#i just also don’t know how to ground any part of it in reality

[starstruckodysseys]

the problem with paralleling the nsbu finale is that i have to attempt to figure out how to make sense of whatever the fuck happened in the nsbu finale

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 8.5k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Pre-season 1. Voice kink. Oral sex. Unprotected sex.

Summary: You're a huge fan of Homelander but you always feel too awkward to ever meet your hero at a meet & greet or similar events. Your friends enter you into a Vought competition, where you've got a chance to win a phone call from Homelander himself.  

Author’s Note: My first Homelander fic! Also, this is the first time I’m publishing my work. Obligatory English isn’t my first language so apologies if there are any strange turns of phrase but I happily take on criticism so feel free to correct me. I want to get better! I’m also not very good with sticking to the right tense. This is very self-indulgent so read with caution. 

You can’t decide whether to hug or strangle your friends. They’re trying to be nice, you get that. But this goes against everything you’d ever do! Lovely as they are, they’ve entered you into a competition to meet your hero. To meet Homelander. The thought alone makes your head spin, your heart pound and stomach twist on itself.

‘It was just 20 bucks, what’s the worst that can happen? You win?’ Reads your friend’s message. You roll your eyes, hearing the teasing tone in your head. They know about your not-so-hidden obsession and at the end of the day they just wanted to brighten their friends day.

And sure, you are a fan. Okay, fine. You’re a big fan. Obsessed even. Every-wall-of-your-bedroom adorned-with-posters-and-promotional-materials obsessed. But you don’t want to appear like that. Last thing you’d want to come across as to your idol, you hero, is an annoying screeching fan begging for his attention.

You don’t want to be part of the crowds pawing at him, inching as close as they can just to graze his uniform with their fingertips. You don’t want to look like a feral fan. You have manners. You don’t want to be just another face, just another adoring fan begging for him to look your way. It’s hard to admit to yourself that you’ll never be more than a fan. So you don’t go to meet & greets. You don’t go to premieres. You don’t pay exorbitant fees just to meet your hero.

You’re a romantic at heart. You always imagine the first meeting to be one for the books. Maybe he saves you from a burning building flying you down, his stars and stripes billowing in the wind as he looks at you with concern etched into his handsome face, his piercing blue eyes scanning you for injuries as he talks to you with a soothing rumbling tone that sends shivers down your spine. You can clearly imagine him going, Are you okay miss?, as he descends to the ground. Or you just happen to bump into each other but he catches you with his strong arms and fast reflexes and just like that it’s love at first sight. Scenarios after scenarios. All varieties of ‘meet-cute’s play in your head on a daily basis. You spend your time getting lost in your head, dreaming of the day when it will be your turn to be the protagonist of the story. When will you be the damsel in distress? But you sigh and move on with life, because this isn’t a romance novel.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself (and others) when people ask you why you haven't tried to meet your hero. 

Oh I just don’t want to be a weird obsessive fan. Plus it’s expensive!

Meeting heroes is technically easy. Vought gives people many opportunities to see their heroes for a pretty penny. They parade their heroes around like exotic animals in a zoo on a daily basis. 

For you the reality is that you simply can’t handle seeing your hero up close and personal, let alone talk to him. How are you not meant to get flustered in front of what you considered to be perfection? How are you meant to find your words or even come up with words worthy of being uttered in his presence? You’re meant to look into his eyes, tell him how much of a fan you are and not fluster and burst into tears from the anxiety coiling in your gut as you wait your turn? 

You don’t want that. You don’t want to be just another babbling fan. You want to stand out. You want him to remember you. You want him to think about you.  But you’re also a realist and you know that at most he’ll think you just another annoying fangirl if he even grants you a passing thought. So you spare yourself those hurt feelings and you avoid meet & greets, you avoid all the fan-targeted conventions, events, promotional campaigns or competitions. 

Or you always have. Until now it seems. You again scroll up in the group chat where your friends surprised you with an entry to the newest competition Vought advertised. It was presented as a fundraiser. All proceeds are planned to be donated to Samaritan’s Embrace. A simple $20 entry that would grant you a chance to be one of five lucky winners to get a personal phone call from Homelander. 

A fat chance of that, you thought when you first saw the competition announced on both Vought’s and Homelander’s twitter accounts. With a competition that invites Homelander's country-wide fanbase, there really is no chance of you winning. You half-comfort yourself with that thought. You don’t know where you’d even start should you win. Part of you thinks that maybe ‘meeting’ him over the phone could be bearable as he wouldn’t be able to witness just how badly you’re holding it together.

But then you think back to all the videos you’ve watched. The reels and the tiktoks you’ve saved. The podcasts and interviews that at this point you play almost religiously. He's perfect in every way but you're particularly fond of his voice just rumbling in your ear when it gets nice and low as he talks in lengths about the upcoming movie or his most recent save. A while back you bought yourself a decent set of noise-cancelling headphones with great audio quality and suddenly it felt like he was right behind you just purring into your ears. Very few interviews record with good enough microphones to capture how mesmerising his voice is but those that do get saved and played on repeat sending shivers down your spine, following you to bed and invading your dreams. So no, maybe a phone call wouldn’t make the experience any easier on your poor heart. 

You calm down after the initial panic reaffirming yourself with the reality where there’s no chance that you’ll get picked anyway. You text your friends again, kindly thanking them for thinking of you as you shook your head with an amused smile. That’s that done and forgotten about.

Or so you think. Few weeks down the line the mental discourse has long left your mind. The conversation moves on and your friends don’t mention anything since. That’s why it’s no surprise when you pick up the unknown call after the third ring with ease, casually answering with, “Hello, Y/N speaking.” 

Homelander looks through the list of winners Ashley brought to his desk with a scowl on his face. He’s grumpy, having to jump through everyone’s hoops is grating on him, slowly chipping away at his showmanship armour. This is just another nail in the coffin. Now he has to make private phone calls?

He wants to be revered, loved. With people bending over backwards just to get his attention. Sure, that’s right up his alley. Get the crowds to scream his name, be grateful for his divine presence. What he isn’t a fan of is making others think they’re special. He’s the special one. Where does Vought get off thinking that he’s got the time to call and visit his fans one-on-one.

He rolls his eyes looking through the unimpressive line-up that Vought carefully curated. One of each demographic, trying to hit all the targets Vought wants him to improve his numbers with.

Each candidate has a sheet of talking points assigned to them, things to highlight, mention or even promote to each one of the fans. Normally Homelander would throw Vought’s carefully crafted response straight back to their faces but right now he’s not in the slightest interested in being clever or the fans' idea of ‘authentic’ so he’d rather rattle off a few lines from a curated list of party lines. At the end of the day he doesn’t care for this. Talking to five individual fans doesn’t help him in the grand scheme of things. This isn’t happening in public, there’s no one here to witness his generosity. Nobody to witness a god, looking down and gracing his followers with his benevolence.

Vought believes the individual approach will be worth it in the long run. That apparently fans will come running to any future events and competitions seeing as real people they might know have won in the past. All Homelander sees is at most five twitter mentions from a few nobodys.

He’s got about an hour in the calendar to get through all of these. Though he's banking on this taking a lot less time. There are many more important things he could be doing instead. 

He flips through the files again, each profile is filled out with a name, number and a photo, deciding on the least painful order. A young boy, an elderly woman, a middle aged comic enthusiast, some punk teenager and you. Homelander looks at your profile with mild interest. You’re the only one who Vought didn’t manage to find a good quality recent photo of. Clearly you don’t do social media. Yet the quality doesn’t take away from the intrigue your profile inspired. You’re easily the most interesting in the list but that’s not that hard to do. Still, Homelander puts yours at the end of the list. Saving the best for last.

“Hellooo and congratulations! This is Homelander and you’re one of the few lucky cookies who get to have a little chit chat with me.” All air gets sucked out of your lungs and the ease with which you picked up the phone is gone. Your eyes widen, breath caught in your throat only coming out in confused little stutters. This isn’t real. It can’t be!

Whether it’s a particularly vivid dream or your world is actually turning upside down you’re glad this happened at home. Your knees buckle, your ass landing straight on your bed, your legs trembling with nervous energy as you sit down.

“W-what?” You manage to blurt out, more breathy than not. Your heart is pounding like never before. You wouldn’t be surprised if he can hear it over the phone, it feels loud to your ears.

“The competition? You entered, right?” His voice. His fucking voice was right in your ear and you felt like melting into a puddle of goo. Anything to spare you the embarrassing words that are surely about to come out of your mouth one way or another.

“Oh… um…” You are blowing it. There’s no other word for it. Totally embarrassing yourself. Not able to say a word, still trying to calm your heart down.

“Are you not a fan? Have I got the wrong number–?”

“N-no no! No…I mean yes. I mean sorry…fuck.” You are totally losing it. The hand holding your phone is shaking with nervous energy. 

“Hey hey hey…. Come on now. Take it easy. Now take a deep breath aaand relax.” His voice is rich and sweet like honey, just like you’ve heard on TV but here it feels intimate. Just for you. He’s not talking to anybody else. As he hears your stuttered intake of breath and a mildly calmed exhale he coos again. “That’s it. Breathe with me. Now in.” If only he knew that this is making things so much worse for you. “And out.” 

“I’m so sorry. I meant to say, I am a fan but I don’t do this.” Your voice still trembles with each word but you’re a little more composed. 

“What? Call people?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, he's clearly pleased with his little joke. 

“No.” You can’t help yourself but chuckle, your lips spreading in a wide grin. Your heart is still pounding but it’s more excitement than embarrassment. You’re actually talking to Homelander. And you have already embarrassed yourself beyond belief but he’s still here! He’s still talking to you. He doesn’t even sound upset. “I mean I don’t meet you guys. Heroes. I don’t really know how to do this. I mean I pretty much live on your doorstep and I’ve never met either one of you.” Now that he calmed you down, getting you talking, you can’t stop talking. 

“Really? Some fan you are.” Were you of a sound mind you’d hear the joke but now all you could think is that you’ve upset him. And you can’t have him think that. Sure you’ve always wanted to stand out but not in a negative way! You take it to heart and you apologize.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to offend. At all! Really! It’s just, you don’t need another person begging for an autograph that they can brag with to their friends or sell online for a quick buck.” 

