you pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit classroom. As you took your seat, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. Perhaps, with friends like Theo, Hogwarts might start to feel a little more like home.

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comically-callous · 3 months ago

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What the wind blows in

Logan Howlett x gn!Reader

Warnings!!: Some language (barely), reader has a dead dad, but it’s not a significant part of the story. I think that’s it

A/n: This is heavily inspired by the scene in X-Men Origins where Logan is taken in by those nice old people. But, it’s supposed to take place maybe a day after X-Men origins. I liked writing it. Might do a part 2 if enough of you ask for it 😋 Requests are open. Please send me X-Men requests. Please. PLEASE. PLEASE!!!!!!!!

As soon as you got off of the bus, cold winter air seemed to bite at your exposed skin, sending a small shiver down your spine as you began to walk down the long, winding road that would eventually lead to your your home.

When you’d left the house for some groceries earlier that day, you’d figured you’d be fine with just a coat. But, now you were internally ridiculing your past self for not grabbing some gloves and maybe even a hat or scarf on your way out.

Your fit of self discipline was interrupted when you caught a glimpse of the door to your old barn closing. You stopped, staring at the door for a moment to see if it would move again. When it remained motionless, you began cautiously walking toward your front door, eyes never leaving the barn for more than a second.

As soon as you were inside, you locked the door and went to swiftly put the paper grocery bags down on the counter. You’d worry about putting them away later. Right now you had to make sure there wasn’t an intruder on your property.

Arming yourself with a kitchen knife, you walked back to the front of your house and peeked out of the small window on the front door. It didn’t look like anything was out there. That would have to be good enough.

You stepped outside, holding out the knife, and cautiously walked over to the barn.

You would’ve liked to have been calm in this situation, like some badass that wasn’t afraid of anything. But, truthfully you were pretty terrified. If there was someone in the barn, were you supposed to just tell them to leave? What if they try to attack? You’re not mentally prepared to kill someone; even if it is out of self defense!

With a deep breath (that did nothing to ease your nerves), you opened the barn door.

It was quiet and there weren’t any visible signs that someone had been there.

“Hello?” You called out, immediately comparing yourself to the first character to die in a bloody horror movie. God, you hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

You swore you heard some shuffling somewhere in the barn and you had to refrain from screaming and sprinting back to the house. Swallowing down your fear, you walked into the barn, eyes sweeping over the area until you finally saw him.

On the floor of the barn, practically curled up into himself and shivering was a man in clothing that was absolutely not appropriate for the weather.

“What are you doing?” You immediately asked, grip on the knife tightening.

He looked up from his spot on the ground and for a moment when you were looking at those big, brown eyes you felt a twinge of sympathy.

“I don’t wanna cause any trouble.” The man said, raising his hands slightly so that you could see them. “I was just….” He let out a sort of huff. “I was freezing out there.”

Your guard lowered just slightly. “Why were you out here in the freezing cold anyway?”

“I….” He trailed off. You should’ve assumed he was coming up with a lie. That’s what any rational person would think. But, something about his expression made it seem like he was genuinely trying to figure out why he was out here. “I was looking for the nearest town.” He finally said. He took a pause, looking a bit frustrated with himself as he spoke his next sentence. “Listen, I don’t have anywhere I can go. I don’t even know what state I’m in, and I’ve been aimlessly walking down empty roads looking for some kind of civilization for…. I mean, probably for hours now. I just need somewhere warm to rest for a while.” You could tell he was trying to explain his situation calmly, but he was still shaking like a leaf from the cold.

“Just let me stay in here for a night.” He said. “I promise you won’t even know I’m here.”

You looked at him in silence for a moment, thinking it over. Caution lights definitely should’ve been going off in your head. If you were making rational decisions today, you wouldn’t have ever even come out here. You would’ve stayed in your house and called the police the second you suspected a trespasser. But, now you were here, and now this cold, and frankly pathetic man was asking (almost begging) to stay here. And maybe you were an idiot for feeling sympathy for a guy that was technically breaking and entering. But, in the moment, none of that mattered and none of that changed your answer.

“Get up and follow me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Get up and follow me.” You repeated. “I don’t want you to freeze to death out here.”

And that’s how you ended up with a stranger in your house.

The first thing you did was give him a warm blanket which he gladly wrapped around himself. Next you lit the fireplace.

“What’s your name?” You asked as you stood and walked to the kitchen to finally put your groceries away.

“Logan.” He replied. “You?”

“Y/n.”

Logan hummed in acknowledgment. “This is a nice place you’ve got, Y/n.”

“Oh, thanks.” You glanced up at him. “My dad gave it to me.”

“Your dad gave it to you?” He repeated with a sarcastic chuckle. “He must be loaded.”

“Oh, no. I mean-“ You cleared your throat. “Uh, I inherited it. When he died.” You said awkwardly.

“Oh.” Logan’s face fell and he looked away.

You cringed internally and quickly changed the subject. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh-“

You interrupted him before he had the chance to decline. “I’ll make you something.” You turned away and began pulling ingredients from your fridge to make a sandwich. You made it in silence. He ate it in silence (apart from a muttered “thank you” that he gave you when you initially gave him the food).

You were the one to finally say something.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking….” You began. “Are you, um…. Homeless?” You asked carefully.

Logan chuckled dryly. “Something like that.” He replied.

“And you said you don’t know what state you’re in?”

“Nope.”

“Virginia.”

“Jesus.” He muttered, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Logan glanced over. “Just not anywhere close to where I thought I might be.”

You wanted to ask more questions. Ask how he ended up here, where he was planning on going, if he really didn’t have anywhere he could go. But, you figured he probably didn’t want to answer a lot of questions right now. So, you instead made an offer.

“You can stay here for the night if you need to.”

He looked over to you, looking a bit confused, maybe surprised. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged.

Logan chuckled dryly. “You make a habit out of trusting strangers this much?”

“No.” You answered truthfully.

“No?” He repeated. “What’s so special about me?”

You swore he gave you a quick Look up and down. But, you told yourself you were seeing things. You told yourself you didn’t see his lips almost twitch into a smirk.

Instead of answering the question, you got up and straightened your clothes a bit. “Do you need anything?” You asked.

Logan leaned back a bit, clearing his throat. “Some warmer clothes would be nice.”

“Yeah. Yeah, uh— Sure thing.”

You sort of left Logan alone for a while (other than giving him some of your dad’s old clothes and showing him the guest bedroom where he would sleep for the night). It was mostly because you didn’t want to admit that he’d flustered you earlier and you didn’t want to give him the opportunity to fluster you again.

But, alas, your hospitable nature got the better of you. The sun had gone down and the soft ambient noises of nature shifted from birds chirping to crickets.

You knocked on the door to the room Logan was in, holding a fluffy blanket.

“Yeah?” He called from inside the room.

“I’ve got something for you.”

A brief pause. “Come in.”

You entered and tried giving a small, polite smile to him.

“I worried you might be cold.” You said, holding up the blanket a bit as if he couldn’t clearly see it already. You walked over and set it on the bed next to him, still neatly folded up from when you grabbed it from the closet you kept all of the towels and blankets in.

“You don’t have to use it. I just figured I should bring it, y’know, just in case. Um—“ you shifted a bit awkwardly. “If you need anything else, my room is right down the hall. So, feel free to as-“

“Why’re you being so nice to me?” He asked, cutting you off.

You paused briefly, not knowing how you should answer that. When you finally did answer, it wasn’t really a proper reply to what he said. “What?”

“You’re being oddly sweet to a guy you only met today after he broke into your private property.” Logan said plainly. “Why? You’ve got every reason not to trust me, and yet, here you are, giving me extra blankets cause you’re worried I’ll get cold.”

Okay, well, when he put it like that, it made you sound like an idiot. Now you really didn’t know what to say. You just stood in silence for a moment before speaking again. “I don’t know.” That definitely wasn’t the kind of answer that was helpful at all. You continued. “You needed help. Isn’t that reason enough?”

Logan took a moment before shaking his head. “There aren’t many people in the world who do stuff like this without asking for something in return.”

You shrugged. “Well, maybe I’m one of the few that just wants to be nice.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment. He just looked at you. He looked at you like he was trying to figure you out, like if he looked hard enough he’d know if you were telling the truth. “You’re good.” He finally decides.

“Thanks?” You reply, the compliment catching you off guard a little bit.

“Too good. Guys like me don’t deserve to be treated nice by people like you.”

You shake your head. “I disagree.”

“Yeah, that’s cause you don’t know me.” Logan chuckles dryly, but you don’t laugh.

“I mean it. If I thought you were a bad guy, I would’ve called the police by now.”

He hummed. “Can’t argue with that.” He said. “Still, I wouldn’t consider myself a good person.”

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” You decide, giving Logan a small smile.

Logan chuckles softly. “You’re like an angel.”

Your face immediately begins to heat up and you turn away so he doesn’t see your flustered state. “Thanks, uh…. I’ll let you get your sleep now.” You try your best to sound casual as you walk to the door.

“Y/n.” Logan calls before you can shut the door behind you. You turn back to him and hope that the darkness of the hallway hides your flushed cheeks. “Thank you.” He says sincerely, his eyes not leaving yours for a second.

You take in a deep breath. “It’s not a problem.” A beat passes. “Goodnight.”

As you walk down the hall to your room, you find yourself silently hoping that Logan’s stay lasts a little longer than just tonight.

#fanfiction #x reader #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #x men fanfic #x men fanfiction #x men x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine x reader

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kiarastromboli · 10 months ago

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Teach me 5 (Chris Sturniolo x y/n)

Part.1 Part.2 Part.3 Part.4

Masterlist.

Warning: angst, mention of selfharm, arguing.

Summary: After a challenging party and a disagreement with her mother, Y/N finds herself alone, confronted by her darkest thoughts. She hits rock bottom, but something prevents her from taking irreversible actions.

Note: This part will address sensitive subjects such as depression and self-harm. If you're not comfortable with these topics, please do not read. I want to emphasize that my intention is not to romanticize distress or depression. If you're struggling and need help, there are people around you. My DMs are open for anyone who feels the need to talk. You are not alone. 🫶🏻

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

How could I be so stupid, even though my parents warned me about boys like Chris?

Liars, manipulators who can't control their desires and needs.

And I, like the naive and innocent little virgin I was, fell for it.

I fell for it, and I believed it for two years, believed it to the point of tearing my fucking heart out of my chest.

I can't believe I could be so damn foolish.

Is this what being blinded by love is like? Is this what it's supposed to mean?

Is that why they keep lecturing us teenagers that we don't know what real love is?

If he lied to me that night, then it means he lied to me every other night.

If he truly loved me as he claimed, he would never have dared to do such a thing to me.

How could he look me in the eyes and tell me all those bullshit while he was already dating another girl?

I thought he was honest and sincere; he had the same look as the first time he said 'I love you,' and now it all seemed like a fucking lie.

I knew that sleeping with him that night wasn't supposed to mean anything, and since we were supposed to remain friends, it's not the fact that he's with another girl that hurts me.

It's the fact that he lied to me, making me believe I was the only one in his heart.

I was warned about him; Julia told me to be careful, and even my father told me it was better if I went to the other end of the country to cut contact with him.

But I didn't want to believe all that because I was charmed by a few kisses and conversations that I thought were meaningful until now.

I wish it were just a lie, but that night, just before leaving Julia's party, I saw Tess and Chris kissing in the middle of the crowd, and I felt like I was going to die of heartbreak.

He was kissing her right here in front of everyone, which means he didn't even bother hiding it from me anymore.

Was it a way of getting back at me for what i did ?

Why did he make me believe he didn't hold a grudge against me? Why did he play with my fucking heart like that?

I was so ashamed that I didn't even bother explaining the situation to Julia; I went home and locked myself in my room.

Waking up this morning, I saw a ton of missed messages and calls from Julia. Shit, I didn't think to tell her I was leaving; she must have been worried...

In addition to feeling like shit because of Chris, I naturally had to wake up with a hangover.

I'm pathetic, this whole story is ridiculous.

"You came home very late last night; I thought you'd be back today," my mother said, arms crossed, upon seeing me enter the kitchen.

Great, now I'll have to face her, and judging by the expression on her face, I suspect our conversation won't be pleasant. That's just what was missing!

"I didn't feel very well last night; I preferred to come home," I told her, opening the kitchen cupboard to take a mug.

"Did you drink?" she asked, exhaling.

"Mom, I told you it was a party for my return, and-" I barely had time to finish justifying myself; she had already resumed speaking.

"I thought you had changed, that you had improved, but I see it's worse. How do you think your father will react to this, y/n?" she said, distressed.

I sighed before she could speak again. "Seriously, y/n, do you think it's an appropriate way for a young woman like you to behave? Have you thought about what people will think of us seeing you like this?"

"Damn, don't you ever get tired of bringing everything back to you?" I snapped, and she jumped at the sound of my raised voice.

"My whole fucking life, I played the role you wanted me to play, and I never complained!" I said, furious.

"You sent me to the other end of the country without even giving me a choice, forcing me to rebuild my life and leave the people I love!"

"Do you have any idea how challenging it is to be your daughter, Mom? Do you know what it's like to have this kind of education when you grow up around normal parents and teenagers?"

"Yes, I made some mistakes, and you never-" I paused, letting out a fake laugh. "Never failed to remind me!"

"But all the good things I've done, all the good grades, all the people I've helped, everything I've done to please you and help you, you've never commented on that," I said, disgusted.

"You never congratulated me; you never said you were proud of me. And no matter how much effort I put into it, I was never enough for you or Dad!"

"I hid behind this role of the perfect little girl. I hid all my pain and kept my head high, hoping that one day you would be proud. But the truth is, you'll never be because you don't love me. You love the girl I pretend to be, but you hate the girl I am!" I said before leaving the kitchen in tears to lock myself in my room again.

This day couldn't get any more horrible than it already was.

My mother tried knocking on my door, but I stayed there in my bed.

I didn't want to face her anymore; I didn't want to talk to her. It was already hard enough.

Why was my life so chaotic? Why don't I deserve happiness?

Why do things always have to get worse?

What did I do wrong to deserve this?

I didn't even know who I was and what I was supposed to be.

At that moment, I would have given anything to go back to the other end of the country, far from my parents.

But I knew that there, I would have given anything to come back to Boston, close to those I love.

I was lost and alone.

I had no one to share my pain with and no one to hug.

It turns out the only person I might have wanted to embrace was just a liar and an opportunist.

I wrapped myself in my blanket, closed the curtains, and turned off the lights.

I spent the day like that without moving a muscle.

Night came, bringing darkness with it.

Activity on the street outside my house diminished, giving way to silence.

My mother had given up and stopped knocking on my door.

My tears flowed and rested on my face until they turned cold.

I didn't know how long I had stayed like that, but I knew it was a long time.

I kept thinking about all the things I might have done wrong in my life.

I searched for the reason why everything was going so wrong.

Was it because I wasn't grateful enough to have a roof over my head?

Was it because I had been a spoiled child?

Was it because I didn't make enough effort?

Was it because I wasn't a good enough friend? Or a good enough daughter?

Was it because I am a bad person?

Am I a bad person?

Is it legitimate for me to feel this bad?

Am I not exaggerating?

After all, there are worse things in life, right?

People are dying out there, losing their loved ones, and I'm crying because a boy lied to me?

I'm crying because I'm just an unloved child?

A child who only wants to be recognized and appreciated.

What did I do wrong, damn it?

The more my thoughts chained together, the harder it became to breathe.

I had a weight in my chest, and I could feel it deep inside me.

I had cried so much that my sinuses hurt, and my eyes were swollen.

It was hard, so hard. What was I supposed to do?

How was I going to be able to continue living with this weight on my chest?

Dark and obscure thoughts took over my mind.

Thoughts that I was ashamed of, thoughts so awful that I couldn't bring myself to recount them to you.

I wanted to do something bad; I got up and grabbed the blade from my pencil sharpener on my desk.

And before I could reach my bed again, I was interrupted by my window opening.

I turned around in shock, falling face to face with Chris. Damn it, why did he always have to do that?

The blade slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor at that moment.

"Shit," I whispered, quickly bending down to retrieve it.

"What's this?" Chris asked, eyebrows furrowed, pointing at my closed hand.

"Chris, get out of my room right now," I told him sharply.

He scrutinized my face for a moment before speaking again. "Were you crying? Y/n, what's wrong? What are you hiding in your hand?" he asked, concerned.

"It's none of your fucking business. Just leave; I don't want you here!" I said, feeling anger rise again.

"Wow, I haven't done anything. Why are you talking to me like this? Seriously, I'm getting worried. What's going on?" he asked, confused, approaching me.

On reflex, I put the hand holding the blade behind my back when he reached my level, only making him more worried.

"Chris, I'm warning you; I'll call my parents if you don't leave my room now!" I panicked before he grabbed my arm.

"What are you hiding, Y/n? Open your hand!" he said, getting angrier and trying to open my hand.

"Chris, stop – let go of me, stop!" I said, succumbing and crying when he started overpowering me.

I tried to struggle, but he had much more strength than me. It didn't take him long to open my hand and find the blade.

His expression changed; he furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at me.

"What were you doing when I came into your room?" he asked, well aware of what my answer would be.

Tears started flowing again, and this time, I was filled with shame. I couldn't even bring myself to speak, so I just stood there, looking at him with teary eyes.

"Y/n," he said in a fragile voice.

"Why?" he asked, his gaze sad.

"Chris, I want you to leave," I told him amid my sobs.

"No, not until you explain why," he said, shaking his head.

I lifted my head before taking a deep breath to try and stop my tears.

"And why don't you explain your little story with Tess then!" I told him, changing the subject.

"Wait, are you serious, y/n? Don't change the subject," he said, completely confused.

"Chris, what I was about to do is none of your business anymore, not since the moment you lied to my face, making me believe I was special to you," I said, pushing him away.

"But what are you talking about, y/n? I never lied to you," he said, shaking his head.

"Then why didn't you tell me you were with her!" I raised my voice.

"What?" he said, even more confused.

"Chris, I want you to leave; I don't want to deal with this shit right now," I said, turning my back to him.

"Y/n, I'm not fucking dating her. Where did you get that idea?" he said, placing his hand on my shoulder, trying to turn me around.

"Why do you keep lying, Chris? She came to ask me to keep my distance from you, emphasizing that you two are together!" I told him, turning around and brushing his hand off my shoulder.

"Do you really believe that nonsense?" he said, furrowing his eyebrows.

"I saw you kissing her," I said, clenching my jaw and trying to hold back my tears.

He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, taking a step back.

I sighed. "Damn it, Chris, you're such a jerk," I said, shaking my head.

"Y/n, it's not like that. It's really not what you think," he began to try and justify himself before I cut him off again.

"It's not what I think?" I said, raising my voice and eyebrows.

"Oh, so your tongue wasn't in her mouth?" I said, crossing my arms.

"Y/n, I know it can be misleading, but..." he began to try and explain before I cut him off again with a laugh.

"Misleading?! Chris, seriously?" I said, biting my lip.

"Please, let me explain, y/n," he said, grabbing my hands, but I didn't let him. I pulled back.

"I don't need you to explain, Chris; it's very fucking clear," I said, nodding my head.

"Y/n, please," he said desperately.

"Get out, Chris," I told him sharply.

He looked at me with furrowed eyebrows, not moving.

"For God's sake, just get the fuck out; I want you to leave!" I screamed, pushing him.

"I'm not going to leave you alone when you were about to hurt yourself, y/n. You can be as mad at me as you want, but I won't leave this room until I know you're safe," he said, standing his ground.

"Oh, now you're worried about me?!" I said, laughing.

"You're getting yourself worked up over nothing. I haven't done anything wrong, y/n," he said, looking me in the eyes.

"You'd rather believe some girl you don't even know over me. You won't even give me a chance to explain!" he said, waving his hands.

"Because I don't want to listen to another one of your lies, Chris. I'm too tired for that!" I told him, breaking into tears.

"But I'm not lying to you, y/n. Trust me!" he said, advancing towards me.

"I can't. I can't. I'm not strong enough for that. I don't want to take the risk of sinking even lower!" I confessed.

"Is it because of me that you were going to do that?" he said, pointing to the blade that now rested on my bedside table.

I looked at him, eyes soaked and throat tightened.

"Oh god," he whispered, running his hand over his face.

"I'm so sorry, y/n, if I made you believe I wasn't sincere, but all this is just a mistake. I'm not dating Tess," he said, taking my hands.

"I slept with her for a long time, okay, I won't lie to you. I was sleeping with her before we got together, and when you left, I turned to her right away," he began to explain, and I just listened.

"I was a jerk to her. I made her believe it could work between us to keep her under my control, even though I knew we would never be together," he said, and I could hear the disgust in his voice.

"When I got myself together, I stopped everything with her and tried to apologize, but she kept resenting me. She knew what you meant to me; that's why she didn't waste a second to come and tell you those lies," he said, and I sank down, sitting on my bed.

"Y/n, I'm not proud of what I did. She didn't deserve that, and it's not an excuse, but when you left, I was in such a bad place that I hurt anyone who came near me," he said, sitting next to me.

"I haven't lied to you once," he said, placing his hand on mine.

"I'm sorry, y/n, believe me, I really am. I didn't want you to end up like this. I should have told you that night, but I was too ashamed," he said, looking into my eyes.

"And why did you kiss her then?" I asked, wiping my tears.

"Because she threw herself at me; I was completely wasted. By the time I understood what was happening and detached her from my lips, there might have been enough time for you to see us. She probably waited until you were around to do it," he told me.

I looked at him without answering; I was hesitant. I didn't know if I should trust him or not.

"Y/n, I know it sounds far-fetched, but I swear it's true. You can ask anyone; I never dated her," he said, trying to be as convincing and reassuring as possible.

"Chris," I said, lowering my head, "I don't know if I'm supposed to believe you. I don't know if I should trust you or not."

"It's the truth, y/n, I swear. You can ask anyone. I would never do anything to hurt you," he said, squeezing my hand.

"I need time; I don't know what to think. I don't know if I should believe you or not,"

"I'll give you all the time you need," he said, nodding.

"You should rest; it's late, and you really look tired," he said, getting up.

"I'll take this with me," he said, picking up the blade from my bedside table before heading to my window.

"Chris!" I said before he left my room, and he turned around.

"Yes?" he replied.

"I don't want to be alone," I said, letting a tear fall, "Can you stay with me until I fall asleep, please?"

He took a deep breath, "Y-yeah, of course," he said, moving closer to me.

He grabbed the chair from my desk and placed it next to my bed before sitting down.

I slipped under the sheets of my bed, whispering to him, "Thank you, Chris."

"Don't thank me; it's the least I can do for you," he said with a weak smile.

Silence filled the room for a few seconds before I spoke again.

"It wasn't just because of you, you know?" I said in a weak voice.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, leaning towards me.

"I had a fight with my mom," I told him, and he nodded, signaling me to continue.

"And for the first time, I told her what I really had on my mind," I continued, sitting up against my headboard.

"I said things to her that I had never had the courage to say before, and when I went back to my room, everything hit me," I said, unable to control my voice, which occasionally broke.

"I found myself alone with my thoughts, and I started to wonder why all this was happening to me," I continued, waving my hands.

"I got lost in my own head; grief took over, and I felt this horrible weight on my chest," I said, letting a tear fall and placing my hand on my chest.

"It hurt, and I didn't know what I was supposed to do. My thoughts were screaming awful things at me, and I struggled to breathe; I felt suffocated," I said, shaking my head, and more tears began to stream down my cheeks.

"And for a brief moment, I thought that by inflicting physical pain on myself, it would get rid of all these bad thoughts," I said before biting my lip.

"I just wanted it to stop; I wanted to distract my mind. I didn't want to hurt myself, but it felt like the only solution," I said, trying to wipe away my tears.

"And now, looking back, I realize how stupid and awful it was. I don't know what came over me; it was like it was stronger than me," I added, hitting my mattress with my arm.

"I just wanted it to stop; I wanted to feel better," I said, shaking my head, and he took me into his arms.

I was so carried away by my emotions that I didn't even notice he was also crying.

"It's over now, y/n; I'm here, okay?" he said, holding me tightly.

"I'll chase away all those bad thoughts of your head for you if you want," he continued to say.

"It's going to be okay, I promise you," he said, gently stroking my head.

"I can't figure out what the hell is wrong with me," I told him, crying against his chest.

"I played a role for so long that I don't even know who I'm supposed to be," I said, clinging to his shirt.

"You're allowed to be lost; we all go through that. You'll eventually figure out who you really are; you just need to give yourself time," he reassured me.

"I know who you are, and I assure you that the person you are doesn't deserve to inflict so much pain on themselves," he continued to say.

"I just wanted to please them," I said, crying.

"Your parents?" he asked, and I nodded.

"If your parents don't love you for who you are, then they're really assholes. You deserve better than that," he said. I left his arms, wiping my tears.

"You're an amazing person, y/n, and it breaks my heart to hear you say that because you shouldn't have to beg for your parents' love, and it's just not fair," he said, caressing my cheek.

"In their place, I'd give you all the love in the world; in their place, I'd constantly tell you how proud I am of you because that's what you deserve," he said, looking into my eyes, and I couldn't help but cry.

"Thank you, Chris," I said, lowering my head.

"I'm sorry that life throws so much crap at you. If I could take away all the pain from your heart, believe me, I would," he said.

"But right now, what you need is to rest," he added.

"And I won't leave your room until you fall asleep, I promise. I'm here; you're not alone. I'm watching over you," he said, yawning.

"You're tired too," I said, smiling slightly.

"Yes, but I can wait," he said, returning a smile.

"You can sleep with me if you want," I told him.

"I don't know; won't your parents freak out?" he said, furrowing his brow.

"Not if you leave before they wake up tomorrow," I said, shrugging.

"Please, let me do this at least for you; you need to rest as much as I do," I added.

"Okay, um, do you want us to sleep in the same bed?" he asked timidly.

"You can sleep on the floor if you want, but it wouldn't be the first time you and I share a bed," I said, scratching my neck.

"Yeah, but the other times we shared a bed, y/n, it wasn't for sleeping," he said, rolling his eyes and chuckling.

"Do you think we wouldn't be able to share a bed without getting intimate?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"No, that's not what I meant. I—," he said, embarrassed, before I cut him off.

"It's okay; I'm joking. Stop being silly; come here," I said, lifting the blanket to signal him to lie down next to me, which he eventually did.

Silence filled the room, and it was a bit awkward. Chris kept tossing and turning, so I eventually spoke up, "Are you going to stop fidgeting around anytime soon?" I chuckled.

"Sorry, it's just really warm," he said, chuckling as well.

"Well, you can take off your sweater," I replied.

"Yeah, but I'm not wearing anything underneath," he said, embarrassed.

"Oh," I responded, "um, it doesn't bother me; you can take it off if you're more comfortable that way," I said, trying to play it cool.

"Are you sure?" he asked, looking into my eyes.

"Yeah, and besides, it's nothing new. I've seen you like this before," I said, feeling awkward, and he couldn't help but laugh as he took off his sweater.

"Why are you laughing ?" I asked, confused.

"Nothing; I just find this situation funny," he said, stopping his laughter.

"Oh, shut up!" I said, giving him a punch on the shoulder, and we both burst into laughter.

"I never told you, but I really love your laugh, you know?" he said without thinking, making me blush.

"Ah yeah?" I responded, embarrassed, but this time not for the same reason.

"Yeah, I find it soothing," he said, smiling.

Another silence fell. We were face to face, looking at each other without touching, as if there was a vast space between us, almost like we were afraid to make contact.

"I love your eyes," I said without really knowing where I was going with it.

"Why?" he whispered.

"When I look into them, I feel like I'm the only person on Earth," I replied, letting my heart speak.

"It's because you are the only person who truly exists in my eyes," he replied shyly.

Another silence.

"I love your lips," he said.

"I love your nose," I replied.

"I love your hips," he continued, and I could feel the tension building.

"I love your arms," I responded, quickening my breath.

"I love your hands," he replied, placing his hand on mine.

"I love your back," I said, gradually moving closer to him.

"Y/n..." he whispered, his lips just a few millimeters from mine.

"Chris," I responded, my eyes fixed on his lips.

"I love you entirely," he said in an almost inaudible voice before closing the distance between our lips.

I grabbed his collar, pulling him closer without parting our lips. Our kiss deepened, our breaths mingling, and the room's temperature became unbearable.

"Y/n, we can't," he said, separating our lips, my right hand still on his cheek.

"I know," I whispered.

He laid back next to me.

"I love you entirely too," I said, turning my head toward him, tears in my eyes.

Silence, again.

"Maybe in another universe, we got to have our story," he said, staring at the ceiling.

"I wish we were in another universe," I responded, gazing at the ceiling as well.

"Do you think in the one we are, we'll never get to have our story?" I asked him, and he turned his head to look at me.

"I don't know," he said, sighing. "All I know is that in this universe, the girl I love leaves at the end of the vacation," he added.

"I wish things were different," I said.

"I know, me too," he replied.

"Can I fall asleep in your arms?" I asked, letting a tear fall.

He didn't respond, just opened his arms for me to snuggle against his chest, which I did.

"Good night, my angel," he whispered.

"Good night, my love," I replied.

I couldn't help but shed a few tears before closing my eyes and finally managing to find sleep.

Taglist: @chrisloyalgf @christopherscamopants @blahbel668 @thematthewlover @mattsturnioloarchive @carolinalikesthings @bernardsgf @whicked-hazlatwhore @hearts4chris @mattybsbitch @sara2233445

#christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo edit #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #teach me

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selfproclaimedunicorn · 3 months ago

Note

Write me a fic: Per our convo yesterday. I must ask for Regency!Griffith and his meltdown over falling in love in the most reforming your local Rake type way 🧍‍♂️🫡

this 100000000% got away from me & it is now only tangentially what you asked for. I mean, what you asked for is in there, but I couldn't decide which idea I liked more so I had to string them together & now it's a 4.6k word monstrosity.

Griffith paced, mind addled so that he coursed with the nervous energy that apparently plagued most of the men from his mother’s side of the family. It was as unfair as his current situation. “If you keep that up, you’ll wear a rut into the floor.” Aegon mused as he lifted his glass of brandy, examining the amber liquid in the light streaming through the windows of Thorn Hall’s parlor. He’d made himself quite comfortable, sprawled out on one of the sofas to the point he’d made Griffith’s discarded coat slide off the arm and onto the floor. He stopped and stared at his cousin, gray eyes wide with indignation and the wild concern that so preoccupied him. Aegon giggled over the rim of his snifter before downing more than was even half appropriate for a single sip. Griffith clenched his fists, every muscle in his hands flexing. “Would it kill you to be serious for five minutes?!” He snapped. Annoyance with his best friend could at least be identified and be used as an easy target to let out the building steam of whatever issue had his stomach in knots.

“You’re well and truly in a hobble, aren’t you?” Aegon sat up properly now, “Tell me what the trouble is.”

“Mya Redfort is the trouble. At this point in seduction, I would have at least gotten my cock sucked, and yet she is resisting every attempt at anything further than flirtation–it isn’t like I have not charmed her, but I am getting nothing from it!”

Aegon set his snifter on a low table near the sofa and leaned forward, a contemplative look on his face as he rested his chin in his hand, a finger tapping at his cheek. He’d only been married for a year, a decision reached in the immediate aftermath of their friend-and-cousin’s marriage to his sister, and his own previously similar behavior and thought patterns still rang fresh in his mind. Griffith began pacing again, running a hand through his dark brown curls as he tried to puzzle out his problems with and about Mya Redfort.

“I feel sick. Why is nothing working? You will tell me plainly if I have lost my edge, won’t you?”

“You? Griff, you could never lose your edge! What you need to do, is you just need to shift focus. Mya isn’t receptive, so there is no reason to keep going back. Why not set your sights on that Linderly girl with the–”

Griffith stopped his pacing immediately, his stare hard when he looked at his friend again. “How dare you.”

It was silent in the room after that, Aegon blinking slowly as Griffith felt his stomach drop. Realization set in far too late, and he hated it. Or, no–vexed as he was, he could not hate anything that had to do with Mya.

“One Miss Redfort has tamed her local rake it would seem.” Aegon pressed his lips together to try and stifle it, but all he managed was making his grin look ridiculous and tight.

He pointed at his friend, eyes blown wide once more. “Egg–”

“Welcome to the brotherhood! Interesting one to be a part of, quite cozy though. Provides for a very reliable–”

“I am not going to make a fool of myself over Mya like you did with Abrogail.”

“I did not make a fool of myself!” He stood up, squaring his shoulders to try and make himself look more imposing. It did not do a terribly effective job when he was trying to stand toe to toe with Griffith. Aegon was a good five inches shorter and cut a far less dramatically proportioned figure.

“You could not eat, you could not sleep. You eloped with her weeks after Stannis married your sister because you knew whatever Aunt Alicent was trying to arrange to curb your appetites would not make you as happy as they looked. I sat in this very parlor and watched you carry on in calf-love like some kind of barely grown boy-man who'd never known a woman in his life!”

It was silent in the parlor again as all the bluster slowly left Aegon. He sucked his teeth, hands coming to his hips as he looked up at the ceiling.

“I did carry on, didn't I?”

“Yes.”

He paused again, his gaze leveling with Griffith’s once more. Aegon worked his jaw, just as contemplative as before, and then his lilac eyes lit up. Something had struck him, and all Griffith could do was hope that it was brilliant.

“I do not know how much longer I can hold out.” Mya moaned as she slid further down into the chair beside Rhea’s dressing table, her dress riding up to show her ankles and the pink, embroidered slippers she wore.

“It is taking so much longer to get Griffith to fall for you than it feels like it should be.” Abby mused, her elbow propping on her crossed arm so she could put her cheek in her hand. She furrowed her brows, her small mouth pursing into a thoughtful pout.

“My brother is not so easy to wrap around one's finger as Aegon was,” Adrienne rebutted, her tone harsh and clipped, “he is as pig-headed as our mother.”

“I’d be surprised if he was even capable of being aware of any feelings he developed for someone.” Aerea’s words were softer, more airy, than her twin sister’s. That was the only indication the older of them was even paying attention, she seemed more preoccupied with walking her fingers up one of the poster’s of Rhea’s bed.

“You talk as if Griffith has ever felt anything more complex for a woman than lust or brotherly protectiveness,” Rhea said.

Aerea shrugged and leaned against Rhea, her trail up the bedpost left abandoned. “I know him well enough to guess.”

“If the two of you only have negative things to say about your brother, why are you helping me to win his committed affection?”

“Because we like you, and you mean a good deal to our cousins.” Aerea was still leaning hard against her.

“And because it will be better for our brother in the long run if he settles down, and better for us if he stops tarnishing the reputation of our half of the family. I don’t want to be the sister of the man who has ruined every woman he comes in contact with.”

“I am sure it has nothing to do with how good and romantic a story Griffith’s taming would make, right Adrienne?” Rhea teased, bringing color to her cousin’s cheeks. She turned away quickly, trying to hide her flush from the room full of women.

“Friendship with Rhea and Helaena and Abby, and not sullying your debuts with his reputation, and good stories; right, good, motivations in order. Can someone please help me figure out how to make Griffith Tyrell fall in love with me so I can stop pining? I want to kiss him so badly that I am fit to burst, and you two said I should not even do that!”

“Because that is how he will ensnare you, and the next thing you know you are one more in his long string of abandoned lovers, and no one gets what they want except him.”

Mya sighed tiredly. She was resigned to something, although Rhea could not be sure if it was to “her fate” of eternally trying to win Griffith over, or to subjecting herself to whatever the twins told her to do. Whichever it was, both would be over soon. He was as stubborn as his sisters said, that much was true, but he was not completely without all good sense. If Abby had been able to win Aegon over and reform him from his rakish ways, then Mya could do the same for Griffith. He was no worse, he was just craftier and less aware of his own heart.

“What we need to do is plan one big, grand moment that will make him realize if he has fallen for you or not. If we can make this Griffith’s idea, and if he becomes aware of it all at once, he will have to do something about it. That is his way after all,” Rhea proposed.

“Rhea is right!” Aerea sat up all at once, making her wince as she shouted. She shoved her younger cousin's shoulder, grumbling how she hurt her ears.

“Oh, yes!” Abby perked back up at that, her pout turning into a grin that spread across her freckled face, “That is brilliant, Rhea. Between all of us, we will find a way to make Griffith jealous.”

“I did not say to make him jealous.” Rhea clarified, skeptical of Abby’s trail of thought.

“No, but what better way to go about your suggestion is there?” She rebutted, doubling down on her plan of playing to Griffith’s jealousy.

Rhea ran her tongue over her teeth. There wasn't a better way; her father, Aegon, Aemond, even Stannis; none of them were immune to such feelings, so neither was Griffith. Surely. So if there was a surefire way to know if all their long attempts at getting him to love Mya in a truer way than he told all the other young women had paid off while he simply stubbornly clung to the known of his old ways, it would be to see if he got possesively jealous towards her affections.

“Alright Abrogail, what do you propose?”

“Nothing yet, we need a place and time for me to really get a good plot that is likely to work.”

“The ball Lady Johanna is hosting to try and suss out good matches for her girls,” Mya offered, her tone so casual it could have been an off-handed remark, “because it is not like her husband is trying terribly hard to look.”

“Because Lord Jason Lannister is a man with very little going on in his mind beyond his own importance,” Adrienne quipped. Her opinion of her third cousin mirrored every other member of her grandmother’s family, and if it was not so funny to see him live up to those opinions by bumbling through social interactions, a trifle disguised and riding high off his own pomp, Rhea would have felt bad for the man.

“Oh, yes! That is perfect!” Abby took a few steps away from where Mya sat, her hands clasped in front of her chest as a dreamy look entered her eyes, “We will all make sure you are absolutely incomparable, and as soon as we have eyes on Griffith and know he is aware of your presence, you will dance with someone else. A big show must be made of it too, he must see you can easily replace his spot on your dance card. All of the spots, even! He shan’t even have a chance with you tonight unless he begs, because Mya Redfort is not so easily won over.”

“I like your plan, but what if whoever I dance with instead gets the wrong idea and thinks I do want to replace Griffith?”

“Dance with Stannis. The threat of you being willing to do something besides pining for Griffith the whole night is still there, but he is already married and is head-over-heels for Helaena.”

“Rhea, that is so brilliant I could kiss you!”