He exhales a little breathy laugh that has your whole body flush hot. “Oh, aren’t you adorable.” The panic that was inflating in you like a hot air balloon finally fizzled out. Instead it’s replaced by a throbbing heat in between your legs and you place your free hand over your heart, almost trying to will your body into behaving normally. “You know if you want I can send you some, would be a shame for such a sweet fan to not have anything personalised. I’ll sign it with your name.” He offers, a nice gesture, really, but you are currently having a whole body meltdown to even appreciate it for what it was.

“O-oh,that isn’t—You don’t have to—” 

He continues nonetheless. 

“Y/N, is it? Beautiful name.” Your name rolls off his tongue perfectly, all soothing and sweet. And there you go, melting into a puddle just for him. 

“You don’t have to be nervous. I don’t bite. At least, not over the phone.” You let your hand trail down your body. He’s just talking. He’s just making jokes. He’s just trying to strike up a conversation to make such a freaked out fan of his a little calmer and there you are getting your rocks off on this. 

“Sorry. It’s hard not to be. I’ve been a fan of yours for a long while. I didn’t expect I’d ever get to talk to you. It’s kind of you to do things like this for us fans. I’m sure you’re busy. Thank you for taking the time.” You distract yourself from the throbbing that’s just calling for your hand to settle heavily in between your shaking thighs. 

“Oh no problem. Wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for all my loyal fans, right?” You should really stop moving your hand down your body. But you can’t help the effect he has on you, you’re not acting normal! 

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s the fame that makes you special. It’s you.” You breathe you all dreamy before realising this isn’t just one of your fantasies. No. You really are talking to Homelander. You cough a little, pretending like you had something stuck in your throat. 

“It is?”

“I think so. Change into civilian clothing and I’m sure you’ll still be turning heads.” You speak normally now but you bite your lip at the end, your hand now just above your pubic bone. 

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this plenty.” Oh, of course you have. Your body is screaming at you to take the plunge, to slip your hand down your panties, and make yourself feel like this is more than just a friendly fan call. But your mind is, correctly, telling you that this is beyond inappropriate. 

“Ah no! I just mean that you’re perfect at what you do. There’s nobody like you. Noone could take your spot. So it’s more than just fans.” You’re surprised you’re still carrying on. You feel like your brain is turning into mush with each word he’s saying. 

“What can I say? I take my job very seriously.” He goes on to talk about being a leader of the Seven, you guess he’s just trying to fill space seeing as you’re such a blubbering mess. Even with all his efforts at making this normal, your brain turns all the innocent words into the filthiest dirty talk.

“Look, I’d love to talk to you some more but I’m afraid I’ll have to end it there. I’m late for a talk show interview.” You retract your hand as if it got burnt and instead you grab onto the comforter you’re sitting on, stopping yourself from doing anything impulsive. 

“O-of course.” Your heart rate is elevated again, something about the thought of him leaving and you never getting the chance to speak to him again makes you want to scream. 

“Tell you what, I don’t want to be unfair to you. You hardly got your prize. I’ll call you later. You free in the evening?” 

“Y-yes.”

“Perfect.” 

Perfect. You’re fucking perfect. Homelander can’t stop the way his lips stretch into a predatory grin. You are exactly what a fan should be like. Swooning over him. Grateful that he’s even bothering to grace you with his presence. You were practically kneeling, bent over before him on the floor, kissing his feet as he gave you a taste of his divine presence. He has half a mind to take care of the uncomfortable hard-on pressing into his rigid suit. He couldn’t help himself when you were being such a sweet little thing. He feels no remorse at having rubbed himself through his suit as you were there on the other side of the phone, undeniably shaking in excitement, all flustered and tense and most certainly aroused. But no, he wants to wait his turn. He needs the real thing. He’s not planning on letting you go that easy.

Originally he was pissed that most of his time on the phone was taken up by the elderly woman who was talking his ear off. Now he’s thinking about sending her a gift basket. He has a real excuse to see you. 

When Homelander wants something he’s like a hunter, doing everything he can to lure his prey into his trap. In this case he abuses his powers to get the Crime Analytics team to dig up your address and in the meanwhile he sits through a mind-numbingly boring interview at a low-tier talk show he really shouldn’t need to waste his time on. 

The only thing that keeps him going is the thought that you might be watching. You seem like a big fan. You surely wouldn’t dare miss out on his live appearances. The thought alone gives him enough drive to not laser through the talk show host everytime she asks a stupid question and instead he imagines he’s speaking straight to you.

When the show is over he takes off before his team can steer him towards another boring chore. No, he has more pressing matters to attend to. Like any good predator he observes. He waits until it’s the right time to strike. That’s why he’s perched at the top of the building that’s opposite yours. He’s got a clear line of sight to your apartment but he’s careful in making sure you can’t see him. 

He watches, his grin reappearing every damn time he sees you reach your phone, checking if your ringer is on for the tenth time. You are an easy target, he can swoop in anytime and sweep you off your feet but he wants it to be perfect. With sick fascination he keeps watching you, your behaviours and patterns as you pace around your room trying to preoccupy your mind with mindless thoughts. He knows that nothing you do can now fill the void that he left behind. What else can replace the purr of his voice in your ear, soothing and exciting you at the same time. Nothing. There’s nobody like him. You said it yourself.

An hour of self-indulgent watching later he decides to end your misery. You just look so upset and disappointed and he knows you’ll just melt in his presence. He needs to be close to you. He got a little sprinkle of what you're like over the phone and now he’s got a craving for the real thing. He needs to feel you, smell you, hear your poor heart trying to keep up with the excitement right in his ear.

So with a quick drop he descends.

The day has gone by torturously slow for you. You spend every minute checking your phone in case your ringer randomly fails you and you won’t catch the second call from Homelander. Just thinking that makes your thighs quiver. The thought of having him purr into your ear any longer wets your panties all over again. But over the coming hours your enthusiasm deflates. It’s getting late and your chances of ever getting a call back are low. 

You emerge from the bathroom, fresh and clean, in your pyjamas ready to sleep today’s rollercoaster of emotions away. Or you would be if it wasn’t for a knock at your balcony door interrupting your thoughts and making you flinch in surprise. The flash of red and blue still so vibrant and colourful against the midnight sky has your breath catching in your throat. What the fuck?!

You open the balcony door in shock, and if you had the strength to do so you would have ripped it off its hinges with pure eagerness. There he is in all his patriotic glory. Homelander. A wide grin on his face, posture ramrod straight as he clasps his gloved hands behind his back, puffing his chest out.

“H-Homelander?!” Your voice quivers at the proximity, your heart picks up speed again and you feel your entire body flush both in embarrassment and excitement. Your first thought goes to how you currently look rather than questioning his motives or how he even found where you live in the first place. 

Trying to regain your composure you shake your head, blinking as if he was just a figment of your imagination. Maybe your devout obsession with him is finally damaging your mental state, making you hallucinate.

“Good evening, Y/N.” God, how does he do that! The way your name slips off his tongue so easily, with such familiarity makes you clench and part your lips with a gasp. Any sort of composure you’ve regained crumbling to dust. Now you are just awkwardly gawking, in awe at the unreal figure in front of you, in the flesh. Homelander doesn’t wait to be invited in, strutting into your modest apartment like it belongs to him, the confident strides of his red boots loud and heavy against the creaky floor of your apartment. He takes up the living space confidently, somehow making you feel like you don't belong in your own space. His presence took priority, anything else secondary—you included. 

“How did you—” Your question of how he found where you live doesn’t even get fully asked, let alone answered. He cuts in, not actually caring about your justified worry over having your address handed out willy-nilly. 

“Our call was a bit too short to my liking. You don’t mind a little late-night visit, do you?” You feel disarmed. His voice turns gravelly, lowering with each word. His tone teasing as if he was telling you a secret, so unlike his television persona where he’s all American apple pie values and open arms with clear intentions. Here, he grinned widely—all teeth with his sharp canines bared to you like the predator he is. Like you’re his next meal. “Ohohoo, would you look at this. Maybe you are my biggest fan, huh?” 

You are distracted by his voice, his presence, just him that you fail to notice his eyes wandering around your apartment. Your face flushes red in embarrassment as you see him assessing your safe space, or what felt like your safe space before this ambush, all with an amused grin on his face. 

“These are all limited edition. Must have cost you a small fortune.” Holding a breath you watch him take his gloves off one by one, placing the leather on your table with a soft thwack. It feels forbidden, not meant for your eyes. The public doesn’t get to see Homelander as anything other than perfect. His image manicured, perfected to the tiniest details. Seeing his surprisingly elegant bare hands, this up close feels intimate yet threatening like he’s unsheathed his sword, revealing one of the many hidden weapons he can use against you. 

You watch as he brushes his fingers against limited edition action figurines, box sets, posters and trinkets featuring his likeness or the logo emblem Vought associates with him. If it was anyone else you’d tell them to keep their paws away from your most prized possessions but it's Homelander. Who else gets the right to touch special limited edition merchandise of his own likeness? 

You watch as he paces the room with an unreadable expression. The embarrassment you feel transforms into an apology, heavy on your tongue as you force your mouth open, letting your shame out into the world. It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed in his presence.

“I-I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” He turns his head over his shoulder with a curious expression. A swoop of his blonde hair handsomely falling into his face. He puts down one of the figurines he picked up earlier as he scouted the area. 

“All this stuff.” You wave your hand around, the grand display of what can only be described as the Church of Homelander, a shrine dedicated to his divine existence. You see how it looks, how it makes you look like a rabid fan. Though you’re anything but. “I know it’s a little strange. I don’t want to make you feel like a museum piece. Or-or-or a circus animal! I just admire you. A lot.”

“You do?” 

“I do.” Your breath catches in your throat as he turns around fully, facing you head on, one slow step inching towards you at a time. You gulp, feeling like you’re left in the dark regarding his intentions as you hopelessly struggle to read him. On the opposite spectrum you’re there, an open book, your heart on your sleeve, your every thought written so clearly on your face you may as well give him your diary to flip through. “More than anything.” Breathlessly you add, meeting his eyes as a challenge. You’re devout, as loyal as it gets. You’d do anything for him if he asked.