“Remember Baldric, subtlety is key.” Griffith whispered in his younger cousin's ear before gently pushing him in the direction of the Lannister girls. Whether Baldric was determined to follow in his and Aegon’s footsteps, or start off as seriously as his brother did not matter. Subtlety in his advances and flirtations had served Griffith well, and so it would serve his young protege as he was thrust onto society.

Griffith only made a brief glance towards his cousin as he greeted Lady Johanna's two oldest girls; he was interested in Baldric's progress, but he could hear about it later. He had plans for the night…or well, he had Aegon’s plans (their wording altered slightly so as to be about Mya Redfort instead of Abrogail). This night was for pulling out all the stops, for wooing his blonde beauty and finally winning a kiss “to spur him” into telling her how besotted he was–as if he were so overcome in the moment he had to tell her right then, and had not been fretting for two days over his sudden reform.

Griffith breezed through the crowd, gray eyes sweeping across every gathered face until he saw her. Her gown was red, it usually was at these sorts of functions, with puffed white sleeves and a bodice that seemed to act more as a shelf to push her breasts up than anything else. Tight, blonde curls framed her face, and a comb with red roses held her bun in place. He would have thought Mya looked beautiful at any given point on a Tuesday morning, flushed from laughter at some conspiratorial secret she shared and in one of the day dresses she always wore, her gloveless fingers stained from eating too many raspberries, but tonight she made Griffith nearly forget to breath. If it were not improper, he would be her partner for every dance so that no one else could.

He plucked two champagne flutes from the tray a servant held as he passed by on his way to where Mya stood with his cousins. Appearing effortlessly out of the crowd, her first drink of the night already on offer, was all part of the plan. It was not Griffith being a besotted fool like Aegon.

“Miss Redfort.”

Her green eyes, already large and expressive, were wide as she looked up at him. Mya was already flying her colors, her cheeks subtly red and undoubtedly warm. Her pretty, pink mouth opened with a false start, and she pressed her lips together for a thoughtful moment before properly saying anything.

“It is very good to see you this evening, Mister Tyrell,” her eyes flickered to the glass he held out towards her, “and it is thoughtful of you to already be seeing to my needs.”

“I am nothing but thoughtful. And in my thoughtfulness, I came to the idea that, once you were done of course, I could have the honor of your first dance of the evening.”

“My first dance has already been promised to Stannis.”

His head whipped towards his cousin, who looked a bit bewildered for a moment. Then, Stannis’s eyes met Griffith’s, and an easy smile (an expression that would have looked as at home on his younger brother) spread across his face. He had been told the plan, both he and Baldric had because it was the way of things, Stannis knew Griffith was to woo Mya as an excuse to tell her everything. Surely he would not dare be overcome by one of his rare moods of mischief now. His having no taste for “such games” could not mean he would throw a rub in the way, because that would be participating.

“Indeed it has. Sorry, Griff.”

Helaena slipped her hand from the crook of Stannis’s elbow, and he offered his hand to Mya. Griffith seethed as his lady placed her hand atop his cousin’s and let herself be led away. Rhea and Abby giggled as they leaned into each other, and his mouth turned down into a tight, visible frown. Neither of those two were getting the champagne, that was certain, and so Griffith shoved it towards Stannis’s wife. Helaena either did not know or did nor care about what was going on, and happily took the delicate flute of sparkling wine from him.

Rhea grinned, every bit as smug as any of Griffith’s company was capable of. “Why, Griffith–”

He did not wait for whatever Rhea was going to say, silently stalking further into the ballroom so as to continue watching Mya and Stannis. And heavens but Mya was graceful, even if she was dancing with another man. Griffith’s nose scrunched, that should be him she glided about with. What good was a dance with Stannis, anyhow? He was married already and not even half the catch Griffith was. Or, no, that was a disservice to both Helaena and, under circumstances where his head was clearer, his friend; Stannis was not half as good a catch for Mya. He was perfect for Aegon’s sister though, strange as she might be at times.

“You are upset.”

“Shit!” He startled so that champagne sloshed over the rim of his glass. Griffith would never know if it was not being able to hear Helaena’s approach over the music and the gossip, or if it was just her silent skulking that made her able to sneak up on him.

“You are not doing a good job at hiding it,” she continued, voice bland and matter-of-fact, “you never do. You should not be surprised I noticed.”

“I’m not surprised you–shouldn’t you be giggling with Rhea and Abrogail?”

“I do not think what they’re giggling about is funny.”

“Fair enough.”

“It does seem to have worked though.” Helaena said before taking a sip of the champagne that had been meant for Mya.

“What worked?”

“Abrogail’s plan to make you jealous for Mya’s attention; something about you not noticing feelings, and grand conspiracies they all came up with. It all seems silly to me, and I doubt Stannis would have danced with Mya if he knew.”

They could not have schemes, he had schemes! Throwing propriety to the wind in a move that would have probably made Aegon proud, Griffith downed the whole flute of champagne in one go, finishing it just in time to thrust the now empty glass into the hands of one of the Lannister’s butlers. If Mya was going to try and make him jealous in some gambit to–fiend seize it, who even knew what her gambit was! Either way, two could play at this game, and at the end of the night one of them would get whatever it was they wanted.

“Helaena, would you like to dance?”

“I shall pretend I could not hear you, and that way no one can be offended.”

“I’m offended.”

“At this moment, I don’t think you count.”

Griffith scoffed, even more offended now. What had he done to her?! It was not like he’d ever flirted with Helaena, Stannis had wanted her since they were boys and it would not have been right.

“I don’t want to join whatever games you and Mya are playing at, and I don’t think you should even be engaging in them in the first place. They do not make any sense” Helaena paused to take another sip, and then continued, “you are not dimwitted, although you are acting a bit like it right now, you know how Mya feels about you, Griffith. She feels how every woman you’ve charmed feels about you, and you know how you feel–”

“And how do I feel, Helaena?”

“More strongly than you would ever want to let on, if you actually rising to the bait means anything.” And it did, she knew it did, because Stannis’s wife was obnoxiously insightful. Griffith did not respond, he let her stew in how right she was in silence, and after a moment, Helaena continued.

“I don’t know why you cannot just tell her.”

“Because…because.”

She blinked slowly, her light purple eyes boring into him with all the intensity his sister Aerea’s eyes ever carried, or his Uncle Aemon’s. She was waiting for a justification that would not come, because Griffith wasn’t sure there was one.

“So there is no reason you cannot tell her how you feel towards her, just as I said. And you must know that you never telling her will get neither of you what you desire, and that should she move on because you never commit, that you will never be as happy in your rakish behavior as you were before all of this nonsense that has been going on all season ever since you failed to get Mya into your bed the first time.”

“How does Stannis tolerate you always being right?”

“He does not ‘tolerate’ anything, he likes it.”

Griffith and Helaena stood silently next to each other after that, the both of them watching the dancers sweep across the floor. He watched Stannis and Mya, still burning with jealousy because of his infuriating cousins. Helaena probably watched everyone, or if she was watching Stannis and Mya it was not because of jealousy, but because of how well she liked him.

He took his first steps when the final few notes of the dance began, he knew all of the music from these balls as well as he knew the back of his own hand, or as well as he knew how to elicit sweeter sounds from whatever woman he’d set his sights on. Mya Redfort in this case, and in all the cases for the rest of his life. Because apparently these sorts of things were inevitable for his family.

“Miss Redfort.”

“Oh! Mister Tyrell,” she smiled up at him, just as teasing as it always was these past three months, but more knowing than coy, “I presume you are here for that dance? I shall have to check my card, I believe it is already full, or nearly at least.”

“We must talk.” He cut in quickly before she could continue, his hand involuntarily coming to rest on her upper arm. Her cheeks went red again, brighter than before, and an increasingly familiar spark of hope shone in her green eyes.

“Must?”

“It is important, gravely so…please.”

“Alright.” Her voice was soft as a breath, and Griffith dropped his hand to offer Mya his arm. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, and her smile betrayed her excitement. Mya had fully convinced herself she was getting exactly what she wanted how she had planned to get it, but she didn’t because it was Helaena that got him to speak to her plainly, not whatever she had plotted with Rhea and Abby. Griffith at least had the satisfaction of that.

“I'll make sure Lady Johanna does not see the two of you leaving and send out a chaperone.” Stannis whispered before side-stepping between two gathering groups of dancers and making his way back into the throng of guests in the ballroom. He was a good and reliable chap when nerves or a bout of humor that came at someone else's expense did not overtake him.

Mya clung to Griffith’s arm as they made their way through the ballroom and out the side door that led into the manor’s grounds. The gardens at Casterly weren't much in comparison to Thorn Hall, but they were nice enough, and it wasn't like the pair of them were there to take in the scenery. They remained silent when they stopped in front of the fountain, the only sound the quiet splash of water from the lion's mouth falling into the basin at its stone paws.

Coming up with what to say had felt easy when he schemed with Aegon, it was so much more intimidating to think of what to tell Mya when saying plainly how he felt loomed before him. Griffith had never been so true in any of the pretty words he so easily spun for the women who came before her, and now that he meant everything it felt like every word he’d ever known left him. Mya brought her hands to clasp in front of her chest and turned to face him, it was now or never.

“This evening has not gone at all how I planned it to, but it has still brought me to the ending I wanted…or at least something similar.”

“Us being alone together hardly constitutes you having your way.”

“I did not bring you here to–blast and damnation–Mya Redfort, I love you!”

“Truly?” Even though this was what she'd wanted, she sounded surprised and disbelieving. Mya, it would seem, had not planned this far either.

“Deeply, madly. For months I have thought about, have wanted, no one but you. It is as if you have bewitched me…and it frightens me. I do not know what to do with such sincerity, except to offer it to you and hope you will have it. And–and hope you will have me; mind, body, soul, whatever you desire of me, Mya, you shall have it. I would not want to give myself to anyone else.”

“Oh…oh, Griffith,” her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she smiled all the same, “I love you too. I have loved you.” There was weight there. She’d been harboring such affections for him for months at least. Had it been years? He hoped not, Griffith did not like the thought of Mya silently pining as he flirted and fucked his way through dozens for three years; disappointing her as he carried on so. No, he would banish the thought. It didn't matter now. This moment was all that mattered.

He gently cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his touch. “Would you marry me, if I asked?”

“I would. And…and would you stay and still mean all of what you said if I let you kiss me?”

“Wild horses could not drag me away.” His gaze did not break from Mya’s as his hand slid from her soft cheek to her jaw, his thumb resting under her chin so he could tilt her head back. Her eyes were wide and wanting, and she parted her lips as Griffith leaned down to kiss her.

Mya kissed him back, firm and hungry, as her hands came to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as if that would hold him in place forever. As if she needed to go to that much effort.

They were breathless when the kiss broke, and Griffith put his forehead against hers as he gently ran his thumb over her lower lip. His other hand went to her waist, and he wanted desperately to pull her as close as he could, to guide Mya into grinding against him.

“I love you, Mya.” No amount of times he could tell her would be enough to satisfy him.

“Enough to kiss me again?”

“For that and more.” He did as she bid, teasingly brief, as his hand dropped from her jaw and came to hold her waist like his other. Mya pressed her lips together into a tight frown, her brows furrowing over her pretty green eyes. She released his coat and held his face now, pulling Griffith’s mouth down into hers to kiss him how she had meant.

He smiled into the kiss, truly being in love only changed a handful of things really, and walked Mya backwards until her knees hit the basin of the fountain. She sat there, dragging Griffith with her so he loomed over her.

He leaned on one arm, his hand flat against the smooth stone of the fountain basin and placed close enough to Mya that his thumb was against her hip. His other hand came to her thigh, giving it a brief squeeze through the satiny fabric of her red gown. Griffith would not push her for more than this, he could make himself be satisfied if she wanted to wait for their engagement or even their marriage for anything more intimate, but he could still relish in touching her and silently pray for more. He was still getting what he wanted after all: turning Mya Redfort into Mya Tyrell.

#my writing #regency au #asoiaf oc #hotd oc #hotd regency au #sotf extras #fic: sins of the father #sotf regency au #oc: griffith tyrell #the soft launch of ella's kids & it's griffith being Ultra Chad Regency Rake #and the twins being The Most Teen Girls Of All Time #asks

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year ago

Text

Read Need Your Love Tonight ✈️💙🔥...

It's 1961 and we're headed to Hawaii for the U.S.S. Arizona Benefit Concert! ✈️ This one is an older woman and Elvis, so buckle up, babies! All the pics are from the day/night of the concert, just cuz I know a little visual stimulation never hurts...😏

TW: SEXX, age gap (f > m), period appropriate ageist nonsense, fluff, Elvis in that gold jacket, a little sub!e for funsies

FYI: Gold Scarf ✨🧣✨comes out tomorrow for Sweethearts💕 & above tiers over on Patreon! Don't want to miss out? Join HERE ✨

March 25th, 1961

“Are you sure about this, y/n?” Margie asks you, yet again. She looks at the sign in your hand that you’ve got tucked in by your feet with doubt in her ever-practical brown eyes. “I mean, it’s not too late to just chuck it.”

You laugh, unwilling to let her change your mind. “Oh, come on, Margie! Have a little fun, will ya? It’s not like it really matters. He probably won’t even see it, anyway, so why not?”

“But it’s a little desperate, don’t you think? And it announces to the world that you’re practically a spinster at your age!” she laughs, poking you in your side.

You roll your eyes. “A divorcee is not a spinster, honey. Plus, it gives me character,” you say, fluffing your chic new bob. “Plus, lord knows Elvis Presley has plenty of young admirers. Some of these girls are just babies. They wouldn’t even know what to do with a man like him.” You wink at Margie salaciously.

“Oh, how in the world did I let you talk me into this?” she groans, teasing and giving you a smile that only a best friend could.

It’s not that her words don’t sting just a little though. You certainly hadn’t planned to be 35 years old and recently divorced, or for your husband—ex-husband—to be a giant cliché and leave you for his (much) younger secretary.

That’s why you treated yourself on this trip to Hawaii, using his money and dragged Margie, your life-long best friend, along for the ride. It was a huge bonus when you found out Elvis was going to be performing for the first time since the 50’s and for charity no less. You didn’t mind one bit when springing for the $100 ringside seats for you and Margie. It was a win-win-win situation.

Even though you’d been older than him and his target audience, Elvis intrigued and attracted you from the beginning. The young man with the sleek hair, cutting edge style, and wiggling hips set your heart aflutter even though you were married and, according to your mother, should be “beyond such things.”

Hey, there isn’t any harm in looking, was your thought.

You wiggle your feet under your chair to try and alleviate the numbness in your toes. Perhaps heels hadn’t been the most practical choice for this particular venture, but really all you care about (despite what you told Margie) is Elvis noticing you, even just a little bit. God knows you need this after all you’ve been through. And if that takes wearing a sexy outfit and making a ridiculous sign asking, “Am I too old for you?” in giant, bold letters to get his attention, so be it.

You may be in your mid-thirties and divorced, but you still look decent. And you don’t plan on being single forever. Something in you feels like if you can at least catch the eye of the most famous man on earth, you have a chance at catching another man sooner rather than later.

Your stubborn, fiery nature will come in handy tonight, you just know it will. Even as that too-grown-up shred of doubt telling you this is silly winds through your mind, you still have a good feeling about this.

Sitting through the opening acts, you find yourself wiggling in your seat, filled with an excitement you haven’t felt about anything in a while. The other acts are good—you particularly enjoy that the opening comedienne was a woman—but you are itching to see Elvis. In the flesh.

Finally, after what seems like forever, the main event begins. Your eardrums are blasted out by what must be at least two full minutes of young girls shrieking at the top of their lungs. Rightly so, you think as you watch the tall drink of water that is Elvis Presley strut onto the stage. You are blessing your lucky stars above for the divorce settlement because you are so close, you can see just how deliciously handsome the man is in person.

And, boy, is he.

Even having seen his perfect visage in movies on the big screen truly did not hold a candle to the broad-shouldered man in the glittering gold jacket standing on the stage before you. There is almost an innocence and perhaps even a nervousness in his deep-set dreamy blues. His dark hair is coiffed just perfectly and you watch his leg jiggle as he takes the microphone. A wave of heat rolls over you, flushing you from head to toe, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with the temperature in the arena.

There is a boyish playfulness to him you do not expect of the seasoned 26-year-old entertainer. He is indelibly charming and likable, not afraid to laugh at himself or the insanity of the crowd around him, but it’s not in a disparaging way. It’s more like he still can’t quite believe it’s all for him.

The reason he’s always fascinated you becomes obvious now that he’s right in front of you. He is a walking contradiction—delicate feminine features in a sharp masculine package, a deep low drawl coupled with a light warbling tenor. Singing lyrics that make you think the dirtiest things and then he turns around and does a spiritual. You have whiplash in the very best way.

You’re so distracted by his essence and the hypnotizing way he’s working the crowd that you almost forget about your sign. When One Night croons out of him with the promise of his “sweet helping hand,” a fire lights under you and you fumble around at your feet and flip the sign up for him to see.

Come on, come on, come on, you think, tapping your foot. Look over here.

At this point you will accept anything from the singer—a wink would suffice. Anything to let you know that you’re not just a washed-up divorcee who’s too old or ugly to find happiness with anyone else. Even if that happiness is just for one night because of one small moment, it’ll be worth it.

He’s so consumed by the song, his eyes closing and the rhythm pumping through his whole body, that you’re not sure he’ll see you. Your fingers grip the sign anxiously. You’d rather not have to hold it up for the rest of the concert, and you are kicking yourself for not remembering earlier, but you’ll do what you’ll have to do.

The end of the song comes, to which he adds a toe-curling groan, and when he opens his eyes, they land on you. A bolt of lightning strikes inside you, filling your veins with a scorching desire at the way those pretty eyes fall on your sign. You wait with bated breath as he reads each word silently, “Am I too old for you?” He gives you a quick cursory glance and then starts to walk away.

“Thank you,” he says to the crowd as screams fill the arena. The opening chords of Are You Lonesome Tonight start to play.

Fitting song choice, you think a little bitterly. Well, at least he saw me.

You find yourself fighting back tears, the split-second moment feeling anticlimactic and dissatisfying. A bit of a punch to the gut, really. It’s the dismissal that really stings, though your logical brain tells you he’s concentrating on his work and your sign is likely no more than a short distraction.

Suddenly, Elvis stops. He turns back towards you and steps in your direction. Your breath catches in your throat when he points at you. It is as if his finger is connected to you by an invisible string, and you find yourself sitting up taller and leaning forward on the edge of your seat. Then, he tilts the microphone away for a moment, his infamous lip curling up into a delicious boyish smile.

“Never,” he says, looking you straight in the eyes.

There’s about a hundred horses galloping in your chest and you feel like you might melt into the chair or start shrieking like one of the thousands of teenagers behind you. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief. Margie elbows you in the ribs and you blink, and realizing he’s staring, waiting, you smile the biggest smile you’ve ever smiled.

He winks in response and then turns back to the band. You let out a shuddering breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding, dropping the sign on the floor.

“Oh, my god, y/n! He spoke to you! He pointed you out!” Margie whispers excitedly in your ear, bouncing up and down as if she too had been possessed by a teenage girl.

For once in your life, you are speechless and can only nod in her direction, your eyes never leaving Elvis. It’s like you are in his thrall and unable to do anything but focus on his voice and his beautiful face.

Ever the consummate performer, he uses his space well, walking from one end of the stage to the other as he brings the entire arena to quiet with the lullaby-esque ballad. Your frustrated tears from earlier have morphed into tears of overwhelm, of being moved by his voice and the melody. Combined with the lyrics of this particular tune, it feels like he’s somehow seen into your soul and is singing straight to you.

He's in front of you now, and you barely register the fact that he’s bending down, throwing his long legs over the edge of the stage to sit there, as if he weren’t performing for a crowd of 4,000. The girls shriek with even more fervor.

As he begins the spoken part, his legs dangling right there in front of you, he says, “I wonder if you’re lonesome tonight,” staring straight at you once again.

Every nerve in your body is at attention and you know you’ve flushed a shade of cherry red because he smiles knowingly at the effect he’s had on you. He looks away, continuing the rest of the spoken part, and you shiver despite the humid warmth.

Only Margie’s hand clamping over yours reminds you that you are still on earth and that this is indeed all real. And when he looks back at you and says, “I loved you at first glance,” the blood drains from your head straight into your belly and you think you might actually pass out, right there in front of him.

A choked noise escapes your throat and luckily Margie, knowing you as well as she does, starts squeezing your hand with a grip strength you didn’t know was possible from the tiny woman. The pain brings you out of your daze, and you breathe again as he looks away and finishes the song.

It was truly more than you ever could have hoped for and the last three songs of the set fly by. You don’t want it to end, but at least you accomplished what you’d set out to do, which honestly was a little bit of a surprise, despite all your talk at the beginning. For the first time in a long while, you feel a tad bit hopeful about the future. You know it’s probably stupid, this idea that a morsel of attention from Elvis Presley could make you feel valued again, but you feel it all the same. After all, if Elvis thinks your worthy of note, then you must be.

Take that, Mike. You and your secretary can shove it. The thought brings a little smile to your face.

A boisterous version of Hound Dog starts playing and you find yourself grinning from ear to ear, bopping back and forth with Margie. You can’t help but stare at those famous hips as he shakes them oh so perfectly in your direction and are quite mesmerized by them when Margie very pointedly bumps your knee with hers. Looking over, you see a short man in front of you bending towards your ear.

“Hi, Miss, I’m Joe. I work for Elvis, and he would like to see you after the show,” Joe says kindly, presenting it as more of a statement than a question. Your eyebrows shoot up to the sky and you look at him disbelievingly. “You and your friend, of course,” he adds quickly, with a disarming smile.

You shoot Margie a look that you hope conveys the appropriate amount of giddy excitement under the strategically calm look you plaster across your face. It’s one thing to be a mooning schoolgirl with your friend in the audience, but completely different once a very real and unfamiliar young man invites you to meet Elvis Presley.

You give the guy a once over and see the lanyard hanging from his neck that shows that he is indeed working as part of the show, lending some credibility to his request. Margie looks at you with keen eyes, then gives you a shrug of approval before you nod and agree.

“Come with me, ladies, or we’ll be caught in the crowd,” Joe says, ushering you two out of the area before the last song is over. Head spinning, you feel a little regretful that you are missing it, and you are almost out of sight before you realize you’ve left the sign on the floor.

The song and the sign should be the last thing on your mind, but you find your disbelief of the situation feels a little too much to handle as Joe brings you to a black door with a guard standing in front of it. If you had any doubt before, the nod of the guard and the way he instantly opens the door for Joe tells you that this might be real after all.

Margie loops her arm in yours as you step into the dark hallway and Joe leads you away from the stage and the shrieking applause of the arena. By the sound of the immense applause, Elvis’ set is finished and he must be taking his bows.

The butterflies in your stomach make you glad you had only a light dinner as Joe finally opens a door to what you assume is a dressing room. You blink against the light.

“Make yourselves comfortable, ladies. Elvis will be with you shortly,” Joe says before leaving and closing the door behind him.

You break away from Margie, who starts tittering around the room. You are so dazed you barely hear her.

“Are you listening to me, y/n? I cannot believe your silly sign worked! Elvis Presley—the Elvis Presley—wants to see us? I mean, you, really, but hey, I’m glad to be along for the ride! He is awfully handsome, isn’t he?” Margie rambles on.

All you can do is nod while your mind whirls a million miles an hour. Suddenly, all your confidence from before the show disappears and you feel incredibly silly. You’re almost an old woman, for god’s sake. What are you even doing here? What if Elvis comes back, sees how old you really are, and realizes his mistake? Oh, this might be one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done, and that’s saying something.

“Oh, no you don’t, missy. Don’t you give up on me now, not when you’re so close to the finish line!” Margie scolds, then puts her arm around you, leading you to the couch. She sits you down and turns your face to hers.

“He’s gonna take one look at me and run for the hills, Marg,” you whimper.

“Stop it—he will do no such thing. And keep your expectations manageable. We’re just meeting him, that’s all. It’s not like you are going to sleep with the man!” she laughs and shakes her head.

You don’t laugh and Margie stops abruptly. “Oh, my lord above, do you want to sleep with him? Do you think he wants to sleep with you?” she asks, lowering her voice to a whisper, her eyes widening.

This time you can’t help but laugh at her. “Okay, first of all, who doesn’t want to sleep with him? Secondly, I have no idea if he wants that. He’s the biggest star in the world, Marg! I don’t know what his expectations are of the women he brings backstage!” you whisper back, looking around as though there might be lackies lurking about listening to you two chirp away.

Margie now looks as nervous as you feel. She starts playing with her wedding ring in a self-soothing motion and you can’t help but fidget with the simple diamond necklace hanging around your neck.

“Look, it’s probably nothing, right? You just caught his eye and he wants to say hi,” she says, trying to be reassuring but it feels anything but.

“Yes, of course…you don’t think he’ll laugh at me, do you? Like he didn’t just bring us back to make fun of me, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t seem the sort to do that,” she replies, as if she knows the man personally.

Before you can respond, you hear people in the hallway, coming closer by the second. You don’t even have time to look in the mirror because the door opens and the room floods with a loud group of men.

You quickly slide your best confident and nonchalant air over your features, a skill well-practiced from your days going to Mike’s work parties with his insufferable partners and their equally insufferable wives.

The moment Elvis enters the room, the air shifts, as though his essence somehow defies physics and the atoms that make him up are different than the rest of yours. He is glowing, both with sweat and the high of his performance, his gold jacket abandoned to one of his followers along the way. His white ruffled shirt is soaked through with sweat and the sight has you beginning to sweat yourself. It’s as if his pheromones have already sent your hormones into overdrive, and you have the sudden urge to rip that sweaty shirt right off his body.

Instead, you dig your nails into your palm and wait for him to notice you. It takes a moment, what with all the hullabaloo around him. He’s still breathing hard from his performance and laughing with the men. You watch carefully as he pulls off his blue string tie and begins unbuttoning his shirt and rolling his sleeves up his forearms. The scene is so natural and intimately masculine in its way that it sends a shiver down your spine and reminds you that it’s been too long since you’ve had a man if this is all it takes to get you going.

The room suddenly feels very hot and it’s in that moment that Elvis sees you. He gives a low whistle. “Well, if it isn’t the pretty lady with the sign,” he says in his lilting Southern drawl, his eyes never leaving you as he makes his way across the room. Your heart flutters as though a hummingbird is caught in your chest. You stand to greet him.

“Mr. Presley,” you say demurely as he comes to a stop before you and takes your hand in his. The heat from it is blistering on your skin in the best possible way, and when he presses his lips into your fingers without taking those gorgeous blue eyes off you, the zing goes straight into your core.

“Please call me Elvis,” he says in a way that is sweet as pie but with an undercurrent of heat that causes you to blush. “And you are?”

It takes a second for you to remember your own name, and in that short break, Margie jumps up beside you. “She’s y/n, and I’m Margie,” she says, and you hold yourself back from shooting her a scathing look when his eyes shift to her with a kind smile.

A kind smile, but without the same heat, you can’t help but notice.

When he turns back to you and guides you back to the couch, Margie gives you a knowing glance and bites her lips in a smile, obviously trying to hold back a girlish grin.

It doesn’t take long for Elvis to cozy up to you. His arm ends up around the back of the couch and then your shoulders rather quickly, his long fingers drawing soothing circles on your dress. If you were younger and less experienced, this might have been salaciously forward. As it stands, however, sitting here so close to him that you can feel the heat radiate off his sweaty body, it is not even close to enough to satiate you.

Elvis keeps asking you questions, looking at you with endlessly deep blue bedroom eyes framed in long, dark lashes, smudged with remnants of what you assume is eye makeup. You answer his questions, nervous and coy at first, then with increasing candor, because all at once you come to a decision:

You want nothing more than to utterly ruin this boy, despite propriety, despite your reservations and low expectations from earlier. No, judging from the curiously passionate way he keeps looking at you and the increasing tightness in your lower belly, you very much know that you want to take him to bed.

Almost as if he can read your mind, he leans in towards your ear. “Would ya like to come back to my place, darlin’?” he whispers. The hushed, warm cadence of his voice sends tingles sparkling over your body. He’s surprisingly shy about the proposition considering how forward it is, and it’s all you can do to keep from straddling his spread legs right there and then.

Instead, you settle for a nod and a quiet, “I’d like that very much.”

With that, he wastes no time, popping up off the couch and announcing abruptly that it’s time to go. His entourage scrambles to attention, and Margie gives you a quizzical look as Elvis grabs your hand.

You smile at her in the way only a best friend can and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, as though she can’t quite believe your intentions. She’s nervous, you can tell by the way her brow furrows. She begins worrying her lip as the both of you are ushered out and down the dimly lit corridor.

Part of you thinks that perhaps you should be nervous, too. After all, you don’t know Elvis or his people. Yet there is something about him that is utterly disarming—a unique sort of charm perhaps, but it really is more than that. It’s a vulnerability you don’t expect from a man like him. A yearning to connect, maybe.

It’s something that makes him not so different from you.

Before you can really absorb what’s happening, you are whisked into a car with Elvis, Margie, and some of his people, and the lot of you are taken to the Hawaiian Village Hotel. Margie grips one hand while you splay the other on Elvis’ thigh. He lays his larger hand on top and threads his fingers through yours, suggesting a level of intimacy which surprises you. There is a neediness to it, and you have the distinct urge to take care of him in whatever way you can. A knot of warmth grows deep in your belly at the thought.

You feel calmer than you should because, despite his fame, every second you spend with Elvis he becomes less of an untouchable superstar and more of just a man. Even though in any other circumstance you might be afraid being in the company of so many strange men, this feels more like you were meant to be here all along. As if everything in your life has led you to this very night. You are excited, to be sure, but not afraid in the least. In fact, you are feeling more confident than you have in a while, an anticipatory excitement building in you with every passing minute.

Once you get to the hotel, Elvis does not want to let you out of his sight, or even his grasp, which makes it a little hard to convey to Margie all these thoughts of yours. It’s not until you abscond to the bathroom that you are able to get her alone, and even that gains you the cutest little boy pout from the young man who now seemingly has his sights set on only you. You escape only after telling him you must freshen up and give him a long kiss to the cheek, which you notice turns him a little pink.

Margie is beyond hesitant to leave here without you. “Don’t you think you are taking this a little too far, y/n?” she asks you with worry in her eyes.

“Marg, I know what I’m doing, and I’d be crazy not to take this chance. You know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t. And it’s not like I’m some young, innocent thing he’s taking advantage of, am I?” you remind her, checking your makeup and hair in the mirror.

“I guess not. But promise me you’ll be careful! And that you’ll call me. I’ll worry if I don’t hear from you,” she tuts.

“I know and I will. You are the best friend a girl could ask for,” you smile, hugging her.

“I know I am,” she says, nodding, then whispers, “You better be ready to share all the details when you get back. A married woman can still be curious, you know.”

You laugh and say goodbye before Margie announces that she’d like to be taken back to your hotel. A few men hop to and she’s off before you know it.

Once she’s gone, Elvis grabs your hand and pulls you back into his suite of rooms, alone.

“You go on and make yourself comfortable, sweetheart. I just need to take a shower and get all this grime offa me,” he drawls, turning to the ensuite bathroom.

Emboldened by the quiet and the dark, you grab his hand and pull him back to you. Cupping his pretty face, you plant a long, lingering kiss full of promise on his lips. You can feel his surprise, at first, but he quickly relents and wraps his arms around you, deepening the kiss. Feeling him pressed against you sends your body into overdrive. Besides an angry and cliché tussle with the mailman after Mike had announced he was leaving, you hadn’t been with anyone in quite a while. That coupled with the raw, magnetic pull that had been growing all night between you and Elvis has your toes curling and your heart racing.

Elvis may be young, but he sure does know how to kiss, you think. His lips are incredibly soft and pliant and gentle, but you can feel his passion brewing just under the surface in the fevered way his hands dig into your back and his cock twitches in his slacks.

Even though you are loathe to do so, you break away first. “You’d better go shower,” you command, smoothing the ruffles on his shirt.

“Y-Yes, m-ma’am,” he manages to choke out, nodding voraciously. With one last peck to your cheek, he absconds quickly, and in his haste leaves the door open a crack. He undresses in what must be record breaking time, which you can hear from how quickly his clothes drop to the floor. Just thinking of him wet and naked mere feet away has slick gathering in your underwear. It takes everything in you to not follow him in.

Yes, you think you just might ruin him tonight, in the best possible way. Honestly, you’re not exactly sure where this self-assurance is coming from, other than the fact that he seems very taken with you and you have nothing to lose. You’re sure he’s quite experienced—there’s no way he wouldn’t be with his age and level of stardom, and while that should give you pause, you still have nearly a decade on the man. While your sex life had dwindled recently, there were plenty of better years when you and Mike went at it like rabbits.

You sit on the edge of the bed, opting not to take of your dress. There’s something about the fact that he will be naked (or nearly so) with you being fully clothed when he walks back in that entices you in such a way that it sends a shiver down your spine. Of course, it would’ve been prudent of you to wear sexier underwear, but you suppose your white lace set will have to do. Plus, you aren’t entirely certain you will be wearing them for long, anyway…

True to your prediction, the shower turns off in record time. You cross your legs and lean back on your hands, casually but expectantly. Elvis is breathless when he flings the door open, as though he just ran a sprint, droplets of water still glistening on his skin. He looks at you with hopeful, needy anticipation.

He's an absolute vision. Never has a man looked so good, you think. God surely spent extra time crafting this one, what with his high cheekbones and sparkling blue eyes and perfect lips. You make no secret of the way you take in his whole body, either, and his lips part and his eyes widen and you can’t tell if he’s maybe a little self-conscious by the way your gaze is raking over him.

You don’t care. The rapid rise and fall of his chest as he watches you tells you he’s enjoying it. His towel is slung low, wrapped and tucked in around his waist. There’s no hiding how his cock is hardening beneath it, the terrycloth twitching and tenting right before your eyes. Between that and the disheveled state of his wet hair, it makes you want to lick him dry in more ways than one.

You uncross your legs slowly and use one finger to beckon him forward in a come-hither action. You’d seen him do the same in one of his movies last year, but my oh my, how the tables have turned. He gulps visibly, his eyes drifting from your legs to your finger and back again, then pads towards you on the plush carpet until he’s standing right before you.

Looking up at him, you bite your lip coquettishly and see his eyes dilate. Your gaze drifts down his chest to his stomach, then follows the little trail of hair that goes from his belly button and disappears beneath the towel. You can’t help pressing your lips right above his navel and you feel him shudder against you, which you take as a sign to keep going. Kissing across his soft but lean stomach, then down that little trail, you open your legs and grab his hips, pulling him forward to you. He trips over his own feet to get there.

When your hands skirt the edge of the towel and begin to pull it open, his hand stops you. You look up at him to find him shaking his head bashfully.

“Y-y-you don’t h-hafta do that, m-ma’am,” he stammers out, belying his nervousness. You can’t seem to piece out why, exactly, because by the quite prominent erection he’s sporting right in front of your face, it’s evident that he’s excited by the notion. Perhaps he’s used to pretty, young things who don’t know what they are doing, or maybe the notorious 50’s rebel is a little old fashioned. But if there’s one thing you became quite skilled at in the last few years (in the failed hopes it might help your marriage), it was how to make a man fall apart in your mouth. You’d even developed quite the taste for it.

And something about the way he is calling you “ma’am” in his delightful and polite Southern accent has you licking your lips. “Oh, I know I don’t have to, baby,” you coo at him, “but I want to.” And with that, you unravel the towel and let it drop to the floor.

Elvis lets out a choked groan and his hands flail as though he wants to cover the magnificent member that springs forth before you, slapping up against his stomach. You swat his hands away, lips parting with a sigh as you take him in.

He’s intact, the red tip of him nestled under lighter foreskin. Perhaps that why his cheeks are as pink as they are. You’d heard women titter in whispers about uncircumcised men being “ugly” or “unclean,” and while you didn’t have any personal experience with it, it does not turn you off in the least. Quite the opposite, if fact, as you can feel your arousal soaking the fabric between your thighs. What is beyond evident is that God didn’t just give him a pretty voice and a pretty face—he’s got a cock to match.

“Perfect,” you sigh and smile up at him, rubbing encouraging little circles at his hipbone with your thumb.

He lets out a shaking breath and a look of relief passes quickly over his features, but there is still a vulnerable hesitance about him. It does something primal to you. You just want to eat him right up.

But before that, you think he’s due for a little teasing. It’s the least you can do after the show he put on for you earlier and how it had made you ruin your panties to watch him live on stage. Pressing your lips along the cut of his groin, you feel the tickle of the course thatch of hair he’s got curling around the base of him. He shivers violently with each kiss, holding back a strangled moan as you get closer and closer to the place he wants you the most. Not seeming to know what to do with his hands, they flounder a bit before resting lightly on your shoulders, the heat of them blazing through your dress.

Using just the tip of your pointer finger, you run it under and up his large ball sack, noticing the way they seem to draw in closer and the way he jumps when you do so. Your other hand reaches around to grab his perfectly round ass cheek to keep him near and steady. The cutest little yelp falls out of his mouth. You smile, finally dragging your finger up the silky soft flesh covering his rock-hard shaft.

He jolts, the long length of his cock bouncing toward you, knowing and eager for what you have in store for him. The tip of your finger circles the slit of him, already weepy with precum, and you see how sensitive he is around his foreskin when he sucks in a short breath as your finger circles that, too.

Without warning him, you run the tip of your tongue from base to head, savoring the clean but still musky scent of him as you go. You look up to see his eyes roll back and his lips part, a whisper of “Goddamn,” falling from his mouth like a prayer.

You kiss and lap your way back down then take him in your hand to tilt his cock down to you. The heavy feel of him in your palm coupled with the way his hands tighten and dig into the fabric of your dress has you knowing you are on the right track. You pump him once, twice, three times, your wrist twisting and changing pressure to see what makes him moan the most. When you find the right combination, you swirl your tongue around his leaking tip before closing your mouth around it.

The low keen that vibrates out of him is desperate and sensual. Your thighs tighten around his legs, boxing him in, and your pussy clenches around nothing, yearning for friction. Right now, you concentrate on taking him in your mouth, lathing your flattened tongue up and down his penis while you suck in, sealing yourself around him.