Homelander rises to your mental challenge with a grin so sharp you feel the metaphorical bite coming before he even opens his mouth as he steps closer. He’s so close now. Any ordinary man could feel the thud of your heartbeat, but to his keen senses it’s a war drum and he’s marching to a battle he’s already won. His bare, elegant hands make their way to your jaw caressing it with a surprising gentleness. You flinch. Even though you watched it happen with wide eyes, you didn’t expect his hands to leave you unmarred. You almost expect your skin to sizzle, unworthy of his divine touch.  

Homelander’s grin disappears, his tongue gliding along his teeth as if he’s cleaning them before he devours his next meal. All that leaves you is a little whimper before he pulls you in, his hands thrumming with incomprehensible strength as he kisses you. He kisses the air out of your lungs as if you could survive without it like he can. As if you could meet him in the middle. But dammit you do your best to. He’s a passionate kisser, incapable of sticking to soft kisses. No, he devours. He licks your lips open, his tongue gliding along yours. You brace your hands against his chest, already feeling weak in the knees. The heat of his breath and the wetness of his tongue in your mouth is nothing compared to how hot and wet you feel in your panties.

It doesn’t help that he’s vocal. You kiss him harder anytime he growls or moans into your lips, his voice vibrating against your lips just possessing you more. And soon it turns into a game of who can dish it out harder. Each devoted kiss makes him hum and purr which in turn melts you into a pile of goo, making you kiss him harder. Your lips feel hot, swollen from the ferocious kissing. You’re nearing the limit of what your lungs can manage without resurfacing for air.

Homelander pulls away but he doesn’t give you any time to recover. As if you could. How do you recover from that? Instead he’s adamant about making your heartbeat hit record heights. His hands glide down your body, featherlight touches that make your skin break out into goosebumps as he settles on your hips, trailing the waistband of your pants. His pink wet lips spread into another predatory smile and before you know it he leans closer to your ear, practically purring, “Tell me, if I take these off will I find you wearing Homelander panties too?” 

Flustered squeak escapes you as he laughs wholeheartedly at your embarrassment. You know he knows. He’s teasing you for a reason. “They’re comfortable.” You eventually grumble, pouting like a child getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I bet they are.” He sinks down to one knee, his hands taking the waistband of your pants with him as he pulls them down over your thighs, letting the fabric pool by your ankles. He pats your ankle, prompting you to step out of them. You comply, kicking the fabric away earning a little word of praise from him. “Attagirl.” You’re visibly trembling as he kneels in front of you, his eyes locked on the sight of your blue panties with his emblem and name right across the middle in gold, all accentuated by a red trim. It would be far from sexy in any other circumstance but he purrs at the sight. All pleased like the cat that got the cream. “Got my name across your pussy all day long?” 

Before you could react like any other person would, he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. You yelp, losing your balance trying to grab onto his head or shoulders for support but he puts his arm on your back, sliding it right under your top keeping you straight and secure whether you want it or not. You’re not leaving until he says so. “Might as well fucking taste it seeing as it’s already mine, don’t you think?” He gives you a hungry look licking his lips before hoisting your other leg over his shoulder, standing up with ease. He walks you back against a wall as he eagerly inhales the scent of you, his head perfectly in between your warm thighs. 

“Woah!” You stabilise yourself, finally having more surface to lean against. The fabric of your top glides along the surface of the glossy posters he has you pressed against. Making you the centerpiece, surrounding you with his likeness. You finally process what the fuck is happening as you feel his nose pressing into the soaked fabric of your panties. “Homelander! Y-you….ohh…” You whimper, your hands automatically finding comfort and safety in between his golden locks. 

“Fuck you smell good.” Homelander growls, his hands now on your ass, holding you in place as he sticks his tongue out, pressing it wetly over your soaked panties. The taste of you already coating all his taste buds.

“O-oh fffuuck. OH god…yes…yes please.” You don’t stop yourself from moaning freely, the time for embarrassment long gone as Homelander lifts one hand from your ass, impatiently pulling the fabric of your Homelander panties to the side, his tongue already slipping in for a taste before his hand even makes it back to squeeze your ass. “Taste just as fucking good.” His voice strained, uttering filth in between your thighs.

His thick tongue pushes through the slit of your weeping pussy, lapping up what you’ve so graciously prepared just for him. And as you watch a mop of blonde hair greedily slurp at your wetness like he’s parched, you think back to the fantasies that drove you to orgasm after orgasm as the imaginary Homelander ate your pussy. 

Well, for one the real thing is a lot more enthusiastic than you ever imagined him to be. He is sucking on your clit in rhythm that has you throb harder, making your toes curl. “Ohhh, Homelander!” You reward him with a loud moan of his name, like a prayer on your lips. And you repeat it with each masterful lick around your clit that has you squirming in his hold, legs quivering around his head, fingers tugging at his hair.

The second thing you never considered was how much his powers would come into play. Here he is with a deathly strong iron grip around your ass, easily holding you up on his shoulders against the wall while pushing you as close into his face as he can. The thought of not being able to escape his grip exhilarates you as much as it terrifies you. His lack of need for air makes him a perfect devout lover. Because this is pure devotion except it seems he forgot who was meant to worship who.

You’d be embarrassed by the obscene sounds you two are making if it didn’t feel so good. You moan for him prettily as he licks up all the wetness he’s coaxing out of you. You breath hitches as you feel your orgasm building. He's consistent, giving you just the right pressure. Homelander looks up at you, eyes glassy and blown back with lust before he swiftly repositions you, needing just one arm to make you feel weightless yet secure in his hold as he takes his free hand plunging two fingers into you revelling in the feeling of your cunt clenching around him.

“Oh there there there! Ahhh!” You guide him, his fingers pumping into you and with his tongue still working magic on your clit you whimper out, “oh fuck, I’m gonna, I’m gonna–.” You fall apart in his arms, cumming on Homelander’s tongue like you’ve imagined many times over. With you thrashing around you rip the poster right behind you unaware of the mess you’re leaving behind. He licks you through the waves crashing through you. He’s smug, you can feel the smirk against your pussy as he gives it one more kiss before easily slipping you off his shoulders, preening with satisfaction. “Mhmm you did so good.” His voice purred and even in your post-orgasm haze you flush with fresh heat at the praise.

He gives you time to compose yourself but you don’t want it. You want him. You need him. Your legs feel like jelly so you immediately sink to your knees, nuzzling your face into his crotch. Too eager to wait. Homelander cooed at your enthusiasm, “Look at that. Didn’t even have to tell you.” He chuckles, voice thick with lust, his lips and chin still glistening from the way he feasted on you.

Wobbly and out of your mind, you reach for his belt, unable to figure out how to unclasp it, your dexterity not quite there either to be able to wiggle the hem of his pants underneath it and pull them down.

You look up at him with the face of a kitten that’s not getting what it wants. Pouting and pleading for help. 

“Christ, let me help you with that.” Homelander unclasps his belt, letting it hit the floor with a loud and heavy clang and the thought of it denting the cheap flooring doesn’t even graze your mind. He unzips his pants and the hiss alone makes your mouth water. He pushes his pants a little lower and you stare wide eyed at where his thematically red briefs are tented, his cock throbbing and leaking pre-cum into the thin fabric.

Okay, this you can do. Your hands slide up his thighs, getting a little feel of the bare skin of his thighs. Unmarred, smooth and hot. Your hand briefly squeezes around his cock through his briefs, forcing Homelander to hiss through his teeth. You pull down his briefs, bunching them down with the thick fabric of his suit. 

You try not to stare and drool but you’ve imagined his cock in your dreams and fantasies so many times that seeing it in real life just kind of blows your fucking mind. It’s perfect. A bit longer than average but especially nice and thick. You lick your lips in anticipation. His hand rests on the back of your head, giving your hair a tug.

“You gonna keep staring or will you put those pretty lips to work?” His gruff tone tears you from the haze. 

You blush, being caught staring. Wanting to please your hero you apologize, “sorry, it’s just so perfect. You’re perfect.” You breathe out in pure adoration. 

“Come on then, be a good girl and open up for your hero. I want my cock wet before I slide it into that needy pussy.” He looks down at you with a sharp smile, his other hand rests on your jaw before moving up squeezing the hollow of your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. Not that he has to, you’re more than willing to deliver. You open wider, making his hand withdraw as you take matter into your own hands. Literally. You grip the base of his cock, feeling how hefty and hot it feels. It hits you in that moment that you’re holding Homelander’s cock. Fuck. You’re gonna be dreaming of this moment for years to come.

You look up, giving him one more doe-eyed look before you stick your tongue out easing the swollen red head in between your lips. The salty, musky taste of his pre-cum on your tongue makes you whimper, your eyebrows furrow with concentration as you focus on banking the memory of his taste in your head. Eagerly you get right into it. Down and dirty. You focus on him, coating him with an ungodly amount of saliva until anytime you pop off him you’re followed by strings of it connecting you two. His grunts and heavy breaths just urge you to do better. So you take him deeper, slurping around the saliva you've made for him, bobbing your head up and down.

You nearly lose your rhythm when he lets out such a needy wanton moan, making your pussy throb.

“Thaaat’s it, come on—fuck!—deeper, yeah yeaahh you got it sweetheart. God fuck that’s fucking it.” He’s nearly whimpering, so lost in the sensation. And you're eating it up. Each whimper and word goes straight to your pussy and at this point you wouldn't be surprised if you were making a puddle on the floor.

His hand forces your head down deeper and you gag, choking around him as for a second your nose bumps the neat thatch of hair above his cock. He's not easily dissuaded and he pushes again, a little softer this time. You almost feel the tremble of his hands, he's so close to unravelling. Just for you. The swell of pride pushes you forward and you take him deeper. He takes the chance to push both hands into your hair as he starts fucking your face.

“Take it. Take it.” He grunts, his voice more and more broken with every thrust. You're just about to push his thighs back, attempting to fight against his unyielding force but his hips stutter and he groans, letting out broken moans as he spills on your tongue.

As if on command you swallow and he pulls out, wiping the residual dribbles of cum on your lips. Now that he’s done you realise just how fucking badly your jaw aches. You whimper at the ache of your jaw and the ache between your legs. 