It’s then that his hands finally fly up to your hair, carting through it, and you can feel him holding back. It’s good that he knows you are in charge, and he fully submits to how you begin working his balls and the hilt of him with one hand as you inch his ample length further into your mouth.

Obscene moans are falling past his lips now, only getting louder when you match them with your own, the vibrations causing him to thrust a little down your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants as you press him past your gag reflex, your throat tightening then relaxing around him. His legs tremble and you pull off him for a moment to catch your breath, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to him still.

Elvis whimpers and you smile up at him, using your hand to pump him fully. You reckon he’s not going to last long in this by the way he’s crumbling so beautifully in front of you. The urge to want to choke on his cock comes over you so strongly that you can’t wait any longer. You take him back down your throat quickly enough that his eyes pop open in surprise and his hand finally tightens in your hair the way you want it to.

He's bigger than Mike in every way, but you don’t let that deter you. No, you feel quite confident as you open your throat for him as best you can, all the while working him with your tongue and hand. For the first time in a long time, you feel like you could conquer the world, despite your age, despite being divorced, because you are going to make the king of rock and roll himself unravel at your feet. The thought has you soaking your panties as Elvis murmurs your praises.

“I-I-I’m not gonna…last…gonna blow if ya keep this up, mama,” he pants, trying to pull away as if not wanting to sully you. But you are far too experienced and far too aroused for such sentiment. Instead, you grab his ass in both hands and press him so far down that your nose hits his pelvis. Feeling him tense and shudder, you give him every trick at once, relishing his pleasure as it serves your own. His strangled cry fills the air as he pulses in your mouth, shooting his salty release straight down your throat as you swallow around him.

The pleasured run of expletives he’s moaning must be loud enough for others to hear, but that arouses you even more because you are causing it. His body shakes hard through his orgasm, and he bows over you, clutching your head in an effort to stay standing. When you finally pull off him, his saliva-covered dick is still heavy and hard.

Ah, youth, you think with a smile.

“Oh, oh mama,” he says breathlessly, “that w-was…oh lord...” Then he collapses next to you on the bed, staring up at the ceiling in a daze.

You shift your body sideways so you can look down at him in his fucked-out afterglow. Somehow, he’s even more beautiful now than he was before, both innocent and debauched all at once, his high cheekbones flushed and his eyes dark and sparkling with lust. You can’t help but run your hand down his heaving chest, just to prove that this vision is real.

The action focuses him and he looks over at you, concerned, his hand cupping your cheek. “You okay? Y-ya really din’t have ta do that, honey,” he says quietly, his dark brows furrowing together handsomely.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, baby. I loved it,” you say, smiling. “Can I show you how much?”

His eyes widen and he nods.

As bold as you’ve ever been, you take his other hand in yours, tucking it under your dress. Slowly, you run his fingers along the inside of your thigh. His callouses catch on your silky stockings and you hear him hum in approval when you reach the past where your garter belt holds them up and your soft, bare flesh is exposed to his touch. There is no stopping you now, and when you guide his fingers to the sopping fabric between your legs, you watch as his lips part in what can only be described as a reverent, aroused awe.

“Ohhhh,” is about all he’s able to get out, and your body yields to him, legs falling open of their own accord as a sigh tumbles from your lips. You dip his fingers under the band that separates you and press him into the slick, and that’s all it takes for the boy to snap to attention.

In a fast, fluid motion, his lips capture yours, and he reverses your positions so you are lying back on the bed. As his mouth explores above, his fingers mirror below, caressing through your slick folds before circling your clit. It only takes him a moment of experimentation to find what makes you quake and roll in his hand—he’s obviously skilled in the art of a woman’s body, you’ll give him that.

You moan into his mouth when he pushes two long fingers up into your wet heat. Your pussy clenches around him, tight and needy, reminding you it’s been neglected for far too long. Pumping wickedly slow, he uses his tongue in your mouth to mimic what he’s doing to your clit with his thumb. God, you want him to devour you whole, you think as your nails dig into the bare flesh of his back and he curves his fingers inside you just so.

“Elvis!” you gasp and that cheeky lip of his curls up into that famous smirk. It turns your stomach gooey and molten, and your cunt squeezes demandingly around his fingers.

Kissing down your neck, his descent is thwarted by your dress. You whine when his fingers leave you and he pulls you to sit up. In one fell swoop, he deftly unzips your dress and yanks it up over your head, discarding it unceremoniously on the floor. Hungrily, his eyes rake over your form, and the scrutiny would usually have you a tad self-conscious, but he’s on you so fast, nipping at your skin, that you couldn’t care less what you look like.

The boy is proving quite proficient in removing undergarments, unclasping your bra with such skill that you barely realize it’s off before it joins your dress in a heap on the floor. You can’t think about much of anything with how his lips pepper your breasts with kisses, and when he attaches softly to your nipple, suckling there, the zinging sensation shoots straight through you and into your aching pussy.

You want him everywhere, your soft sighs of, “yes, yes, yes” urging him on. Running his hands up your legs, he slowly pops each clasp that holds up your stockings, his thumbs massaging maddening circles on the sensitive inner flesh of your upper thighs. Shivers ripple through you when he starts rolling the silky fabric off each leg, kissing each new inch of skin he exposes as he goes.

“Look at these pretty yittle sooties,” he coos as he takes off your heels and stockings, his hands massaging your sore arches. Your body, already on high alert, nearly levitates off the bed at the delectable it-hurts-so-good feeling. His lips press into your ankles, slowly trailing their way back up to your sex.

Oh, he’s good. You didn’t expect this, though perhaps you should have. The closer he gets to the ruined gusset of your panties, the faster your chest swells. It’s been a long time since any one has been down there like this, and you almost stop him, but the feel of his mussed damp hair tickling your thighs has you in quite a state. You suppose turnabout is fair play when he lightly and quickly presses his tongue into your core over the fabric, teasing what you hope is to come.

He switches gears and makes surprisingly quick work of your garter belt. His eyes flash in the darkness as he takes your panties in his teeth, dragging them with a playful growl down your legs. Completely exposed for him, he yanks you to the edge of the bed and pushes gently on your knees, spreading you open with a delight you didn’t know was possible.

“All that for me, mama?” he asks quietly, running the tip of his finger through your dripping arousal before putting it in his mouth and licking it clean. It’s so wonderfully dirty, making your cunt throb for attention.

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding furiously. When he licks his lips, you think you might die from waiting, but then he’s on you, his tongue lathing wide and flat from your ass to your clit.

You don’t recognize the sounds coming out of your mouth, the sensation of his wet softness exploring your most intimate areas being so overwhelming that it is hard to focus. He kisses and swirls around your puffy little nub, and your fingers fly into his dark hair, clasping the wet strands. When he hums against you in response, the vibrations have you gasping.

He continues his work, his tongue pointedly lapping through your swollen folds to your entrance. You think you might be dreaming when he begins fucking you with his tongue, and the tightness in your belly clinches when he flicks his finger over your clit rapidly.

“Oh, god,” you groan, hips undulating against his face, needing more of him. You had set out to ruin this man tonight and now he is undoing you piece by piece instead. He is a responsive and intuitive lover, you realize, as he replaces his tongue with his much longer fingers, pressing up into your body with precision.

Gaping, you push up on your elbows as he pulls back, and you catch the stunning sight of his pretty face slick with your arousal, looking at your cunt with determined reverence. He finds that spongey spot up inside you and takes that moment to fix his mouth to your sensitive bud and your eyes roll back in your head as you arch off the mattress to be closer to the heaven he’s bringing you to.

Fire spreads from your belly into the rest of your body, and you feel your climax closing in on you rapidly, despite part of you wanting this to last forever. When you realize he’s moaning against you and rutting against the bed, it sends a whole new set of fireworks through your nerves.

He’s getting off on this, you think. My pleasure his getting him off.

And there’s nothing sexier than that.

Adding another finger, he fucks you faster, harder, all the while massaging your clit intentionally with his tongue. He is a man on a mission now, and the searing wave of heat crests inside of you. All it takes is the guttural moan he lets go against you and you break apart.

Your fingers dig into his scalp and you thrust into his face as you come. It hits you hard and you cry out as he fucks you through it, catapulting you from your sensitive body to somewhere in the stratosphere.

Your eyelids flutter as you float back down to earth. The feel of his tongue licking up your release has you shuddering against him.

“Oh. Oh,” is all you can seem to manage, and you stare up at the ceiling wondering what good deed you did in your life to deserve this.

You feel Elvis slide his body up yours to lay beside you. He kisses up your neck until he reaches your lips, and you taste the tang of yourself on him. It shouldn’t entice you, but it does. Lying there, his naked body pressed against your side, you feel the hot heaviness of his erection hard against your hip.

“Best poster I ever made,” you breathe out, your filter completely gone after your mind-blowing orgasm.

Elvis chuckles in your hair. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman’s age, young man?” you tease, poking into his side.

“Hey now! I jus’ wanna make sure I don’t hurt ya. Don’t wanna send you to the home quite yet,” he smirks, then bites your shoulder.

“Oh, one of us is going to the home alright, and it’s not me,” you retort, pushing him over and flipping on top of him. “I’ll show you.”

He grunts as you straddle his hips. “Yes, ma’am, you’d better show me,” he says coyly.

“Good boy.” You grind down on him.

Being in your 30s has never been so sweet.

TAGLIST

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch @tattywood

@sassanoe @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

@littlebitofgreen @paigevis @bugg06 @xhannahbananax03 @artlover8992

@18lkpeters @frozenhuntress67 @girlblogger2002 @kendralavon7 @misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-little-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @ amydarcimarie @idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog

@simplyamberj @claire-elvisgirl @everythingelvispresley @louisejoy86

#need your love tonight #elvis #elvis presley #elvis smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #1961 was a goooooood year #sugar mama request #austin butler elvis #✈️💙🔥#if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis 1961 #u.s.s. arizona benefit concert #hawaii 1961 #madisyn may #missmaywemeetagain #older woman reader x elvis

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zahri-melitor · 3 months ago

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Okay a loose Recent Reads roundup:

Birds of Prey: Sirens of Justice: so I was lured (tricked) into reading this as Gail Simone wrote one of the stories, even though it, sigh, contains far too much Harley Quinn due to movie synergy. The Dinah and Helena banter is decent, but otherwise this felt...aggressively fine. The Helena story is very pat in terms of how people tend to write Huntress shorts, though I guess it wasn't 'Helena worries about a student' this time.

The Question: The Deaths of Vic Sage: very much in conversation with O'Neil's run, of course, and also clearly reacting to contemporaneous US racial discussions. Shifting Myra to be the Mayor's sister not wife definitely alters her position in the narrative, particularly in terms of her obligations and response to situations. It is incredibly bleak in places, but that simply reflects the run it is based on and is a tribute to.

Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen: This is definitely for the Silver Age fan. Matt Fraction manages to string together solving a complex assassination plot over 12 issues by telling the story in short, 2-4 page sections that wildly jump around the timeline and are framed by 'the many ridiculous things that have happened to Jimmy Olsen'. I have absolutely no handle on the canonicity of some of this, particularly the extended Olsen family, and not knowing probably makes this read more easily. Looking at it as a whole, I'm impressed how well Fraction stitched what was effectively episodic 2 page fills into a complete narrative. The energy of the story is relentless. Best read in small doses.

Batman: Pennyworth R.I.P: god this comic could have been so much better than it was. It’s fine and accomplishes exactly what it was intended to do - tell a story of how Alfred influenced and looked out for each of Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Barbara - and sets everyone up to be mildly pissed at Bruce. But just for one example, it would have been HUGELY more powerful if they’d been able to use Dick, with his memories just restored, facing the fact he wasn’t there when Alfred needed him and his last interactions were so impersonal and spent pushing Alfred away.

Catwoman 80th Anniversary 100-Page Super Spectacular: again, underwhelming. Tom King played shipper and wrote his version of how the Helena Wayne story should work; the Dixon story felt 90s appropriate but the art was dire; Brubaker’s felt like a missing scene to his run; Dini’s honestly wasn’t up to the standard I’d hope for from Dini. The art pieces were great though; a lot of good commissions.

Robin 80th Anniversary 100-Page Super Spectacular: I cannot work out who chose the covers used in the issue, which swing between 'iconic' and 'reminding everyone ASBAR exists was unnecessary, DC'.

Generally: they did manage to round up fairly iconic lineups for most of the stories, with some chopping and changing for a few.

Wolfman got another run at trying to frame the 'Dick quits v Bruce fires him' debate; Dixon and Grayson both submitted literal fills (Dixon's is a scene immediately after Nightwing #19 1996 and before #20; Grayson's is at least just an extra story that fits into #1-12 of her Titans 1999 run on a day all the second stringers didn't come to work). I don't actually have a problem with any of these - they're nice additional material, but mostly more of the same. Seeley & King's suffers from the usual Seeley problem for me where it would be vastly improved by having a different focus; but it does feel straight out of his Grayson run, with everything that implies (down to the St Hadrian's student I wish was not present). All of the Dick stories are basically "we got the team back together" creative line ups.

Jason, in contrast, makes it really obvious that nobody can define a definitive Jason run, and so gets the tiniest story with Winick and Dustin Nguyen. I checked, and Nguyen did draw part of UTRH, but I wouldn't have associated him as a character-defining artist for Jason. The story's cute. Winick sidestepped having to commit to anything about his opinions on post-Flashpoint Jason direction.

Tim got Adam Beechen (which honestly makes me happy, I don't care about anyone else's opinion) and luxuriates in Tim having to play civilian; Tynion gets a Rebirth story that I can't quite work out his timing on (it's supposed to be a prequel, but Dick is already back in costume as Nightwing and talking to Tim, suggesting that several issues of the Rebirth Nightwing take place significantly before 'Tec #934) that is a classic 'Tim tells everyone how he feels about his brothers' story. I realise everyone boring has complained about Tim calling Damian a 'horrible gremlin' but the thing is you see I can only read nicknames like that as full of affection. The back and forth is an important part of their relationship, as shown by Damian snapping 'you're only listening to the insults'.

Steph gets her 71 days as Robin slightly padded out and Amy Wolfram manages to pick up Willingham's tone pretty well; I suspect she liaised with Damion Scott quite a bit on this piece.

Damian has a Super Sons piece from Tomasi, because it's the most lighthearted option available and it sells very well (it's sickly sweet). Which was probably the right call as the other piece is clearly written by Robbie Thompson to accompany his Teen Titans run and for the downward spiral going on there. Which is honestly a bit of a pity for Damian, given everyone else got feature pieces from favourite runs, and he got the 'this slots into your current story' piece.

#z canon read throughs #recent reads

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thebibutterflyao3 · 7 months ago

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Day Twenty-Eight - Lost

April Daily Series - 666 words (this felt oddly appropriate 😉)

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Dorcas wasn’t prepared for the consequences of allowing Marlene in again. She expected the onslaught of sexual tension and pitiful longing. Marlene was a rip current of emotions. When she drifted too close, Dorcas was helpless to resist the pull away from everything that kept her level and grounded.

But the heady adrenaline rush triggered by their antagonistic banter? It sent her reeling!

Am I a child? Flirting with the cute girl by tugging her pigtails? This is ridiculous.

Marlene had lost all semblance of good sense, as well as rushed past that brief moment of insecurity at the restaurant. In its place was the woman’s brash confidence, a living entity that crawled under Dorcas’s skin. She wanted to throttle the nervy twat and fuck her senseless. Dorcas needed to think and this wasn’t helping.

“Dorcas? Are you alright?” Regulus slipped into the kitchen and joined her at the table. “Did you have a row with Marlene, or something? It seemed like the two of you were getting along, but now…”

Dorcas massaged her temples firmly. She’d escaped into the kitchen after Marlene spouted off some nonsense about evening out her arse, which Dorcas was not addicted to groping. It wasn’t her fault that it fit so perfectly into her hands!

“Yes. No…I’m not sure.”

Regulus propped his head on his hand and studied her in silence. His approach was often the opposite of Pandora’s, quiet contemplation rather than talking the matter to death.

After a deep sigh, she let her chin fall to her chest. “I’m a weak, weak woman, Regulus. She wore me down in three days.”

“Two,” he corrected with a smirk, “but the broken nose was understandably distracting while you were at work today. You lasted longer than I would have, if that makes you feel better.”

Has it truly only been two days?

“Yes. A little, actually. If it were James—”

“I wouldn’t allow him out of my sight.” Regulus’s eyes widened momentarily, then he reigned himself in. He nodded at her necklace. “So, she told you about the ring? This isn’t the one she showed me.”

Dorcas toyed with the claddagh ring idly. It felt both strange and comforting to wear it again. She’d missed the weight of it against her breastbone.

“This is her grandmother’s, and her good luck charm. As for the engagement ring,” Dorcas inhaled sharply, “You were right. I needed to know.”

“She calls you the ‘love of her life,’ even now. Did you know that?” Regulus asked.

Dorcas gripped the ring tightly. “She told you that? Just now?”

“No. In the pub last night, before you showed up. She was devastated, Dorcas, and I say that sincerely. I assumed that Pandora had already cleared her visit with you, but Marlene clearly didn’t know that you would be there. She was shattered.”

“She didn’t look it when I arrived,” Dorcas snarked, rolling her eyes. “Practically purring in Narcissa’s lap.”

Regulus grimaced and dropped his gaze. “That was…unfortunate timing, I’ll admit. I didn’t catch on quickly enough. She walked away with Lily and Pandora to dance while James was…never mind. Suffice to say, I would have intervened earlier had I noticed my dear cousin’s interest.”

“You certainly handled the situation perfectly afterwards. Thank you for that, by the way. Highly effective.” Dorcas smiled at his scoff. “I wanted to break her fingers one by one for daring to touch Marlene, but that would have been messy.”

“Agreed, and bloody too,” Regulus said, lips twitching in amusement. “Just imagine the emotions spilling everywhere.”

Dorcas laughed. “You don’t think that I could play it off as retribution for her lascivious thoughts?”

He arched an eyebrow sceptically. “Who do you think you are? Circe?”

“I could be. Narcissa deserves to be pigified, the greedy bitch.”

“Would you settle for giving her a little corkscrew tail and a snout?” Regulus teased, losing his fight with a grin.

Dorcas shook her head. “I’m with the bruja, go whole hog or go home.”

Next Part>>>

#marlene x dorcas #dorlene #dorlene microfics #marlene mckinnon x dorcas meadows #dorcas x marlene #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #regulus black #regulus asking the real questions #slytherin skittles #marauders era

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runninguplenorahills · 2 years ago

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I recently saw a twitter post on Pinterest that said:

“how much do we bet that Mike said he’s gonna get milkshakes at rink-o-mania and only got two?”

….. which is such a bad take 😭😭 like, that’s SO out of character, even while Mike puts on his fake act!

@xxcreamixx also pointed out that while Will doesn’t have a milkshake he actually got cotton candy so he probably just didn’t want one.

My guess on what happened there is that El is actually the one that wanted to get milkshakes because that’s the most logical scenario. Mike has never been in Lenora before and he simply did whatever El wanted to do, so I doubt that he’d be the one to suggest anything. El is also the one who actively excluded Will from the day (“I want today to be about you [Mike] and me.”) and basically threw Will under the bus by implying that she’s so cool she gets invited to parties at rink-o-mania while Will isn’t. And I’m not trying to drag El through the mud with this but if anything I kinda feel like she would’ve been the one to say she gets milkshakes only to return with two (girly was going through a lot, ok!). Though I don’t think anything like that happened anyway.

I think El told Mike that she needs a break and dragged him off the rink where they waited for Will which tbh, was probably Mike’s idea. Not to pretend like Mike was an angel that day because he was ridiculously far from it but it was pretty obvious that El intended to shut Will out while Mike did not. El had no issue at all with Will not engaging that much but Mike was very rather pathetically trying to get Will’s attention. In my opinion the awkward hug at the airport was more about himself than it was about Will and while Mike definitely did try to put some distance between them it’s pretty clear that he never intended to exclude Will in the way he ended up doing (again, since Mike is really doing some gymnastics in that scene to get Will’s attention, and justify why Will should’ve given it to him). Will was of course rightfully miserable and drained of all his energy that day and he acted appropriately for the way he felt. He wasn’t making any effort at all to include himself because from his perspective it was clear that Mike and El didn’t want him there. He was acting distant and annoyed and overall a little mopey (yes, Mike was right about that) so I’m pretty sure he didn’t show any enthusiasm about getting snacks either, which is very reasonable given the whole situation. Nonetheless, he still contributed to being left out with this self sabotaging behavior and ended up excluding himself. So I can definitely see how Will was self sabotaging/excluding himself again when it came to getting snacks, thus ordering the pre-packaged cotton candy so he could go ahead and find a seat while Mike and El still waited for their milkshakes. And when they’re all sitting in their booth no one is making an effort to include Will.

So in conclusion, I just think it’s curious how it’s once again rather clear that every single one of them had a hand in how rink-o-mania went down but people can’t stop putting all the blame on Mike. Especially here where it’s obvious that El was more actively involved in excluding Will. She obviously had a reason for it and we all know that while she intended to exclude Will she never actually wanted to hurt him, but she still clearly contributed a whole lot to Will getting excluded that day and it’s very tiring to see everyone brush over that and create out of character takes to somehow make Mike the overall bad guy. And that’s not to diminish that Mike was a jerk that day, he absolutely was, but he wasn’t the only one excluding Will and more than that it’s super obvious that Mike actually did not intend to not talk to Will at all (once again referring to the instances in which Mike is shown to make truly ridiculous attempts to get Will to communicate with him).

I once again just want to point out that I do not object to pointing out and admitting that Mike was acting like an ass that day. I don’t want to erase, nor hide that, because it’s true and important for the scene itself, but the situation is a little more nuanced and Mike’s motivations are a little more complicated and complex, and I just feel like takes like the two-milkshakes one from pinterest are only made by people who strongly dislike Mike and don’t acknowledge the complexity and nuance, simply because by reading the take it gets obvious that the person who made it has the surface level perception/understanding of “Mike is a jerk” and now assigns attributes and actions to him that emulate that, instead of trying to understand and dissect the character and situation and create takes in which Mike might still be acting like a jerk, but within the realm of what actually makes sense and fits his character. And in cases like that it’s not pointing out Mike’s actual mistakes anymore but making up mistakes and blowing things out of proportion for the sake of making Mike into something he’s not. And that has nothing to do with drawing attention to something that is canon, it’s just people wanting Mike to be mean and unlikable so bad that they push that onto the character regardless of wether it makes sense in canon.

#edited version from oct 2023 #lenora’s queued posts during hiatus

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brandonxdylan · 1 year ago

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Ranking the GAY EPISODES of Beverly Hills, 90210 - Part 2

(Part 1 here)

#4.) Blind Spot (Season 4, Episode 26)

Car trouble lands Brandon and Steve stranded at a GAY COFFEEHOUSE, where, amidst all of his ridiculous gay panic, Steve clocks Mike, his fraternity president, enjoying a coffee with another guy. Back at the frat house, Mike approaches Steve, assuming that since he was also at the GAY COFFEEHOUSE, he must be gay too. Steve gives Mike the cold shoulder, showing no empathy for him whatsoever, and it’s actually really sad because Mike was so excited to relate to someone else in a similar situation, which I have to imagine would have been a rare opportunity, and I know how vulnerable and embarrassed he would have felt in that moment. Later on, Artie, another frat guy, makes, like, two incredibly dumb gay jokes about Steve, and rather than ignore them, fire back, or do literally anything other than the one thing he shouldn’t do, Steve immediately goes into self-preservation mode and deflects Artie’s homophobic ire towards Mike, the actual gay guy who’s been hiding in plain sight. Mike is understandably pissed when Steve tells him that “it just slipped out,” which isn’t really true. Latently homophobic Steve intentionally threw Mike under the bus to protect his own extremely fragile ego. Even Brandon agrees that Steve is a huge fucking dipshit for this, so you know it’s bad. Anyway, some of the frat brothers paint Mike’s bedroom door pink (such a weird fucking flex, honestly) and Mike threatens to leave the frat to avoid any further humiliation. He doesn’t, of course, because during a tribunal to decide Mike’s fate (insane that this is what it comes to, but the show doesn’t even acknowledge that), Steve saves the day by calling out Mike’s good attributes and blah blah blah, the homophobe becomes the hero. Hooray. Honestly, I kinda wish Mike had just left the frat. Why stay somewhere that is full of assholes who need to have a group fucking meeting discussing your personal life before they permit you to be in their presence? Maybe it’s just me, but I wouldn’t consider being allowed to stay somewhere like that “a win.” But whatever. Mike manages to make some good points, and his gay rage is, appropriately, very justified. I just wish it didn’t have to be tempered at the end. I wish he got to peace out, go find love somewhere better than the damn KEG house, and leave Steve feeling like a piece of shit for fucking up his life. I would have been a hell of a lot more satisfied by that. Though this episode gets bonus points for featuring the GAY COFFEEHOUSE, which is the same coffeehouse used in an iconic double date scene from the stone cold classic, A Very Brady Sequel. More bonus points for some cute Dylan stuff during the photo shoot B story, and in particular, the moment where Dylan checks out and proceeds to compliment Brandon’s boxers. This is the kind of stuff that keeps me going.

#3.) Making Amends/The Nature of Nurture (Season 8, Episodes 23-24)

While working at the free clinic, Kelly finds a baby abandoned by its teen mother (a young Jessica Alba), and though she initially wants to adopt it herself, she relents when she learns that the baby will be placed in a foster-to-adopt situation with a carefully selected couple, as opposed to going back to the mother, whom Kelly has quickly and harshly written off as evil. But things that a major turn when Kelly learns that the foster parents are (gasp!) HOMOS! This sets off her strange and highly problematic crusade to return the baby to the custody of its mother, who does actively want it back now that she too knows her baby is at risk of being raised by a couple of gays. Ultimately, teen mom’s homophobia proves excessive, and causes Kelly to recognize that maybe the baby is better off with loving parents, regardless of their sexuality, than with a homophobic teen mom who only wants it out of spite. Naturally, things wrap up neatly, the baby lands with the gays, and Kelly gets to feel good about doing the right thing despite being the source of a LOT of strife for a LOT of people. There’s also a LOT to think about in this episode, and overall, I think it’s fairly well done aside from some frustrating character stuff. While Kelly – allegedly a social work major - demonstrates next to know understanding of how social services actually work, the writers do. I already wrote a bit about this episode so I won’t get too into it, but suffice it to say it tackles some thorny issues regarding issues of child protection, fostering, and adoption pretty well, and with as much accuracy as I think can be expected from a show like this. What I find most maddening about this episode is that Kelly isn’t granted the opportunity for any substantial self-reflection or personal growth. Her homophobic beliefs are placed in stark contrast to teen mom’s more extreme views, and therefore written off as not that bad. Additionally, the out-of-nowhere explanation that she wanted the baby for herself is positioned as the real reason for her actions, and the fact that the foster parents were gay was just an easy excuse she used to justify her shitty behavior. This doesn’t really track, and I don’t buy it. I think it would have been far more interesting to have this episode tackle the issue of latent homophobia, and explore the nuances involved in addressing that. As it is, Kelly isn’t left accountable for her actions, and that’s a problem for me because that’s really the theme of this episode. It’s not really about the gay parents, it’s about other (straight) people’s feelings about them. I think they could have dug a little deeper to offer a more satisfying character arc for Kelly. It’s not problematic to have latently prejudiced beliefs. It’s human! And dealing with them is something that would have been refreshing to see in an episode that otherwise gets so much right.

#2.) A Mate for Life/Disappearing Act/Pledging My Love (Season 7, Episodes 3-5)

Kelly begins a school placement at a group home for men with AIDS, and befriends Jimmy, a young gay man who is dying of the disease. Jimmy (played by Michael Stoyanov from Blossom) copes with his illness by practicing magic tricks, engaging in some self-deprecating gallows humour, and being generally charming. At one point, Kelly gets some of Jimmy’s blood on her hands, and she panics that she might be now be infected with HIV. Following an anxiety dream in which she gets AIDS rash, Kelly gets tested and though her doctor assures her that she’s probably fine, he does give her a lecture on safe sex, reminding her that HIV isn’t just for gay men - anyone can get it, and sexual intercourse is an easy way to do so. While she’s waiting for her test results, Kelly tells Clare and Donna that she’ll move out of their beach house if she ends up testing positive, and it’s around this point that I began to realize that this is a storyline that is wasted on Kelly. First of all, she’s straight, and though, yes, anyone can contract HIV, it goes without saying that it was gay men who were disproportionately affected by it in the United States at this time. Second of all, she was “contaminated” in such a minor way. These two factors make all of this feel really low stakes. We know that there’s no way in hell Kelly tests positive. I want to be clear that I don’t think that shows like this have any inherent obligation to those who have lived through trauma or illness to deal with these issues in a way that is consistently true to life. That’s a slippery slope because not all lived experience is the same, and what might feel validating and representative to someone might feel offensive to someone else. Plus, it’s also a lot to ask of a TV show, whose primary concern should be to entertain and to compel, not present viewers with a case study on living with AIDS. However, in this case I have to admit that it does feel a little inappropriate to be putting Kelly through the ringer in the most low stakes way possible, and milking that for drama when so many gay men were really going the ringer and the stakes were much higher. Not to minimize the experience of people like Kelly who suffered the worry of a close call, but it feels like the show is really pushing it with what it’s asking us to buy into. Granted, I guess that’s why we have Jimmy - to demonstrate what being a gay man dying of AIDS in the 90s actually could have looked like. And while yes, Jimmy falls squarely into the much-maligned trope of gays who only show up to die for the sake of the straight characters’ growth, he’s probably about as good as we possibly could’ve expected to get at the time, barring the show deciding to suddenly break all kinds of barriers and introduce a main gay character living with AIDS. It was just never gonna happen, and I’m not going to hold that against the show. Unsurprisingly, Kelly tests negative, but Jimmy takes a turn for the worse. Watching him make peace with his fate as Kelly offers some misplaced naivete, desperately suggesting that what he knows to be true might not be, it’s hard not to feel something. When Kelly suggests taking a photo of the two of them, it makes sense that Kelly would want to not only preserve a memento of their friendship, but also to assure Jimmy that he is someone who will be remembered fondly. It’s a touching moment, and the weight of it is effectively conveyed. While I already explained why I think this episode kind of mishandles its subject matter in terms of the AIDS scare stuff, what it gets right is the friendship between Kelly and Jimmy. I think what could’ve made it even better, however, would have been to allow Kelly just a little more time to sit in her open-ended grief, and try to make sense of Jimmy’s death. Some frank acknowledgement of the difficulty involved in doing that might have been an appropriately cathartic cap to this story, and it would have been a uniquely heavy moment for a show that by this point was often pretty superficial.

#1.) I’m Back Because/The Following Options (Season 9, Episodes 8-9)

Steve’s mom comes to town because she’s starring in a much-hyped comeback sitcom. Rumours abound that she’s dating her co-star, and when Steve asks her about them, she neither confirms nor denies, instead opting to remind Steve that it’s no one’s business who she dates. Eventually, however, she admits to Steve that she’s not dating her co-star, nor is she dating any man. She’s actually dating a woman. And okay, this is honestly one of the most unexpected yet awesome choices that this show could have made at this point. In an era of the show full of random retcons and arbitrary character development, the fact that this one comes out of nowhere actually makes sense, considering Samantha had been deeply in the closet prior to this moment, and she’s not someone we see every week. And choosing to give a coming out storyline to a middle aged mother as opposed to some young twentysomething? That’s a bold choice! The crux of the drama here is that Steve (once again) demonstrates some very blatant homophobic feelings about his mother’s sexuality, and slings some pretty nasty remarks her way, going so far as to accuse her of adopting him in order to complete some sort of heterosexual façade for the sake of her image. It’s all pretty embarrassing for Steve, but as with the earlier episode featuring Kelly and the teen mom, there is room to allow these characters to explore their latent homophobia. That would not only offer some compelling drama, but it would be an accurate reflection of reality. And this storyline gets 75% of the way there. They just bungle the ending. Steve only starts to see the light once word of Samantha’s sexuality leaks to the media, and Samantha is fired from her new show amidst the ensuing scandal. Watching his mom go through all of this undue humiliation causes Steve to do an about face, and choose to embrace her for who she is. It’s a cute ending, but man, does it ever skip a lot of steps in terms of Steve’s growth. We don’t get to see Steve do any of the work involved in addressing his homophobia, nor do we get any indication as to what specifically would have spurred his change of heart beyond his mom’s name being dragged through the mud. There’s no suggestion of introspection or vulnerability. There’s not really even an apology. I think if this storyline had had one more episode to really flesh out Steve’s character development, and to offer a heart to heart between mother and son, it could’ve been great. But there are still great things about it. Christine Belford is really good as Samantha (seriously, Samantha is not even a character we get to know very well over the course of the series, yet I practically cheered when she told Steve she was gay, so that’s a testament to her), and for all of Steve’s shitty behaviour towards her, Samantha gets to land a few zingers of her own. And again, I appreciate that the show chose to go this route with this character. Coming out in midlife is a reality for many people, and Samantha’s celebrity adds an interesting dynamic. There are definitely things that could have been improved upon, and it perhaps bites off a little more than it can chew, but its heart is in the right place, and it’s sympathetic without being condescending or othering. And while it’s Samantha’s final appearance on the show (BOO!), we do get to meet her new girlfriend, Karen, in the aforementioned luau episode of season 10, and wow - LESBIAN LEGEND. I sure hope Samantha hung on to her.

Well, there you have it. A thorough(ish) rundown of Beverly Hills, 90210′s major(ish) storylines featuring gay themes. It’s disappointing how short-lived all of these stories were, because most of them would’ve been better served by characters whom we actually get to know outside of their relationships with members of the gang. Still, as I’ve said before, I’m used to accepting scraps when it comes to queer content. And I’m happy to look back at this show and accept that we needed baby steps like this in order to get more and better gay content on television.

I hope everyone has had a safe and happy Pride month!

#i did not fully realize the scope of this undertaking and this whole thing took me a lot longer than i first anticipated #but it was still satisfying to do!#beverly hills 90210 #queer #90s

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supernovafeather · 1 year ago

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Down With You

FO!Poe Dameron x FO!F!Reader

Content : commander x pilot, mutual pining, canon typical violence, fluff, angst

Summary : Reader loses contact with the rest of her squadron during a heated battle, and has to count on her commander's stubbornness to find them again

High in those hostile skies, the fireballs looked like blossoming flowers from the ground. The loud roars could be heard a few seconds after the impact and covered the spaceships engines noises as the battle raged in the distance.

Unable to move if not for your eyes, this desolated scenery composed of your crashed TIE and the flames highlighting the massive clouds from time to time couldn't escape you. Your body hurt after the brutal landing and despite the loud buzz ringing in your ears you could process the desperate messages exchanged by your squadron. However despite your will to get aboard to update them over your situation, your body refused to move and your pilot outfit felt ridiculously heavy. Damn be the engineers that estimated that such imposing wiring and large outfit were necessary for pilots. The First Order had such wonderful technology but still couldn't dress its soldiers appropriately. A cold shiver found its way down your back as what you identified as your Commander's nervous voice started mumbling something over the radio.

"Hey soldier you're still active but I can't find you on my radar, bring your ass back there to cover me, over."

This only caused your right leg to convulse in vain as your face remained against the grass, your nostrils assaulted by the nauseating scent of wet moss and ashes. Useless. You couldn't even stand up to join your squadron.

"Hey? I need you there right now it's getting tensed," he barked.

Suddenly you felt dizzy and cursed under your breath. At first the thick layer of your helmet convinced you that nothing could have damaged your skull but now you felt more skeptical. This, and the weird difficulty you had to try to move due to this sleepiness spreading.

"Hey what's going on are you alright" he asked anxiously.

After a colossal effort, you succeeded at rolling on your back but only to remain stranded there with your eyes closed. With a big smile you heard the characteristic noise of a TIE firing at the enemy and soon after another crash hit a northern cliff. You might die there but at least another one of those stupid rebels died before you did. The scenery didn't teach you much. It was the middle of an hostile jungle, and your TIE reduced to pieces lying on top of trees and in the swamp. After crawling back to your mostly intact cockpit in a concert of groans and sighs, you managed to reach your seat as the explosions suddenly doubled up in the sky. As your heart started to beat harder than ever both from anguish for your comrades and due to the massive physical effort necessary to achieve the smallest task, you examined the damaged machines surrounding you. Some hanged from what remained of the ceiling. Most were unusable.

"Oh kriff stop kidding me," you mumbled.

Your gloved hands wandered left and right as dizziness caught you up, forcing you to grab the dashboard with as much strength as you could. After a quick feeling of abnormal cold followed by an abnormal heat spreading down to your fingers you understood that you had a few seconds left. Instead of exhausting yourself trying to repair the radio, you turned to your left and started sending a message in Morse code. You entered your Commander's ID to make him the only receiver knowing he would transmit immediately to the other ones. At least that was what you attempted. The series of clicks became erratic and turned into a cacophony impossible to decipher after a few seconds in it, interrupted for long seconds as you kept on clicking without enough strength.

"Stranded. Need help. Emergency. Stop," you started to whisper to focus more properly.

Poe could hear it and you knew it but you started to fear that he couldn't even understand what you were trying to transfer. You decided to change your plan as your upper body started to press itself against the dashboard as sleepiness conquered your muscles little by little despite the battle above your head.

"Give up. No help. Leave. Stop," you coughed.

The moment you opened your eyes could have been an hallucination. May it be one or reality it didn't change anything as your brain refused to process what was happening. The thick blur surrounding you hurt your eyes, but then you realized that it got caused to the rain pouring on your face. You closed your eyelids and tried to stop your whistling breathing before realizing that it didn't come from you. Your sternum was in pain and the slight shake you felt didn't ease it.

"Wake up please wake up" mumbled a broken voice you didn't know.

The person gave up with a sigh, and the suffering increased as the man rested something on your belly. This was when you noticed that your only had your pilot underpants on covering you from cleavage to toe. Your helmet got removed as well.

"Shit I… I can't do that…" he whispered.

Your ears started to ring as you regained consciousness slowly but surely, absorbing the rest of his words. After a while you felt your body getting dragged away from there, shielding you from the rain. The footsteps then got away from you and you turned your head to the side, opening your eyes gently as a few droplets slid down your nose and cheeks. A tomb dug in the mud, and a metallic piece - visibly from a TIE wall - planted with your name and rank on it engraved with a stone or another metallic piece.