You’re still kneeling on the floor, a picture of pure devotion, with your mouth messy and lips swollen. He grumbles at the picture in front of him. He pulls you up by your hair, kissing the taste of himself out of your lips. You can still taste your pussy on his lips and tongue as he shoves it into your mouth. “Bed?” He's somehow more than ready to continue and mentally you add his extraordinary refractory period to the list of his many talents. 

You nod a broken, “y-yeah, this way,” the taste of him still heavy on your tongue as you lead him to your bedroom.

He lets out a little chuckle at the state of your bedroom, just as decorated with his brand as was the rest of your apartment. “Fuck me, you really are my biggest fan.” 

You’re about to apologize, again, and he can read you like an open book already shushing you. “Shh, don’t say it. C’mere, take this off instead. Want to see you.” He tugs at your top, wanting you to take it off. Like unwrapping a present. You let out a few breathless ‘okay’s and pull the top over your head baring your entire body to him, save for the panties that were still uncomfortably pushed to the side. He clearly wants you to keep them on and you’re not sure whether that’s his narcissism or possessiveness talking. You don’t dare comment on the fact that he’s still fully dressed. You’re not gonna start demanding things from the Homelander now are you? 

With a step closer he purrs, pushing you to the bed intensely watching as your tits bounce when your back hits the comforter. He follows as he lays over the top of you but he doesn't look at you. He picks up the grimacing Homelander plushie he sees on your pillow— the one that's predominantly advertised to kids. He holds it up for you to see with a raised eyebrow, the look almost condescending. “What? They make no other official plushies!” You defend yourself. 

“Is there anything you don't have?” 

You don't know what possessed you to answer, “yeah, you,” but Homelander eats it right up as he grins at you.

“Cheeky slut. Well you're about to. On your side.” He says sliding off you to rest on his side looking you up and down hungrily. You’re clearly surprised at his choice of position and he grumbles with annoyance as you take forever to move the way he wants you to. His impatience gets the best of him and he effortlessly manipulates you to your side, slotting right behind you. Homelander grips your inner thigh lifting your leg a little higher, as he nestles his cock right against your wet cunt.

You sigh with partial relief, feeling him solid against you feels good. Feeling him inside you would feel even better. “Jesus, you're still so fucking wet.” 

“It's all your fault.” You whimper trying to wiggle in his unyielding hold. He just tuts at you gripping you tighter, cusping on pain.

He pulls you close, his cock sliding in between your slit, immediately getting the top of his cock wet. His lips trail up your jaw until he reaches your ear. He growls, low and sexy, nipping at the sensitive skin of your ear. Your heart skips a beat, your pussy throbs as the sound of him just ripples through you. 

“Maybe it is. You know, I've been thinking. You're such a nervous little thing.” He grinds his hips into you, dragging his cock back and forth, teasing you. His voice got quiet, dropping a register lower. All slow and drawled out he continues rumbling in your ear clearly aware of what it's doing to you. “You were beside yourself when I called you. So there I am thinking nobody gets that nervous, not unless they’re trying to hide how fucking turned on they are.” He keeps fucking talking and talking, making you shiver to the point where you feel goosebumps rise all over you. Your breath ragged, your eyes fluttering shut.

You're starting to understand why he was particular about this position. After all, he could read you like a book from the get go.

“At first I thought it was just me because you're such a big fan.” He coos in a condescending tone. He licks the outer edge of your ear and you shriek, thrashing in his uncompromising hold. “But no no nooo. It's not that. Because everytime I spoke, your heartbeat sped up. You know, I was worried about you there for a minute. Then there was your pussy. You get so wet the air is thick with it. I can't even fucking breathe without tasting your sweet cunt.” You let out a broken sound, close to a sob, you pussy throbbing so hard he must feel it even without being inside you. You didn't even consider that his senses can easily sniff your secret out.

He’s still rubbing his cock in between your folds, sliding the whole length of it up and down. It’s slick and loud and so good and holy shit your clit is burning from the way his head catches on it with every thrust. You're so close and your body is on fire. You so desperately want to cum with something inside you but he’s cruel. He's not gonna give it to you just yet. “And look at that, you're still getting wetter. They do say it's always the unassuming ones.” He chuckles into your ear, low and vibrating against you.

“Is that it? Do you get off to the sound of my voice? Do you watch videos of me, listening to interviews while you finger your little pussy?” He's going harder, the wet sound of your pussy slicking his way in between your slit is deafening, embarrassingly loud. “Tell me.” The little command growls in your ear and you force your lips open.

“Y-yes! Yes….I-I find your voice sexy.” You admit to your little shameful secret. You admit that one of the reasons you never met him was because you didn't want to get sopping wet in a crowd full of screaming fans. “Don't stop, please.” You moan out, quiet and broken, your embarrassment making way to pure pleasure. Now that it's out in the open, what is there to hide?

“Do you even care what I say? Huh? I could be reading out the fucking phone book and your pussy would still get wet. Greedy little thing. What’s it gonna be? You gonna cum to my voice or are you gonna be difficult?” You're burning hot, your body so so tense, the leg he's hitched up a little trembling against his strong grip. His cock is still hitting your clit in the perfect fucking way and you're so so so close. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop! Oh fuck, Homelander—don’t—ahhh!” The dam bursts, a wave of pleasure sweeping over you as you scream. Homelander pulls back and with one deft stroke he slides his cock inside you. He doesn't move. He growls at the feeling of your cunt just pulsing against him. He's so thick inside you, stretching you wide, filling every crevice. 

He whimpers and you feel how tense he is holding off the orgasm threatening to burst inside him.

Just as you think this must be the end of it, your mind just a buzzing noise, he pulls out moving back and he pushes you on your back. 

You never expected him to be so active in bed but he's already in between your legs, his hands clamping down on the clammy flesh of the back of your thighs and he spreads you open. He's on his knees, his hands slide and curl from the back of your thighs to the top as he pulls you in, slowly sliding his cock into you in one push. 

He doesn't wait for anything. He just fucks you. Hard and fast, really getting himself off more than you. Surrounded by posters and merch all carrying his likeness while he plunges into you again and again. Your hair is plastered to your forehead as you watch your hero utterly ruin you. You're sweaty, absolutely spent and tired while he's pushing into you without breaking a sweat. 

This round isn't for you yet it's gonna be a memory you'll frequent the most. The look on his face, pure lust and torture as he's fucking you with as much strength as he allows himself. 

With how he's got your hips propped up he's managing to hit all your best spots as your overstimulated nerves light up, giving him one last finish, your pussy’s quivers pushing him over the edge as well. 

Then there's a little hot spurt of him inside you but you're surprised when he pulls out shooting most of his load with a few strokes of his fist all over your panties and stomach. 

“Ahh fuck. Look at that, finally got your first autograph.” He snorts, amused, admiring the sight in front of him. His cum has already soaked into your panties, the ‘Homelander’ text changing into a darker colour as both his cum and your slick from the previous round drench the fabric. 

You flush hot red and you shake your head, amused by his antics. “That's disgusting.” But strangely, you're charmed. 

“I should take a picture. You look great like this.” 

He notes as he slides off your bed pulling his briefs over his finally softening cock, tucking himself back into his suit.

“Stay?” You say softly, offering him the space for his benefit more than yours. Even though you'd like him to stay for a cuddle you know you'll be out of it in a minute.

“Can't do I'm afraid, duty calls.” 

You nod, understanding. “Thank you, I really feel like a winner.” You snorted, thinking back to how the day even started.

He looks at you almost fondly, but your orgasm-hazy brain might just not be working anymore. 

“Until next time.” He says as a goodbye and you end up tucking yourself into bed. The last thing you hear is the click of his belt he picked up from the living room, the creak of the leather gloves he slides back on and the sonic boom of him flying away.

And you know that when you wake up if it wasn't for your ruined panties, your throbbing cunt or even the ripped poster in the living room you wouldn't believe any of it was real.

You sure hope there will be a next time.

[Part 2]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story)

[linkcharacter]

Really like the recent analysis. I know I speak of curly in a more defensive way than most but I generally try to get the point you made across at the end of the day with my analyses on him and his behaviors.

People love to lock analyses around Curly solely based on what he could’ve done as a physical action and have this avoidance to acknowledging the realistic barriers at play when it comes to those solutions. It’s. The game tries to treat the pre-crash section as if they are grounded in social and organizational realities. So the what if he did this questions about the situation always fall short when the real answer is he either couldn’t or it wasn’t an actual viable option. But then when they talk about what he actually did do it’s surrounded by such bad faith interpretations that his actions were completely intentional or still not affected by outside sources. He’s a very much “road to hell is paved with good intentions” character. He cared too much and that’s a big part of his problem.

There’s such a “perfect victim or nothing” mindset in the fandom where people can’t admit that there are no such things as perfect victims but that also shouldn’t mean that even if there were it would absolve them of the mistakes they made. People want to moralize every action of every character that they don’t realize that some actions are done without any specific morale factor. People just do things, like you said. People assumed failed intentions immediately flip the thought process behind them “he meant to do good but bad happened, he must be bad” and that just is not how people work. It’s how perceptions work but only of the observer.

It’s such a sensitive topic because, yes, you are supposed to be frustrated, even mad, at what Curly didn’t do, but you have to acknowledge the fact these were good intentioned acts even if that good intent did jack squat in the end. That his responses are human and it’s supposed to be uncomfortable and hurt that they were realistic faults of his.

He enabled his friend and it ended bad for everyone including him. No one really tries to argue this fact but everyone seems to think it has to be tied to the morale dilemma and not certain human natures and social factors.

This is all to ask, why do you personally lean towards thinking Curly wouldn’t turn Jimmy in? Are you speaking in the short term of realizing how bad he got or long-term/overall? I feel like he could but it would not be easy and no matter the necessity he’d always have this guilt at feeling bad for doing it.

Ah yes Curly the most imperfect human man character.

Yep yep yep absolutely, people love to assign morality onto characters and call them good or bad and diminishing the depth and nuance of Mouthwashing, filling discussions with bad-faith interpretations or speculating on inconcrete understandings of the incomplete, intentionally vague, context. I adore Mouthwashing to no end for having this oppressive suffocating and constant atmosphere surrounding everything in the game. Really shows off that the environment festers, no one well-meaning guy could create a happy ending with individual actions alone because it's all systematic.

To elaborate from your question tho, at the point Curly was in (if Anya wasn't pregnant scenario), definitely no don't think so (would depend on Anya a too on whether or not she would go to the authorities outside). Curly knew Jimmy was a danger, and I do believe that subconsciously Anya's report to him on Jimmy gnaws at him, but not vividly enough. I want to point out a moment where Anya tells him about the pregnancy, he begins asking "Who would you-", then he's nudged by Anya that she told him and he should know who it is, and he does, instantly saying he's known him a long time and will talk to him. That moment of, for a second not connecting that Jimmy is the assaulter responsible just makes me drag my palm across my face for how much of a man (derogatory) Curly acted like for one dialogue line. Like he just 'forgot' for a brief moment that Jimmy harassed Anya prior? Granted, he instantly believes and takes Anya seriously, immediately dropping the search for the gun he was on in that scene, realizing the severity of the situation and of Jimmy. We also don't know what Anya has told him specifically, how long ago it happened, etc. but the 'implications' of the scene make me believe Jimmy's known sexual harassment on the ship slipped Curly's mind due to him being more invested in "the bigger picture" of Jimmy, not latching onto a harmful and a very serious fucking trivia fact about Jimmy because of his perception of who his friend is as a whole (and with his foggy sleep-deprived mind at the moment), 'losing a needle in a haystack' with how much unknown history Curly and Jimmy shared, so to say.

Maaaybe in some other circumstances, like if Jimmy didn't crash the ship or smth long term I could see him doing it, it would take a lot effort like you said, no matter the necessity. We will never know. If we're going into speculation and imaginary scenarios though, if Anya HERSELF were to try and get justice, Curly would be backing her up undoubtedly (still not disconnecting himself from Jimmy though and feeling guilt on his behalf). But that's all suppositions from my reading of the characters.

[sammyluvr]

angel!reader heacanons — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, reader really really loves cats, sort of naive/super adorable reader, little bit of disillusionment, not proofread, 2.4K words. requested !

prompt : simply just sam x angel!reader <3

✶.◟ sometimes, sam still thinks about how disappointing it was to find out the reality of heaven and angels and god

✶.◟ of course, there’s the occasionally kind angel, and of course, there’s cas

✶.◟ but when you come along, he’s certainly still suspicious of you and your intentions

✶.◟ you’ve never been to earth before, and that often means a firm indoctrination in the skewed perspective of many angels

✶.◟ cas didn’t know much about you when you came along, just that you’re a low ranking angel whom he’s never heard anything bad about

✶.◟ you’re there on orders, of course, and it doesn’t take long before you run into cas and the winchesters

✶.◟ the encounter isn’t necessarily pleasant, as heaven usually isn’t working in tandem with the brothers

✶.◟ but it’s not to unpleasant either; the shorter seems sort of rude to you, you don’t have the best impression of castiel based on heaven’s word, and the third isn’t thrilled to see you either

✶.◟ but you’re not unkind, just blunt and maybe a little awkward like all angels who are unused to the human way of speaking

✶.◟ so they don’t jump to judge or hurt you, or at least, sam doesn’t

✶.◟ he gets dean to back down and listen to you when the elder gets upset about something you say regarding heaven

✶.◟ it’s stange to you, these humans that know of heaven and angels but don’t seem to care for them much

✶.◟ you thought humans found comfort in the thought of you, but these ones don’t seem to like the real thing and that intrigues you

✶.◟ in fact, now that you’re here on earth, everything intrigues you

✶.◟ kindness and lying and holding hands and eating and falling asleep

✶.◟ stray cats and crispy leaves on the ground that make a nice sound against the concrete when it’s windy

✶.◟ then next time you meet cas and the boys, you ask these questions that make them think you might not be so bad, that they might be able to get through to you

✶.◟ you only ask them because your superior angels won’t answer, and you can’t really ask regular humans

✶.◟ it’s sweet, the way you interrupt the tense conversation, seeking permission to ask them a few questions about humans

✶.◟ sam sees your earnesty and says of course

✶.◟ why don’t humans like rain? we don’t have it in heaven, and i find it so pleasant to experience.

✶.◟ and, how does one procure a pet cat? i want one.

✶.◟ and also, why don’t you like angels? the others won’t answer any of my questions.

✶.◟ they answer the last question first, and your concern grows

✶.◟ you understand prioritizing the orders one receives from heaven, but despite lacking a natural empathy as an angel, you don’t carry the disdain for humans that many angels too

✶.◟ and that makes you confused over the actions of angels that cas and the brothers describe to you

✶.◟ and it leaves you much more open minded, much more sympathetic; cas doesn’t seem nearly as bad as other angels describe him, he’s generally kind and passionate

✶.◟ the brothers don’t seem to bad to you either, especially sam

✶.◟ he’s nice to you and appeals to what cas says are your better senses, your kinder senses

✶.◟ to you, kind seems like a good thing, and the way that angels generally don’t care for individual humans seems opposing to your purpose as their protectors

✶.◟ so, as conflicted as you feel about it, you lend help to cas when he calls upon you

✶.◟ and one day, you lend a hand to sam. just sam

✶.◟ he prays to you, injured but trying to sound dignified still; cas won’t answer, and dean’s too far

✶.◟ he’s unsure that you’ll answer, but you do, and readily

✶.◟ he’s barely said your name, barely explained the situation before there’s a flutter of wings, then you

✶.◟ it doesn’t take much effort on your part to deal with whatever monsters he was fighting, then you kneel at his side and heal his wounds without a second thought

✶.◟ he thanks you, and you follow him to his motel, unaware that he didn’t really invite you

✶.◟ he certainly doesn’t tell you to go, though

✶.◟ it’s just that he never answered your questions about rain or cats, and honestly you have so many more

✶.◟ he stays up almost all night explaining everything he can to you, as best as he can, until he yawns and you remember that humans need sleep

✶.◟ so you turn off the lights and send him to bed before settling onto the couch and grabbing a spare book

✶.◟ “may i read this?” you ask while he’s brushing his teeth

✶.◟ “of course,” he says, taking a few moments to study your form, already intently studying the first page

✶.◟ “are you staying here?” he asks, voice muffled around the toothbrush

✶.◟ “yes. is that alright?”

✶.◟ he nods, “sure. you don’t have somewhere else to be, though?”

✶.◟ you think he sounds funny with a mouth full of toothpaste and spit

✶.◟ “not anymore,” you answer simply, “i think i’ll be like cas.”

✶.◟ sam smiles, unbeknownst to you because you’ve already resumed reading this book, it’s fiction, and fascinating to you

✶.◟ when sam wakes, you’re still on the couch, reading a new book, and the second you hear him stir you turn around in the couch, leaning over the cushions to watch him

✶.◟ “sam?” you ask with no regard to the fact that he’s barely just opened his eyes, then rattle off several questions about the content of the books you’ve been reading all night

✶.◟ the poor man barely catches any of it, stretching and groaning before trying to answer something in a slightly coherent way

✶.◟ but what he says to you doesn’t make much sense, nor does it really apply to any of the seven questions you’ve asked

✶.◟ you scrunch up your nose and suddenly sam thinks that you’re very cute

✶.◟ he tells you he’s too disoriented to answer, but that he’ll tell you what he thinks properly after getting up and having a cup of coffee

✶.◟ sam shows you your first coffee shop, which you’re decently delighted with, though the dirty chai latte he’s ordered for you tastes like nothing but molecules to you, as per usual

✶.◟ but he keeps his promise, telling you everything he can about the things in the books that confused you or made you curious

✶.◟ it’s all why would she lie to them or why do you humans… and sam finds himself explaining deeply some of the most complicated parts of the human condition to you

✶.◟ you find it all a bit strange, but a bit endearing too

✶.◟ you’re blunt and don’t intend to be mean when you tell sam that it seems like cas is closer to dean, but you like him better

✶.◟ sam blushes a little, though he feels like he shouldn’t be surprised by your honesty

✶.◟ you become closer to all three of them in time, and grow to understand the nuances of humans better

✶.◟ you’re not quite as awkward, but sam thinks you still talk a little funny, and is quite endeared with it

✶.◟ he spends time explaining lots to you, sharing all of his knowledge of humans things, and listening intently when you share about your abundant knowledge of the divine and supernatural

✶.◟ it doesn’t take long at all to find that he really could talk to you all day and night

✶.◟ and though he’s careful with his heart, it doesn’t take long to fall for you either

✶.◟ you’ve quickly turned into a very genuine and empathetic angel, and sam admires you for it greatly

✶.◟ you still struggle with some things and some aspects of empathy, but to him you really do feel good

✶.◟ you feel like what an angel should be, at least in this messed up world

✶.◟ and he’s hesitant; you’ll live practically forever unless you get killed, and it certainly scares him that you can be killed, he scared of anyone he loves dying… he’s scared that everyone he loves will die because of it

✶.◟ and you don’t know too well about love, but you figure out that you have it

✶.◟ for many things, like rain and cats and books and sam

✶.◟ sam likes to indulge the things that you love

✶.◟ he shares his favorite books with you and shows you how to use the internet

✶.◟ one day he wakes to you on his computer, a wide smile on your face and soft cooing escaping your lips

✶.◟ when you sense his presence, you look up at him from your seat with the widest, most excited eyes and he nearly melts into the floor

✶.◟ “did you know that you can look at endless pictures of cats on this computer?” you ask him

✶.◟ he says yes, and that you can look at them on any computer, and that you can watch videos too

✶.◟ he almost regrets telling you that, because now you’re constantly approaching him with cat videos you found in your free time

✶.◟ but he’d never regret doing something that makes you smile so often, so he doesn’t complain

✶.◟ instead, he researches about cats and all the other earthly things that interest you in his free time so he can tell you random facts about them

✶.◟ and for a being who’s been alive for so long and knows so much, you find it beautiful that there’s so much more to learn on earth

✶.◟ and sam loves your thirst for knowledge, he loves being the person you always ask about things first

✶.◟ he feels proud to tell you the things he does know, and grateful that you also ask questions that make him really think or that he doesn’t know the answer to yet