This acted like an electroshock. That, and the low clicking sound you heard above you.

"Shit… you…" he mumbled.

Poe fell onto his knees, his blaster still in his hand. Never before you had seen him so pale, miserable, and with such puffy eyes. His hair got ruined by the rain outside, and blood stained his already dark uniform. The temperature felt much lower than during the battle but you were unable to know whether or not it came from your imagination. All you knew was that he started trembling as whitish and tiny clouds left his blueish lips.

"I won't have to do that," he said in pure shock.

His weapon dropped for good and tears flooded his face. Was it relief or exhaustion? You couldn't be sure.

"I won't have to do that," he sobbed before hiding his face behind his bandaged hands, "it was an absolute nightmare."

You blinked slowly as sleepiness found you another time, helped by the gentle touch on your temple and his disbelieved smile between two sobs. The warmth provided by his mostly intact TIE brought you some joy now that your clothes got dried up. The storm replaced the battle outside as you embraced Poe tightly, your hand grabbing his mop of wet hair.

"Is everybody safe ?" You croaked. "They are. We got separated between the two main mountain chains but they're safe."

Despite the warmth and reassurance that things could have taken a much worse turn than it did, Poe kept on trembling. You suspected this tough battle of draining him mentally.

"You are a mess Poe, what is going on?" "I thought you thought I was always a mess." "You are. But it's worse today. We all survived."

This time he sneered before looking at you in the eyes with a fake disappointed face betrayed by his laughing eyes.

"Well, maybe that's the point."

You punched him gently on his shoulder before snuggling closer against him by using tiredness as the perfect excuse to reduce the ranking differences between each other. It had always felt awkward to see him as your superior. He had all the skills required and motivation and loyalty but he remained so human that he felt more like a responsible and guiding friend.

"Well, you may be the best Commander but you did crash your own ship." "By taking down two X-wings. Still a win."

Poe tightened his grip before lying down with you in the corner you chose. As you started to rub his wet scalp with your fingers your eyes locked with his. Soon after you wanted to look away due to the intensity you found in his pupils. Not the one you got accustomed to see full of life with that adventurous glint tainted with mischief. You heard it was a shock to see your own father crying for the first time, and it sure was a shock to see your invincible and immortal Commander sobbing as he caressed your cheek. His features contorted in a painful expression, eyes narrowed to let the thick tears slide down his darkening cheeks.

"It would destroy me as a Commander," he started, "to lose any of you. But you, that would kill me." "Don't say that please," you replied without knowing what to do.

Panicking internally, you welcomed him closer to you in an embrace you hoped to be comforting as he sobbed harder against your shoulder.

"You're the one that almost died and I thought I'd have to ease your pain when I found you lying there and I thought I failed you and I remembered I'd been rude to you during the battle and it caught me up and I hated myself so much." "I'm fine Poe, I'm doing fine. See ?" "You were not moving and and…"

The moment he started to hyperventilate you sat him down against the closest wall to give him some air, the tensed muscles protesting loudly with all your nerves as you did so. After instructing him how to breathe and calm down, you grabbed his hand to keep an eye on his heartbeat.

"See ? It's getting better already." You said encouragingly with a slight pressure. "I'm not injured, you're not. We're safe and the others are safe."

He nodded and for the first time you could truly take into account how precious this moment was. Poe Dameron wasn't a talented extroverted idiot like you used to think, at least he was not only that. He was also a passionate man loyal to his values and men. If it were anybody else with him tonight his reputation as the both tough and relaxed Commander would crumble. The First Order remained merciless and the games of power remained the same as everywhere else.

"Stop lying you're injured." He said as he took your hand in his. "Not as much as you think." "I like to think you start to act like I do," he stated with a grin.

Affection radiated from his face. The tears remained there, his eyes were still as red, but his now toothy smile remained a heartwarming sight.

"I do because you're really stubborn and at some point somebody needs to keep you on the right path." "Lying about your condition to your superior is not the right path." "Don't play that card with me." "I do because I'm as stubborn as you are. And I almost lost you for good so I hope you can let me get selfish just this time." "I would call it selfishness," you defied him. "Let's do it in a proper way then."

Who kissed who, now that was a mystery. But what started as a cute - and even shy - kiss turned into something more desperate as Poe stopped moving his lips as emotions overwhelmed him once more. You stopped for a few seconds to reassure him but he shushed you with a series of pecks landing here and there all over your face, his hands holding yours.

- - - -

Thank you for reading, please comment and reblog if you liked it !

@queen-of-elves @qrjung

#Oscar Isaac #poe dameron x reader #fo!poe x reader

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lab-trash · 2 years ago

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I wrote this in two hours when I was supposed to be sleeping.

Chase meeting Kaz felt like some sort of fate. They’d met once before and they stuck together the whole time. Then they separated, didn’t keep in touch, nothing.

And then they met again. It was as if the universe wanted them in each other’s lives.

But Chase didn’t believe in stupid shit like that, so he didn’t think about it, even if that was how it felt sometimes.

It felt like he was meant to be around Kaz— He was the happiest when he was around Kaz.

It reminded him of… No, it didn’t. Because his friendship with Kaz was a thousand times better than whatever he had going on with him.

He trusted Kaz. Even when Kaz messed up, he apologised. He showered Chase with real, genuine praise— even if it was sometimes just to mess with Oliver— and treated him with so much respect.

No one had ever done that before.

Most people treated him… very poorly to say the least. They treated him like he didn’t deserve recognition for his intelligence and accomplishments, which made it hard for him to be proud of himself, which just made him louder that he was proud. Because he knew he should be proud, but he couldn’t be.

They treated him like he wasn’t quite a person, even his fellow bionic siblings.

Sometimes it felt like it was especially his bionic siblings who treated him as less than a person.

They treated him like he was just some thing to keep around because they had to, not because they wanted to.

Kaz didn’t treat him that way.

Kaz always smiled when he saw Chase come in, and greeted him with joy in his voice. Kaz sat close to Chase and included him in the conversation.

This especially applied to when they were with Oliver. Kaz and Oliver had a natural flow, they’d been best friends for years. And that could make Chase feel really left out. So Kaz usually tried to explain what they were talking about as they went along.

Chase felt like that should’ve made him feel like he was being treated like a child, but he knew that wasn’t Kaz’s intention, so he didn’t. He loved learning about what Kaz (and subsequently Oliver) was interested in, because that meant that he was worth teaching. It meant that Kaz wanted Chase to know so that he could be included.

Kaz treated Chase like he was the best thing in the room, and like he deserved the world.

What an astonishing change of pace.

It was a bit of an odd realisation that Chase had a crush on him. He didn’t notice until a few days into their team, but when he did, it was… inconvenient.

How ridiculous.

He realised when his father, and Kaz’s best friend, were dangling off their building.

He realised when Kaz continued to speak to him like he was the most special thing, even in this dire situation. He realised when Kaz listened to Chase, even though the idea may not have been the best one. He realised when he felt their hands brush together in the bucket of popcorn Kaz had made for them.

Chase tried hard to force these feelings down. They weren’t appropriate due to their teammate status. They had been proven in the past to result only in pain and suffering.

It was too much, to the point that Chase tried to make a girlfriend for himself. Seven, to be exact. They must’ve had just a little bit too much of himself in them, because they all liked Kaz, even when their programming was almost completely wiped and they were given free will.

It was hard to ignore. It was hard to ignore when Kaz was praising him, telling him just how amazing he was for getting Skylar’s powers back. It was hard to ignore when Kaz was adorably smart, pretending to be bionic.

It was hard to ignore when they worked together to make mission suits— especially since Kaz needed help putting the suit on and Chase may have stared for a moment— and Kaz praised him for all of his ideas, and was just as enthusiastic when pitching his own.

It was hard to ignore when Kaz really wasn’t Kaz and Chase got this sinking when he realised, extremely worried for how he was and where he was.

It was hard to ignore the multiple times that Kaz saved his life.

Eventually, he started not wanting to ignore it. He wanted to embrace the warm feeling he got when Kaz spoke to him, and when he smiled at him. He wanted the feeling that came whenever Kaz leaned particularly close or when their legs pressed together.

The week Kaz showed Chase Fantasy Football was the best week of his life. They went out almost every day, together, just the two of them. It was amazing.

Chase tried not to get himself caught up in the fantasy of them being together, but it was hard. He wanted to be with Kaz.

He was planning on scrapping Kaz’s drone design, but he just couldn’t. First of all, it was Kaz. Chase couldn’t stand to hurt him like that. Second of all, the drone was just so distinctly Kaz that Chase didn’t want to change it. He wanted to put it in their room so that every night as they went to bed, they could remember the creation they made together.

He didn’t intend for Kaz to ever find out, but in the end, he was so, so happy that he did.

“Why didn’t you scrap my drone design?” Kaz suddenly asked. After the Fantasy Football Week, Kaz started keeping Chase company in the Mission Command.

“I told you, I felt guilty,” Chase said, not looking up. He knew that wasn’t the reason. Not the only reason. He wasn’t the best liar. But how would Kaz know that?

“You’re lying.” Chase looked up, surprised. “You wouldn’t look at me. You didn’t look at me the first time you told me either. You always look at me when we talk.” He let out a light laugh. “If you can tell me without looking away, I’ll believe you.”

Chase could do that. He could lie to the face of the boy he was hopelessly in lo— crushing on.

“I just—” He glanced away for just a split second “—felt guilty,” He said. Once he was done with the sentence, he looked away again. Not at anything in particular, just away from Kaz.

“Chase…” Kaz said quietly. Chase didn’t notice him reaching his hand out until it reached his face and tilted Chase’s head toward him. “What’s the real reason?” He asked.

“I… just didn’t want to,” Chase admitted. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you either, Chasey,” Kaz said with a small laugh. Chase’s heart only pounded harder at the nickname.

He went to pull his hand away but Chase followed his hand, and before he got too far, Kaz stopped, leaving his hand there. He did move it down a bit, resting more on his jaw and neck.

“I think I would’ve understood,” Kaz said, stepping a bit closer, probably just to make it so his arm wasn’t too uncomfortable. “I understand right now. You don’t like losing, and I understand that.” He stepped closer again. “But honestly, I think I’d forgive you for anything. You could do anything, and I would still forgive you.”

He could do anything.

Chase knew that Kaz absolutely did not mean kissing him out of nowhere without asking, and that was probably, almost definitely crossing the line of anything, but he did it anyway.

He was just so… he needed to know what it felt like.

It was very short, only barely being too long to qualify as a peck.

“Forgive me,” He said, as soon as he pulled away.

“For what?” Kaz asked quietly, pulling his hand away.

“For kissing you,” Chase said nervously.

“Are you going to do it again?” Kaz asked.

“No! Of course not, I am so so sorry for even doing it once,” Chase rushed to say. Kaz crossed his arms.

“Then I don’t think there’s any way I could forgive you,” He said, his voice timid. “If you’re just going to kiss me, and then not do it again, I… I guess I was wrong, I can’t forgive you. Not right now.” Chase hesitated.

“What?” He asked.

“Chase, you can’t just… you can’t just kiss someone who clearly likes you and then just pretend like it never happened!” Kaz said, a bit defensively.

“You… what?” Chase blanked so hard, barely being able to process at all what he said. “You want me to kiss you again?”

“Of course I do!” Kaz exclaimed. “Chase, have you not seen yourself?” He asked. “I tell you all the time how amazing you are, how smart and interesting and funny you are, and you can’t process the idea that I maybe have a crush on you?”

“You want me to kiss you again,” Chase said, trying to get it through his head. Kaz didn’t answer that time, just looked down.

Chase stepped closer immediately, took Kaz’s face in both of his hands and kissed him again.

He was allowed. He was allowed to chase this feeling, he was allowed to feel this warmth and joy.

Kaz kissed back this time, although he hesitated. Chase feared that Kaz maybe thought this was out of pity; Chase wanted him to know that this is what he wanted.

When they pulled away, Chase kept their faces close.

“You like me,” He said, still processing it.

“Yeah,” Kaz said. “Do you like me?” He asked slowly.

“Of course I do,” Chase said, pulling back a bit more. “I like you so much.”

Ever since then, they’d been dating. They never really had a proper conversation about it, but a week in they started calling each other their boyfriends, and it’d been that way ever since.

#lab rats elite force #mighty med #lab rats #chase davenport #kase #kaz mm #kaz lref #chaz #this has nothing to do with hamilton

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mistressofthecubicle · 2 years ago

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Watering

Annie was sick of it. Every week the guy in the cubicle next to her would take either a Friday or a Monday off. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but he was forever asking her to take care of his plants. The first time he’d asked her a few months ago, she’d insisted that it was no problem. But not now, it seemed like he was always gone and she was on plant duty every single freaking week. If it had been only one or two plants she wouldn’t have been so irritated, but the guy had thirty plants. She often wondered why the office manager turned a blind eye to the jungle that Alex had created. Surely they would start attracting insects or mold sooner or later.

Besides, Annie didn’t relish taking the half hour needed to water them. It was too god-damn time consuming, especially on a Friday at the end of the work day. But as usual, Alex had called in sick today. She’d grudgingly agreed to water them again. She felt like a slave to his plants. She sighed and clocked out from her computer. She was the last one in the office, and her things were gathered and waiting for her on her desk. She stood and stretched, shaking her head of short brown hair. A few curly locks fell around her face, framing her pixie jaw line, and her full mouth turned down in a pout. She was feeling sorry for herself and oh so put upon by that jerk of a cube neighbor who skipped work and left her to keep track of his jungle. She stomped into Alex’s cubicle, wishing she’d said no this time.

Her thin manicured hands wrapped around the light green handle of the plastic pitcher with the flower shaped end spout that Alex kept for watering. It was always three round trips to fill the small pitcher, so she shed her high heels in her cubicle once she’d collected the empty pitcher. She didn’t feel like tottering back and forth on them for the waiting plants. She was nearly done watering when she carelessly knocked over one of the smaller plants. The plant itself was nondescript, a pale green stem with delicate leaves housed within a pretty ceramic blue container. The plant lay on its’ side waiting to be rescued. Only a few pieces of dirt had spilled out onto the grey desk, like the first few stars one sees at early dusk. Suddenly, the ridiculousness of the situation hit her and Annie was angry. She was furious that Alex could have whatever he wanted in his cubicle, and that he could take so much time off. She was also irritated that she was stuck doing something so mundane for someone else. She wanted freedom from the drudgery of the corporate world and the small plant staring up at her from the pot seemed to taunt her;

“You’ll always be the lackey, never the star. You’ll always be at mid-level, never at a management position. You're too pretty, and pretty girls don’t get to move up. You get to be the eye candy, but you’ll never taste the success.” In a rage she grabbed the plant and smashed it against the desk top, sending pieces of blue shards and dirt, everywhere. But it wasn’t enough to calm her so she picked up the fragile plant and pulled the leaves off of it. Repeating the nursery rhyme of yesteryear; “He loves me, he loves me not…” Somehow the rhyme brought her back to reality.

“Shit!” She exclaimed, and she hurried to clean up the mess. “Whatever did I do that for?” She had somewhere to be, she and her friends were all going out to the club, and she was looking forward to meeting some guys. She didn’t bother to try to save the plant and figured that one less plant wouldn’t make a difference. “Maybe Alex won’t notice, or maybe he will and he’ll ask someone else to do the watering.” Annie said out loud smiling and hoping for the second option. Her only goal was to clean up the mess and get out of here without getting dirty.

She’d dressed nicely before work, in her red off the shoulder dress, and had hidden the non-work appropriate clothes with a sweater. That way she’d be able to leave the office and go directly to the club. She dealt with the pieces of the shattered pot, dirt and the dying plant by sweeping them all into the garbage. She did her best to hide all trace of the spill. A little bit of dirt, and grass stains were smudged on her hands but she could wash them off later. She surveyed her work. There was no sign that she’d killed a plant except for the hole in the wall of green that had formerly been occupied. Maybe if she moved the plants around then Alex wouldn’t notice that one was missing. She reached over to rearrange them when one of the plants reached out and bit her with its’ thorny stem. “Ouch!” She exclaimed pulling her finger back and putting the hurt digit in her mouth.

She could taste a small amount of blood and when she pulled her finger out to examine it, she saw a small red mark on it. “What the hell?” She stared back up at the plant. It was motionless. Maybe she hadn’t been careful enough, after all there were a few thorns on that one. She paused for a moment then reached out again. She gingerly touched the plant with her right hand, her gaudy ring flashing a contrasting pink to the emerald green of the plant. Nothing happened. “I’m probably just being paranoid.” She turned to leave, but one of the vines of another plant snaked out and grabbed at her ankle.

The sudden force on her ankle caused her to lose her balance and she fell to her knees. She was disoriented for a moment and thought that maybe she’d slipped. Her first concern was her dress. And she scanned it for tears or stains. Her dress seemed fine, and she flipped over onto her rear end in order to see what she’d tripped on. A thin vine had wrapped itself around her ankle and was slowly sprouting and wrapping itself upwards toward the hem of her skirt.

Even though she was wearing nylons, she could feel the snaky movement as it inched up her leg. “That settles it! Come Monday, I’m going to demand that Alex get rid of all of these monstrous plants.” She casually reached down and pulled the vine from her leg, effectively breaking it into pieces, throwing them into the garbage can. She gathered herself to stand when three more vines snaked out quicker than the first to wind themselves around her ankles. “What the hell?” Annie squeaked half in fright, half in laughter. “This is getting ridiculous.” And she once again reached down and freed herself from the vines. This time they were harder to break. She had just deposited the broken pieces into the trash when upon turning she saw a huge number of vines darting out quick as lighting and they all wound around her ankles and spread up her legs, quickly moving to subdue and capture her.

Frantic, she tried to tear them off and she could smell the fresh chlorophyll from the breaking vines, but the small green tentacles of the plants were shooting out faster than she could break them, and they were getting stronger. It seemed that every time she managed to break the stranglehold of one vine, three stronger ones would take its’ place. Indeed, so many were wrapping around her lower half that it looked as if her red dress had turned a mossy green. The variegated colors of green began to tighten around her legs to the point of pain.

She fought valiantly but the more she struggled, the more the vines tightened. She tried to scream for help but a few dark green vines forced themselves over her open mouth, blocking any sound from coming out. She quickly closed her mouth against the flavor of leafy greens, fighting her gag reflex. Overwhelmed by the attack, she lay down on the floor of Alex’s cubicle.

During her brief lack of defence, the plants finished by neatly wrapping themselves around her arms, effectively pinning them to her sides. For a few minutes, Annie lay in a half-conscious state, breathing shallowly through her nose, as her mouth was still covered by the invading vines. A new sucking sound awoke her. She didn’t know what the sound meant, until she felt a slight pressure on her feet. She struggled to look down at her feet, as her body was mostly encased with the suffocating vines. What she saw was too much for her fragile state of mind. The plants were gnawing and sucking away at her feet. “No, OH GOD NO!” She lamented. The vines constricted tighter. Her breathing grew distressed, and her weak struggling slackened as the plants sent a calming chemical through her veins.

It was funny that the last thoughts that crossed her mind were; “Eaten by office plants, such a sad way to go. But at least everyone at work would know what happened. Maybe now they'll fire Alex. He deserved that for bringing such dangerous plants to work.” Annie felt herself finally fade into oblivion. The weekend passed and the only evidence left of the vile plants’ vengeful handiwork the following Monday was a red dress, black sweater and other clothing items that were thrown haphazardly onto the floor of her cubicle. Annie's phone and purse were still on her desk. The company suspected foul play and alerted the police. A search was made but they never found a trace of Annie. And Alex who called in sick again, finally came back later that week to some extremely overwatered plants that were bulging at the stems. And he couldn’t help but exclaim; “Damn it Annie, I told you not to give them too much water!”

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princeblack · 1 year ago

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bee offers to have him over at her home and it takes him by surprise a little, how warm and inviting she is. he already knows she is and it's one of the things he loves about her, but it's still not something he's used to, especially after being around stuffy types like pureblood slytherins. part of him hesitates, because should he really be getting close to her like this when he's a death eater? he wants to leave them, but does that make a difference in this kind of situation, where he could easily put her in harm's way without intending to? he decides to put the thought away for later, not having it in himself to brood right now. not when he's already ruined daphne's day for just a shot at being happy with bee, even if it only lasts tonight.

"i would like that," he says softly, green eyes lingering on her body still. "it has to meet a certain standard, though," he teases, his tone joking. "you have to wrap me in silk and feed me the treats by hand-- that's how we do it in the black household. then if you drop anything, our house elf gets sent to his room as punishment." he knows draco or any of his family would hate the jokes, but he can't help but poke fun at it all, because it can be so ridiculous. "i'm kidding, by the way. our house elf is actually treated well." he can't say the same for when the malfoys had dobby, unfortunately.

"yes," he answers, without any hesitation. "i think you're interesting, and fun... and beautiful." it's not appropriate to say the last part, but it slips out against his better judgement, unable to stop looking at her because she's so captivating. he sighs a little at her mention of daphne, brows furrowing. "i think that's less because of you and more because of where my attention was." it's regulus's fault that their relationship is on the rocks, but he's not sure it's the best idea that he save it.

"we're not royalty," he says dismissively, but appreciates the compliment anyway. "as much as my mother might let you believe that. when she talks about the house of black, she sounds like she's reading slam poetry or something." he smirks a little, trying not to think about the secondhand embarrassment he's gotten from her long winded speeches. "for what it's worth, i think you could pull it off... let me dress you up sometime." it's a flirty suggestion, bringing to mind the image of him actually dressing her naked body. "i'll pay for something you'd wear if you were 'one of us'... could help you put it on." in reality, bee has something that regulus knows he'll never have, coming from less financial privilege but definitely surrounded in more love. he's envious of her in ways, how soft and pretty she is, so radiant because she's been loved and nurtured her entire life. living in the black household is like being a plant in the shade, only getting enough sunlight to survive.

she tells him she wore her outfit just for his reaction, which makes him feel warm all of a sudden, drowning in that same need he felt for her when she was sucking on her finger and gazing into his eyes. "oh? you wore this just for me?" he reaches down, his fingers brushing her waist a little, green eyes heavy with desire as his gaze moves over her body again. he doesn't want to objectify her, but it's hard not to admire her curves, from her hips to the cleavage spilling from the top of her dress. "do you always think of me like that?" it gives him a thrill, imagining the way he might be in her mind as she's naked and picking out her clothes for the day.

he drops his hand from her waist, instead moving to open the door for her as they slip into honkeydukes. the shop is as colorful and busy as always, forcing regulus and bee into close quarters next to each other as they start browsing. they pass the sugar quills and drooble's gum before pausing, regulus reaching out to choose one of the lollipops that looks like it has a pumpkin flavor. "i have a taste for the whole store," he answers, smiling. "but these are a safe bet. so are the cauldron cakes-- can never go wrong with those. how about you?"

she thinks about what he says, telling her to ask him the same question again later. it was so obviously flirting but it makes her blush biting down on her lower lip as she nods slowly at his words. she didn't want to be a bad person, she didn't want to steal someone's boyfriend but did he really belong to daphne? if he's here flirting with bee in front of his own girl...maybe they were both bad people but then they could be bad together couldn't they? and as long as she had him. "delicious." she purrs in response to his comment.

she finds it pretty adorable that he has such a knack for sweets, it was cute imaging a baby regulus getting into all the sugar he can but it also makes her a bit sad, his own mother scolding him for doing what kids do. "my mom loves cooking for us and baking...and our hosue is always filled with treats. maybe you could come over sometime." she would like inviting him to her cottage, though it would probably be a huge change from what he's used to, luxury and expensive foods, house elves. everything he could ever possibly imagine.

they're all alone now, she'd licked her finger after touching his lip and it all felt so right she wants him all to herself, and it's giving her the same butterflies you get from a first date or at least what she imagines it feels like. she never got butterflies like this from dean, not even in the beginning. not the way she feels just being alone with regulus as they make their way to honeydukes. she smiles sadly at his words, biting down on her lower lip. "really? you liked spending time with me that much?" she purrs softly. he hasn't even broken up with his own girlfriend yet, flirting with bee every chance he got right in front of her. "I know it's not I just feel like me being here might've caused her to nearly drown herself in butterbeer."

"you don't look like that." she laughs, shaking her head a little. "I just meant you look nice, kind of like royalty." she smiles warmly. "I just stick out like a sore thumb you know? I could never pull off the elegant rich kid thing." she hums softly. she never thought regulus looked silly, he was actually the most handsome man she'd ever seen, she was obsessed with how beautiful he is. he tells her that he thinks she looks good, making her cheeks flush a bit pink as she bites down on her lower lip "but if you think I look okay then who am I to argue with you?" she purrs softly. "I kinda wore it in hopes you would like what you saw." her words ending in a purr as she catches him checking her out, his eyes flickering over her body like this. her body feels hot again as they're approaching the candy store and stepping inside. "so what do you have a taste for mr. black?" she says almost seductively as she walks in front of him to look over all the fresh treats.

#Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( prose ) .#Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. bexley ) .

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hoedamn-eron · 2 years ago

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doctor steven grant, phd - part 7 (finale)

You're miserable, and it's your own doing. You have to fix this.

Warnings: Age gap, but it is appropriate/legal. Steven may be a little OOC. Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show and some light research). Mentions of being in a bar, and drinking alcohol and being drunk. Pure fluff. Some swearing. Steven and Reader share a steamy kiss. Word count: 2,972 GN!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Final part to this series! Thank you for sticking with this and with me, even when I doubted every chapter and it came out later than planned! I know now for my next series not to post until I'm happy with it!

Sorry this is late, again. I had a guest stay over this weekend so I didn't find the time to post!

Part 6 ● Series Masterlist

Three weeks.

It had been three weeks since you stormed out of Steven’s flat, and you were sad. Scratch that, you were miserable. Dreary. Gloomy. You were feeling all of the negative emotions and it was eating at you from the inside.

You missed him. Steven. He’d given you the space you’d asked for; you hadn’t heard from him since he sent the apology text. He hadn’t contacted you, and you hadn’t contacted him, but good God, you wanted to. You wanted to know where you stood, if he still wanted to be with you or if he’d finally made a decision on asking you to become official.

Mostly, you felt like an idiot for the way you left things. After taking a few days to calm down and rethink the situation, you had acted irrationally (although you still think Jake was a major arsehole). You should have let Steven talk to you, like an adult.

“You’re miserable, he’s miserable,” your friend had said one day after work, where you both had needed a drink and had gone to the pub near her flat. You’d finally told her everything about meeting Jake and what he said, and how your dinner date with Steven went at his flat. “Just talk to him.”

You groaned and buried your head into your hands. “I can’t now, I’m too embarrassed.”

“His lectures aren’t nearly as enthusiastic as they were,” your friend said before taking a sip of her wine. “He just…seems to have lost his spark.”

If that didn’t make you feel anymore guilty, then you don’t know what.

You sigh as you push your own wine away from you, suddenly not feeling like drinking it. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Listen,” your friend said sternly, leaning forward. “I’m saying this out of love, and because you are so stupidly in love with this man, it’s pitiful.” She cleared her throat before sitting up straighter, giving you a hard look. “You’re acting ridiculous. I have to admit that I haven’t been his biggest fan since he stood you up that one time, but it was obvious he wanted to be with you afterwards. The guy is awkward and honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were his first serious relationship, which was probably why he was so nervous about asking you to be his person.”

You open your mouth to protest but hold your tongue as your friend holds up her finger at you.

“I think you’re projecting. This is also your first serious relationship and you’re panicking, thinking you’re not good enough, but you are. You deserve to be happy, so fuck whatever his brother said.”

“I am not projecting – “

“You’re projecting,” your friend replied. “And I’m not saying your feelings aren’t valid, but you’ve allowed his brother to get into your head and now you’re not letting yourself be happy.”

You bit your lip as you looked down at your hands. You knew you had panicked, especially after bumping into Jake. You had felt like everything was going your way and it was just too convenient. Of course you were your own worst enemy.

You sigh in frustration before grabbing your wine glass, deciding to finish it off in one large gulp. “I’m such an idiot,” you say as you a bit too forcefully put the glass back on the bar.

“A little bit,” your friend said, taking another sip of her wine.

“How do I approach him after this?”

Your friend shrugs. “That’s for you to decide.”

You go back and forth into the late (early) hours of your terrible love life, what you’re going to do about Steven and how you were stupid enough to listen to his brother you doesn’t even know you. Your friend told you he had lectures all week but he was going to take a few days off and that should be your opportunity to fix things with the ‘nerdy man who would probably end the world for you’.

You snort at her – in your opinion – silly declaration. As the night goes on, both of you eventually stumble out of the bar, hailing a black cab to take you both back to your flat, where your friend was going to crash on your couch. Your friend hung heavily (and drunkenly) on your arm as she mumbles to you about the pizza she knows you have left over in your fridge from the night before.

You tell her she’s free to have it as you both clamber into the taxi. You stumble your way through your address to the driver before sitting back, giggling as your friend struggles with her seatbelt before reaching over and helping her, struggling yourself a little.

“Listen, listen,” your friend says, as you fasten your own seatbelt, the car setting off. You look at her, your eyes a little fuzzy. “You love Steven. That’s why you’re feeling so shit.”

Your eyes widened at her. “No I don’t love him, I barely know him.”

Your friend snorted. “Please,” she lay her head back against the seat. “You’re head over heels, want to get married, grow old together, in love.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you stare at your friend. No, she’s wrong; you don’t love Steven. You like him a lot, sure; he was kind and funny, and he always gets your favourite snack when you meet up, and sometimes he lets you borrow his books because he knows you’d enjoy them. Or you would have mentioned a title the week before and he’d find a copy because of course he remembered because he was Steven.

He went out of his way to that small coffee shop by your work to get that coffee you liked, because he knew it would make you smile and giggle with joy because you genuinely loved the stuff. He was always there to comfort you when you’d had a terrible day at work, whether he sat quietly and let you rant at him or when he wraps you in his arms and lets you cry.

He makes your chest hurt and your brain goes fuzzy when he’s around. You always feel butterflies in your tummy when you think of him and you feel stupidly happy whenever he texts you ‘good morning’ and about his plans for the day, whether he’s at work or not.

You’re smiling now, thinking about it.

He feels like a warm summer day all the time. He is warmth, and comfort, and oh God you love him.

You groan. “Oh God, you’re right.”

“I know I am,” your friend replied, her words slurring as she grinned to herself.

“What do I do?” you sigh, leaning your head back against the seat.

Your friend shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s something I can’t answer for you.” She let out a giggle. “Maybe you need to do a grand gesture.”

The taxi has pulled up outside your flat before you can answer your friend. You both fumble for cash for the driver before you both stumble out of the taxi, your friend talking to you about the pizza again. She warmed it up as soon as she stepped into your flat.

You wake up the next day with a mild hangover, and you mostly sleep most of the morning away. Thank God it was a Saturday, and you heard no sound nor any movement from the living room, indicating your friend had woken up and probably left to go to her own home (which she’d confirmed in a text to you when you had finally looked at your phone – she had a date with Claire).

You contemplate texting Steven but chicken out every time. By the time the day had come to an end, you had merely stared at your text thread, the soul crushing ‘I’m sorry’ text mocking you. You felt pathetic. How was one supposed to make the first move?

The rest of your weekend flew by, and your friend calls you on Sunday evening to talk to you about her date with Claire. She was going to meet up at the coffee shop by the university campus after her classes were done.

“You can finally meet Claire.”

And you did. She was lovely, blonde and bubbly, exactly your friends type. She made the effort to talk to you, not just solely focusing on your friend, talking to you about her job and how the two met.

You were honestly having a good time, until Steven walked through the door.

Your smile fell from your face as you watched him walk up to the counter, probably (definitely) ordering his usual tea. He was wearing his glasses, his phone in his hand, and he was wearing your favourite maroon jumper of his, the one that made you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside and it always look so good on him. His hair was messy, as per usual, and God, he looked as good as he always does. You tried to shy away, making yourself as small as possible, so he didn’t see you.

“Go and talk to him.”

You eyes snapped to your friend as she gave you a knowing look, Claire looking at you curiously. You shook your head. “No.”

“You’ve been avoiding him for weeks, and on Friday, you came to the conclusion that you loved him, so – “

“I am…doing it in my own time.”

“You’re so awkward,” said your friend. “Just go over and say you’re sorry or that you love him and want to marry him the first chance you get.”

“Stop it, he will hear you,” you hissed.

“What’s happening?” Claire asked, whispered between the two of you.

Your friend sighed in exasperation as she looked at Claire, her hand subconsciously landing on Claire’s thigh. “My friend here,” she said, giving you a nod. “Is in love with my history professor,” she nodded towards Steven. “And they’ve been going out since before Christmas and he hasn’t asked them to be official and they’ve ran off.”

“You’re missing half of the story!” you cry before you lean forward to explain to Claire. “I ran into his brother, who he doesn’t have a great relationship with, which is neither here nor there.” Claire gives you a slow nod. “And he told me that mine and Steven’s relationship wasn’t serious and that he was going to end it.”

“But you shouldn’t have taken his brother’s word for it.”

You open your mouth to retort but Claire interrupted you, “I think you should go and talk to him.”

You keep yourself from snapping that it was none of her business before you remembered you had invited her into the conversation. You sat back in your chair, glancing back at Steven as he stood waiting for his tea. “I can’t.”

Your friend rolled her eyes as Claire have you a sympathetic smile. “You’re not going to feel better or get any closure if you don’t.”

You stare at her for a minute before you look back at Steven, who was smiling at the barista as she handed him his tea. He turned towards the door, making his way out having not seen you. You watched him through the windows, seeing him walking back towards the university buildings, probably about to go to his last class of the day.

“Go and talk to him.”

You turn to Claire and your friend, weirdly feeling the urge to cry. “What if he wants nothing to do with me?”

“You’ll never know unless you go.”

You look back at him again, watching him walk further and further away.

What if he was ‘it’ for you? What if you were letting your own stupid feelings get in the way of proper happiness, when it was something you needed to establish with Steven, and you had thrown it all away because his brother was a prick and had apparently liked to see Steven squirm?

You were an idiot. A ridiculous, head over heels in love, idiot.

You bit your lip before giving a firm nod. “Okay.”

Your friend’s mouth fell open slightly before she gave you a large smile. “Okay!”

“Okay.” You stood from your seat, gathering your bag. “Okay. O-okay.”

“No, don’t chicken out now.” Your friend pointed at you. “He’s outside, right now, just as miserable as you are, and you’re not about to let this go before clearing the air.”

You take a deep breath before nodding, gritting your teeth as you quickly left the coffee shop, looking around and seeing Steven walking back towards the lecture halls. You took off quickly, your hand landing on his forearm just as he got to the door, causing him to jump and nearly spill his tea. He turned his head, his body stilling as he realised it was you.

You nearly stopped short at the sight of him. His eyes were the same, maybe a little more tired looking, but they were still that beautiful, warm brown that always made you melt. You wanted nothing more than to cup his face in your palms, feeling the stubble he probably had since he had to shave so often, wanting to kiss him until the end of days. It had been so long since you had last kissed him.

He breathed your name. “I…what are…i-it’s good to see you.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out. No, that wasn’t what you were supposed to say but it was a good start. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have listened to Jake, I shouldn’t have made those assumptions about you, about us. I acted irrationally and I shouldn’t have stormed out like I did.”

He called your name but you stopped him. God he looked adorable, looking at you like that.

“Please let me say what I need to say before I lose my confidence,” you said, looking at his stupidly adorable, confused expression. “You…are an amazing man and I am so lucky to have you in my life, whether you want it to be as a friend or more. I acted…I was…I am really stupid to believe a complete stranger over you, and I shouldn’t have done that, I should have come to you straight away. I want to be with you, and I want to spend the rest of our lives together because I…I-I love you, and you’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner, and you’re so kind and so, so thoughtful and I don’t deserve you and I understand, again, if you are happy to just be friends.”

You stare at him, your heart hammering hard in your chest. He was looking at you with a soft look on his face, almost relieved. You swallowed nervously. “Please say something, Steven.”

“You love me?”

Your mouth falls open slightly as your breathing became a little laboured. Had you taken it a step too far? You had just poured your soul to this wonderful man, but the ‘L word’ was just a little too much for him? You remember how he could overthink situations, and maybe you had just made him uncomfortable. He might not have been in the same place as you.

“Love?”

You’d taken too long to answer. You looked at him with wide eyes before you nod. “Yes. I love you.”

Steven breathed out a small laugh, looking down bashfully for a moment before looking back up at you. “I was…I was going to ask you that night, to be truly mine, and when you said about Jake…I thought I’d never see or speak to you again.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “I shouldn’t – Jake got into my head.”

“I don’t blame you.”

You give a small snort of laughter. “You should. I was a plonker. Not giving you the chance to explain, just telling you to go away and leave me alone – “

“No, love, I understand,” Steven said. “I could have said something – should have said something – instead I was stood there like a bloody git letting you walk away. I love you too, and I’m sorry.” He shook his head, taking a step towards you. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done, that.”

“Pretty stupid of me to walk away.” You bring yourself closer.

“We were both stupid,” Steven said, so close you were both breathing the same air.

You lightly gasp as he leaned in, his lips meeting yours. You held back a groan; you’d missed this. His warmth, his hand on your waist, how breathless he made you. You’d kissed before, but not like this, this was electric. Your brain had gone all fuzzy, all you could hear, smell, and feel was Steven. You hands stroked up that jumper that you vowed to steal later, knowing that there will be a later this time, your hands landing on his firm chest, feeling him breathing against you.

His tongue was starting to glide along your lips with a deep moan from him, and before you could let it go further, prepared to drag him away from prying eyes in some abandoned classroom or office, a loud cheer caused you both to pull apart, Steven nearly spilling his tea. You both look to see Claire and your friend, your friend’s arms in the air in victory as she looked at you both with wide eyes and an even wider smile. Claire was trying to pull her away, giggling, and apologising to you both, telling you to ‘carry on’.

You both look away from the two, before practically giggling at each other. You should probably bring up Jake and his other brother, but that was for another time. This was about you two. You and your boyfriend.

Steven nudged his nose with yours. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

You bit your lip, smiling. “I would love nothing more, Doctor Grant.”

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