✶.◟ you’ve also taken to stealing his phone to take pictures

✶.◟ you have an incredible memory, but the internet has made you keen on images

✶.◟ it of course started when you saw a stray cat and wished aloud to him that you could take a picture like the ones you look at on his computer

✶.◟ and he gladly informs you that you can, showing you how to use his camera

✶.◟ his camera roll ends up filled with every little thing one could think of; so many cats and clouds and sunsets and buildings and people you see on the street, plants and trees and bugs, and apparently, him

✶.◟ you keep taking pictures of him, and it makes him shy

✶.◟ he asks why and you tell him it’s because you take pictures of all the things you like, all the things you think are pretty

✶.◟ sure, there’s photos of dean and cas sprinkled in, but you must like sam a lot and find him very pretty to have taken so many pictures of him

✶.◟ he blushes and says you should take pictures of yourself too

✶.◟ you wonder if he’s implying that he thinks you’re pretty, but you’re not really sure; the sentiment ends up flying over your head like many of his attempts at flirting, but he always finds it as endearing as it is frustrating, so he can’t complain much

✶.◟ you do take photos of yourself like he’s suggested, only for that reason, though you’re not really sure how and most of them look awkward or generally unsuccessful in actually capturing your whole face with the camera

✶.◟ sam doesn’t show you how to use the front camera for a long while because he likes the silly photos of you

✶.◟ eventually, you find it yourself, and sam’s relieved that you still look awkward in your selfies

✶.◟ most likely, you end up taking up all of his storage, but he doesn’t have the heart to delete anything, so he downloads them onto his computer and saves them there (he’s self indulgent and keeps much more of the pictures of you than he really needs)

✶.◟ then he buys you a simple camera of your own, and ends up missing all the times you ask to borrow his phone to take a picture of the clouds in the sky

✶.◟ that always made him stop and look more, see the world and its beauty through your eyes

✶.◟ so instead, he looks for things you might like when you’re apart and takes pictures to show you when he sees you next

✶.◟ there’s also probably a time where you accidentally took his phone with you somewhere, and he has to pray to you to get it back

✶.◟ sam also likes to pray to you, though

✶.◟ it’s infinitely comforting that he can talk to you wherever you are and know that you’ll hear him

✶.◟ and he tends to miss you a lot, so he likes to at least have one way to feel close to you, even if you can’t always visit him right then or even reply at all 

✶.◟ but of all the things that sam teaches you, of all the things that he’s the first one to show you, it’s the love that his most favorite

✶.◟ one day you ask about hand holding; you’ve seen lots of humans do it, and you’re curious

✶.◟ why do you do it? is it nice? you understand that it’s an expression of affection, but you want to know more

✶.◟ can i hold your hand?

✶.◟ when he says yes, and looks into your eyes while he takes your hand into his, you very easily understand that yes, it’s nice. it’s lovely. it’s perfect. and you’d like to do it with sam all of the time

✶.◟ much more comes after that; you want to feel all of the ways that people express affection; hugs and sweet words and kisses and heads on shoulders. playing with hair and saying i love you

✶.◟ sam shows it all to you

[sakur4ii]

Rooted Connections Pt.2

Charles Xavier x Reader x Erik Lensherr

the gender of the reader is not specified

Note: I will not make a third part, I hope you like it. Also reminder that English is not my first language, let me know if there are any mistakes I didn't notice (especially with pronouns).

Summary: feelings come out, plants love romance and you are still as blind as in the first part.

Finally, peace.

After supposedly saving the future from great chaos, Charles decided to reopen the doors of his school, offering you to stay with him. You accepted because you didn't want to leave him alone, feeling his sadness through the earth. Although in reality, he wasn’t alone; he now had his students, but the connection the three of you had created was so strong that you feared that if you also left, he would break again.

Years have passed, and now the school is full, and you are a teacher.

You walk through the halls, searching for something, maybe someone, though you’re not sure. The mansion’s plants have warned you but haven’t specified anything, so you proceed cautiously, trying to find some intruder.

"Professor Y/N,” you hear, a voice you know well.

“What is it, Jean?” You turn around; you can’t see her clearly, but you can feel her nerves and hear her heart beating faster than usual.

“Someone is approaching from the backyard.”

Before she finishes speaking, you are already running to the backyard. The plants don’t want to reveal anything, and for some reason, you don’t feel any unusual presence, leading you to assume that the earth doesn’t want you to know who the intruder is on purpose.

Once your bare feet touch the green, damp grass, you stop feeling the presence of everyone at the school except for the person sitting on the grass a few feet away from you, and Charles, who is coming up behind you.

You take slow steps toward the seated person, hearing a gasp behind you. You sit down next to him and wait for Charles to come closer until he is on the other side of the man.

“What are you doing here, Erik?” Charles asks. You can feel his conflicting emotions through his voice. On one hand, he is happy to see him again and that it isn’t to stop him from killing all of humanity and condemning mutants. On the other hand, he’d love to punch him again for prioritizing revenge and abandoning him.

But you focus more on the absolute pain you feel from Erik through the earth. You can feel him mourning, yet also very angry, seeking comfort to avoid vengeance.

When Charles doesn’t receive any response, and you can assume he also starts to feel the man’s emotions, you wrap your arm around Erik’s shoulders, pulling him into a side hug, enough for him to start crying.

“I tried,” he sobs into your neck, while Charles sits on the ground, leaving the chair aside and firmly holding Erik’s hand between his own. “I tried to live like them, to blend in, and they… they killed my wife and daughter.”

You don’t know what to say; you don’t know how to comfort him with words, so you just rub his back. You know Charles is afraid of saying something wrong, something that will only make the situation worse, so both of you remain silent, comforting your old friend (and the third missing piece of the puzzle) through gentle touches.

“I didn’t know where else to go… you’re all I have left.”

-------------------------------------------------------

You weren’t born blind; you had the privilege of seeing the color of the sky and vegetation. You had the privilege of having a favorite color, but an accident occurred, and it was no longer worth thinking about things like a favorite book or a favorite flower because you couldn’t see anything anymore.

Plants are very talkative; they always have been. They love to gossip, and they love drama. The day before the accident, they were very hysterical, sensing something bad was coming, but they couldn’t say what.

Then the accident happened, and you were hospitalized. The plants felt guilty, apologizing over and over, even the plants you didn’t know but who knew you, apologizing and feeling ashamed that they hadn’t been useful, that they couldn’t prevent the tragedy.

It was when you lost your sight that your powers began to manifest: control of the earth, the ability to feel through it. Your mentors were the plants, the trees, and the earth itself. You learned that you could see through the roots of trees, and that was an easy way to find something or someone.

When you met Charles, even before the man arrived at your house, the plants were more talkative than usual. They told you everything they knew, like how Logan was from the future and needed help, your help. But they mostly talked about Professor X and a puzzle. You couldn’t understand them, but their excitement amused you.

When they freed Erik from that cell, the plants began talking non-stop again, once more about a supposed puzzle and Erik’s entire life, about how angry they were with some of his actions but how much they appreciated him.

The first time they fell completely silent was when Erik shot Raven; the second was when Erik fled to avoid being captured.

The third time you didn’t understand the silence; you were listening to Charles reading to his younger students, and out of nowhere, the plants fell silent, a mourning silence.

And the fourth time was the day after the third when Erik appeared unannounced at the school. Although it was more for drama—did I mention they are dramatic?

Erik stayed at the school, purposely obtaining the room that was between yours and Charles’.

If before the plants always talked about Charles, Erik, and his family and the children at school, now, whenever you entered your room, they only talked about Charles and Erik. You only heard about the children if you went outside.

A couple of years have passed. Erik is visibly better, happier, and that makes you happy because it’s real, he’s not pretending, and you’re the first to know that.

-------------------------------------------------------

Your room is a madhouse; you feel like you’re losing your sanity. They won’t stop talking about how handsome, intelligent, and kind Charles is, or how hot, serious, and cunning Erik is. They have the audacity to tease you for not being able to see them, those bitches. When did they go from remorse to mockery?

“What time is it?” you ask, tired, sitting on the edge of your bed while putting on your sunglasses. They all ignore you, except for some jasmine flowers Charles gave you for your birthday along with some heart-shaped sunglasses.

You leave the room, grateful for the silence the hallway plants give you. You don’t know what to do; maybe you’ll go to the kitchen and eat some ice cream, you’re not sure.

When you arrive at the kitchen and take out a tub of ice cream and a spoon, you’re surprised that no plant has told you not to eat something so cold in the middle of the night, raising your suspicions.

You focus on the earth, sensing how all the children and adults are sleeping, everyone except Xavier and Lensherr, which makes you sigh tiredly.

Lately, the plants not only wouldn’t stop talking about them, but they also did everything possible to ensure you spent most of your time in the same room with them, and you only complied because deep down, you wanted that too.

You finish the ice cream and walk through the halls to Charles’ office, without any obstacles in the way (the children make sure not to leave anything lying around that might hinder you, even though they know you could easily avoid it; they fear you might get distracted and have an accident).

—“Come in”— you hear in your head, making you jump in place, and some nearby flowers laugh.

You open the door, and for some reason, they’re both sitting on a three-seater couch. Charles’ wheelchair is set aside to not get in the way, and the plants laugh conspiratorially.

«Speak of the devil…» a flower murmurs, sparking your curiosity.

“Can’t sleep?” Xavier asks. You shake your head. The other man is silent; you know he’s watching you, his intense gaze on you. Sometimes you think he has the power to read souls and keeps it a secret.

Charles laughs at your thought, but you don’t notice him elbowing Erik to stop being so obvious.

“Come sit with us, darling.”

The flowers and plants in the room react as if the pet name was directed at them, as if expressing what you don’t dare express even in your own head for fear the telepath might discover your feelings.

Smiling, you approach the couch. Erik, the closest to you, takes your hand and guides you to sit between them.

“What were you talking about?” you ask.

“Nothing important; we were just planning to take the older kids on a field trip, maybe,” Charles responds, and you know he’s not lying, but from the booing of the plants, you can tell that wasn’t what they were discussing before you arrived.

Erik remains silent; you can’t figure out why. Lately, you can’t sense his feelings, only his emotions, and you can guess that the earth is hiding them on purpose—or maybe the metal?

What you do sense is his knee brushing against yours and his gaze trying not to linger on you for too long.

You tilt your head to one side, sharpening your hearing, trying to pick up something more; you don’t know what, but you want to hear all their movements and, above all, the beating of their hearts.

Just when you perfectly hear their rapid heartbeats, the plants start making a ruckus, making you frown.

“What’s wrong?” Erik finally speaks.

“Why don’t the plants want me to hear your heartbeats?”

Unbeknownst to you, Erik and Charles share a wide-eyed look of complicity.

—“We should tell her”— Erik.

—“Now?”— Charles.

The silence between the two men creates a lump in your throat. Since that day on the plane, you felt like you were missing something in the dynamic, all because you couldn’t see. You felt out of place in moments like these, where they might be communicating with just a glance—or worse, telepathically. You hated the thought that they were having secret conversations, thinking that they were using the fact that you couldn't see to communicate in secret. And you hated knowing they were communicating because you could feel the change in emotions through the ground, but what you hated even more was that now you couldn't even feel the emotions of the two men because nature decided to turn its back on you this time.

Tired, you get up from the couch.

"Sorry for interrupting your time alone, I'm going to bed."

You avoid the obstacles you can't feel now but know are there.

"Y/N, no, wait! It's not what you think, let me explain," Charles says, while Erik gets up and runs towards you, grabbing you so you won't escape (and without you knowing, preventing you from bumping into the closed door).

"Listen to them, listen to them, listen to them," the plants chant in unison as you squirm in his grip. The earth allows you to see through your feet again, finally letting you feel the emotions of the two men, which makes you stop struggling and fall into shock at what you're sensing.

"You two are in love," you whisper.

Erik leads you back to the couch and sits you down so that you're facing the telepath, while he hugs you from behind and hides his face in the crook of your neck. He's embarrassed.

Charles gently removes your sunglasses, and you can feel his emotions not just through the ground but also inside your head. He takes your hand in his.

"We’ve been debating whether or not to tell you; we didn't know how you'd react, darling."

"So much secrecy just to tell me you two are dating? I'm not homophobic if that's what you were worried about," you say with an amused smile.

You're sure both men are rolling their eyes.

«Don't be an idiot» a flower says.

"Shush."

Charles laughs while Erik raises an eyebrow in a questioning manner towards him, knowing he's missing something.

"We're not just dating, Y/N. We love you as much as we love each other, and we want you to be a part of what we have because you're the missing piece of the puzzle," says Charles.

"And we want you to be officially ours," adds Erik.

Their words take you by surprise, making your heart race a thousand miles an hour. You're sure you're blushing, and loose words echo in your head.

The missing piece of the puzzle... ha... that sounds familiar.

At some point during the evening, you moved to Erik's room (the one furthest from the other rooms, with only one flower that you gave him a long time ago), where you shared kisses, hugs, words, and feelings. Where you expressed the great love you share, making grand plans for the future. And where you realized that you never were out of place; rather, you had always been missing, so they could feel complete.

The End.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

@djlnkaled @kindlover @only-nope @larissa1379 👋❤️

[harknessxo]

Okay I may sound insane but could I request a one shot or short story whatever you are more comfortable writing. The premises behind the story is the reader is an apothecary witch from Agatha’s past. Agatha has asked her to join them in walking the road as well as the others. She reluctantly agreed but not without attitude. The problem with going on this journey at least for the reader is that she’s not just a scorn witch from Agatha‘s past, but one that she would have considered a friend along time ago. Agatha would always come to her in order to be healed or for a remedy due to whatever difficult situation she got herself into overtime. They grew closer together, but Agatha made it apparent that she wasn’t capable of the type of relationship the reader was wanting from her. Not to the readers knowledge, but because of everything that had happened between her and Rio.

How the story starts is that they are currently on the road after completing the second trial in the studio and healing teen from his injury . At the campfire while all the different witches are trading their battle stories you listen to Agatha speak and then Rio. Somewhat connecting the dots on your own, but not fully believing it, not until you follow them both and watch the scene that unfolds between them in the fourth episode. It’s then that the reader realizes that maybe Agatha was always capable of feeling that type of emotional vulnerability but the reader just wasn’t worth it. How it ends is really up to you. It could be somehow Agatha figured out that the reader was spying on them and then fixes it in a sweet way to show that the reader is worth it. or it could be Agatha completely denying any change between her and Rio that she was only using manipulation tactics to see if teen was her son, a mix of both. I’m not picky.

Once again, if this is too insane, please ignore it. I do understand it’s completely random, but I do love your writing style and do you think you would do it absolute justice!!!!

THE GREATEST

Paring: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: look at the request ^

Warnings; angst…

Word Count: 2.0k

Part 2

A/n: I hope you like this anon! I know you lowkey wanted a happy ending but angst took over. I’m open to making a part two if you’d like! Also this originally had nothing to do with the song “The Greatest” but then I added a part of the lyrics so…

“Jen! Y/n! Do something please!” Agatha pleaded, holding Teen’s hand tightly. You and Jennifer looked at each other, trying to figure out something that would heal his wound and help him survive. You both quickly made a substance and spread it over his wound. He groaned in pain but the wound healed and he continued to sleep. You all gently picked him up and placed him in a better place to rest. Agatha stayed by his side, refusing to leave and the rest of you went to make a bonfire.

You sat down around the fire for an awkward moment before Alice chose to speak up to start a conversation. She shared her experience with her curse and her scars and soon everyone told their experiences except Rio. You didn’t like her from the second she dug herself out of the ground. You could tell there was immense tension between her and Agatha and you detested it.

“How is he?” Alice’s voice brought you back to reality. You looked up and saw Agatha taking a seat next to Rio.

“Mouthy,” she replied sarcastically.

“That’s a good sign,” Lilia commented.

“Agatha,” Jen started, “Why don’t you show us your battle scars?” Agatha hesitated for a moment before she started rolling up the sleeve of her left arm. Your eyes diverted to Rio who chuckled while she gave Agatha a knowing look.

“Knitting needle to the elbow,” she said, showing off the scar on her elbow, “You ever heard of the daughters of liberty?” of course you knew of them, you were the one that healed said scar but the rest shook their heads having no idea, “Exactly.” All the witches chuckled her light joke and you could tell Agatha enjoyed it. The joyful moment suddenly came to a stop when Rio decided to speak up.

“I’ve got a scar.” All eyes turned to Rio as she spoke. Agatha’s expression changed, her face becoming serious and a bit irritated.

“No you don’t,” Agatha was quick to deny. How would she know that? You thought.

“Yes I do,” she insisted, “…A long time ago, I loved someone,” she side eyed Agatha, “…and I had to do something I did not want to do even though it was my job,” she emphasized the last word and you saw Agatha looked away from the corner of your eye. She clenched her jaw, her eyes fixed elsewhere. The other witches exchanged glances, sensing the tension between the two. Rio continued to speak.

“And it hurt them,” there was a pause, “…she’s my scar.” It wasn’t hard to figure out who she was talking about and it angered you even further. Why did Agatha lie to you? Were they still together when you fell in love? Were you just not enough?

“I’m gonna go stretch my legs,” Agatha said standing and walking away, Rio hot on her trail. Curiosity got the better of you and decided to follow them, the worst decision you could have made.

You watched their interaction, the hug, the loving look, and before their lips touched you walked away. You had seen enough. You fought with every bone in your body trying to keep your sobs at bay. You felt so betrayed but you shouldn’t. Agatha had made it crystal clear that she couldn’t pursue a commitment relationship with you like you wanted. That she wouldn’t. It hurt to hear but maybe it was for the best, especially if she was still messing around with Rio.

You made your way back to the campfire, trying to hide the tears in your eyes. The others looked at you, noticing the change in your demeanor.

“Are you alright?” Lilia asked, her voice filled with concern.

“I’m f-fine,” your voice cracked a bit, “That last trial just had me a little shaken, that’s all.” Alice frowned and shifted closer to you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Mhm…” You gave her a reassuring smile before sitting back down by the fire. Alice didn’t seem convinced but didn’t press further. The others exchanged glances, clearly worried about you but they didn’t say anything. Soon Agatha came back taking a seat next to you with no trace of Rio but you remained silent. Agatha looked at you, noticing your lack of response. She was oblivious to the facts that you had seen her with Rio.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” You didn’t reply and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern. She gently placed her hand on your shoulder, trying to get your attention.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged her hand off. She was taken aback by your cold response. She was used to you being more open and warm, not this.

“Bullshit,” she said firmly, crossing her arms.

“It’s not like you would fucking care,” you spat out, getting up and walking away. She wanted to go after you but Rio appeared and held her back.

“Let her cool off. I’m sure it’s nothing.” She said into Agatha’s ear.

“Yeah…maybe you’re right.”

—

After everyone was rested, you all continued to walk the road onto the next trial. Usually you would have stayed by Agatha's side but you chose to stay with Lilia and Alice this time. You thought Agatha hadn't noticed, too deep in a conversation with Rio but she did and she was not happy at all.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed as she watched you walk with Lilia and Alice. She tried to keep her cool, but the sight of you ignoring her and choosing to stay away from her made her feel frustrated and angry. She couldn’t understand why you were acting this way and why you were avoiding her. Her fist balled up tightly when she saw you laughing with Alice. Rio noticed Agatha’s reaction and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Calm down, sweetheart. You’re going to give yourself wrinkles.”

“I just don’t understand what happened!” Agatha said, frustrated. Rio rolled her eyes before cupping Agatha’s face, making her look at her.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s probably just throwing a tantrum.” Agatha’s face was filled with irritation as she listened to Rio’s words.

“Tantrum? She’s never like this! I’ve never seen her this upset before, she’s avoiding me, she’s acting like a brat.”

“Relax, Agatha,” she kissed her cheek, “Just focus on me.” Her irritation slowly melted away as Rio kissed her cheek. She looked at her and took a deep breath, trying to push her worries about you to the back of her mind.

“You’re right,” she said, forcing a smile. She needed to keep Rio happy for now, just until they got to the end of the road.

Your eyes had wandered to the two women at some point and you regretted it immediately, seeing Rio kiss Agatha’s cheek. Rio looked in your direction while doing it with a smirk on her face. You wanted to lounge at her but for what? For Agatha? She didn’t want you anyway, you just had to come to peace with that.

Rio caught your eye and noticed the hurt and jealousy in your expression. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. She knew she was getting to you, and that only made her more determined to keep Agatha away from you.

You all eventually found the next trial inside another house. You all split up into pairs to find some sort of clue. Alice and Teen, Jen and Lilia and of course, Agatha and Rio. Lilia offered to go with you but you declined and said you could take care of yourself if something happened.

She had looked at you with concern but respected your decision. She nodded and went off with Jen to search the house. You were left alone, walking through the house and looking for clues. You could hear the others calling out to each other as they searched different rooms. Suddenly, you heard footsteps approaching you and you already knew who it was.

“Agatha, shouldn’t you be with Rio?” She appeared from behind you, her expression serious.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“You seemed busy with Rio, that’s all.”

“You saw that…” she said, realizing what you were referring to.

“Yeah. You know, I thought you said you couldn’t pursue the type of relationship I wanted from you. Now I know you simply wouldn’t do it, with me at least. Why don’t you go back to your precious green witch. I’m sure she’s already missing you.” Agatha’s expression softened and she looked hurt by your words.

“It’s not like that…”

“Please,” you laughed, shaking your head, “Save it. I literally saw you two about to kiss.”

“You don’t understand…” she stepped closer.

“Agatha, what is there to understand? You lied to me. You said your heart was jaded and then I find out you have an ex lover who you seem to still be in love with.”

“Don’t act like you know everything. You don’t understand the situation between Rio and me.” Her eyes flashed with irritation.

“Then lay it out for me Harkness!” She clenched her jaw, her hands balling into fists. She took a deep breath before speaking.

“Rio and I…we have a complicated history. We were together a long time ago, and it didn’t end well. We had a falling out and we haven’t spoken in years. Seeing her again has brought up a lot of old feelings and emotions that I didn’t know how to deal with.”

“…do you love her?”

“No, of course not-” she said without hesitation.

“Then what’s the deal? Does she know that? Because she seems to know the effect you two have on me.”

“My sweet Y/n,” she cupped your face, “I just need her and the rest of the witches to get me to the end and then you and I can be together-”

“It’s not that simple Agatha,” you shoved her off, finally letting the tears fall, “I don’t even know if I can trust you. And what of her, huh? You’re just gonna leave her hanging? How do I know you won’t do the same with me? How do I know you’re not just using me?!”

“I’m not using you! I care about you, Y/n. You have to believe me.” She reached out to touch you but stopped herself.

“How can I?! You have a reputation, Agatha!” Her face fell, hurt by your words.

“You don’t trust me because of my reputation? I thought you knew me better than that…”

“So did I...” your voice broke at the end. She was speechless. She knew you were right. She had hurt you, and now you didn’t trust her. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks.*

“I…I don’t know what to say…”

“Then don’t say anything,” you tried to walk past her but she quickly grabbed your arm, stopping you from walking away.

“Please, don’t go. We need to talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about? You’ve made your choice and it clearly isn’t me.”

“That’s not true! I do care about you. I just…I don’t know what to do. Seeing Rio again has brought up all these memories and feelings that I thought I buried a long time ago. I don’t know how to handle it all.”

“Then come back once you’ve figured it out,” you roughly freed yourself from her grip and walked away to find Lilia and Jen. You didn’t want to walk away. You wanted to cling to her but you couldn’t get yourself into a situation where you would eventually get hurt…again.

Agatha watched you walk away, her heart breaking. She wanted to call out to you, to beg you to stay, but she knew she had messed up. She felt a mix of guilt and regret, knowing that she had hurt you deeply. She sank to the ground, her head in her hands. She replayed the argument over and over in her head, regretting every word she said. She wanted to make things right with you, but she knew it wouldn’t be easy. As much as she cared about you, she couldn’t deny the history she had with Rio. She was at a crossroads, torn between two people who both meant something to her.

Taglist; @oh-no-bummer @wandasreallover @polaris-likethestar

Agatha Harkness Taglist Sign Up Sheet

[viennaswcrld]

𝓕͟𝗔͟𝗠𝗘 𝗗𝗥. 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗗𝗨𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡

𝓕͟𝗔͟𝗠𝗘 𝗗𝗥 ( also known as: 00s fame dr , jackass dr )

RISE TO FAME.

Vienna Bardot. A Cuban-British fashion model whose short stature and imperfect look redefined the industry in the 2000s.

At the age of seventeen, she was scouted by a Victoria’s Secret associate at a shopping centre in 2001. Only two months later, once she turned eighteen, she was flown out to Los Angeles and thrown into the epicentre of the modelling industry. “It was terrifying,” She recalled, “But there was this, sort of, adrenaline fuelled excitement for it all.”

After moving to L.A., Bardot crossed paths with Juliet Montgomery, a fellow Victoria’s Secret model who was the same age. The two became instantly inseparable. “We were attached at the hip,” Juliet says, “Couldn’t find one without the other.”

“I think it was the fact we were both so young. Finding someone who is experiencing the same thing as you is rare, but once you find it you grasp onto it,” Vienna adds, “I mean, being eighteen on your own in a big unknown city is scary. I don’t know what we would’ve done without grounding each other.”

The two would then regularly attend night clubs; although the drinking age in America is twenty-one, they were “not skipping the experience of being british eighteen-year-olds”. This is when they both met Johnny Knoxville (who, at the time, was known for his reality stunt show Jackass) along with Steve-O, who also took part in the show. After a lot of talking, and a few drinks, Bardot agreed to do a stunt on the show.

The stunt in question was called “The Beekini”. The basic concept consisted of Vienna’s crotch and breasts being covered in bees, resulting in a bikini made of the insects. Knoxville had done something similar to himself of the same name in the first season of the show. He laughs, ���I didn’t expect her to actually do it, I was just joking around! But I wasn’t complaining. Footage is footage.”

Bardot and Knoxville then formed a close bond, causing a friendship between her, Juliet, and the rest of the Jackass crew. So, it wasn’t a surprise when the two were invited to take part in Jackass: The Movie, an extended, more explicit version of the popular MTV show.

When we asked about special treatment due to their gender, Jeff Tremaine, director of the Jackass show and movie franchise, said this: “Absolutely not. If they were gonna be apart of Jackass, they got treated like any of the others. […] Although, we had to sign an agreement in order to not damage their hair or faces, so they lucked out on that.”

Due to the amount of stunts when filming, Bardot was bound to be covered in bruises, cuts, and all sorts of injuries, “At the beginning, they tried to cover them. Every show and shoot I was covered in foundation from head to toe.”

Show coordinators then eventually decided to stop covering the bruises, as it took hours to finish, and began having conversations on what to do with Vienna. Will they have to let her go? Until Cathy Riva, the 2002 Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show segment producer, said, “Who says we have to cover them at all?”

Vienna Bardot became a symbol for the “heroin chic” aesthetic that followed the grunge style. She was accused of promoting violence and abuse, but despite the uproar, Bardot became one of the most sought-after and highest-paid models in the world. In the ensuing decades she appeared in ad campaigns for Dior, Vivienne Westwood, Chanel, Versace, and Dolce and Gabbana, among others. With her iconic style, she also became a muse to a number of designers. Although many models retire by their mid-20s, Bardot remained busy into the 21st century, by which time she had appeared on more than 300 magazine covers. She had also appeared in many iconic movies, such as How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Mean Girls, and The Other Woman. In 2016, she then appeared in the show Fleabag as the main character. The show’s two seasons were a massive success, causing Bardot to also become an icon for the newer generation as well.

PERSONAL LIFE.

After many years of speculation, Knoxville and Bardot made it official to the public in the ending credits of Jackass Number Two, a special clip “for fans who waited until the end”.

In 2012, the two then got engaged in a secluded field in the countryside of Johnny’s hometown Knoxville, Tennessee during a private picnic, before getting married in Lake Como, Italy in June 2013 in front of their family and friends.

[mywitchyblog]

Reacting Answering and debunking Kristine s take on shifting (girl who talked about genetics and shifting)

Let’s clear the air, babes. 💅✨"

So, I know some of y’all might have stumbled across that TikTok from @sectumsempress (Christine), and if you haven’t yet, let me sum it up: it’s a video where she dives into her takes on shifting—some thought-provoking, some solid, and others… well, let’s just say they need a little rethinking.

Now, before anyone panics or starts spiraling, let me reassure you: you’re not doing anything wrong. Shifting is a personal journey, and one person’s opinions (even if they’re loud and sassy) don’t define the truth. If you’re feeling overwhelmed by her claims, breathe, because I’ve got you.

I’m here to break down her points one by one: where she’s spot on, where she’s almost there, and where she’s just plain off the mark. This isn’t about dragging anyone—it’s about keeping the shifting community informed, confident, and empowered.

Remember, babe: shifting is real, it’s valid, and you are more than capable of mastering it. Let’s dive into this post with clarity, sass, and a sprinkle of tough love. We’re addressing it all, and we’re doing it together. 💖✨

Taglist :

1: "I don't know what it is, but I do think there is a genetic component to who can and cannot shift."

Oh, honey. Let me stop you right there. Reality shifting is about consciousness, not chromosomes. No one’s out here unlocking DRs with their DNA. If shifting were genetic, then wouldn’t identical twins always have the same shifting abilities? Newsflash: they don’t. Shifting is deeply personal—it’s shaped by belief systems, practice, and the state of your subconscious mind.

Let’s talk logic:

If shifting were genetic, why do people from all backgrounds, ages, and cultures shift successfully?

If genes dictated shifting ability, how do beginners with no spiritual training manage to shift while seasoned practitioners struggle sometimes?

This "genetic component" claim feels like an excuse to gatekeep shifting behind a veil of exclusivity. You don’t need elite DNA—you need clarity, discipline, and faith in your abilities. What you’re really saying here is “I’m struggling and need something to blame.” Blame your approach, babe, not your ancestors. Shifting doesn’t care about your family tree; it cares about your mindset. 🧬✨

2: "Out of everyone who can shift, most of them shouldn't, including myself when I first started."

Now this is projection if I’ve ever seen it. Just because you weren’t ready when you started doesn’t mean the rest of the community isn’t. People shift for their own reasons, whether it’s healing, exploration, fun, or growth. Who are you to decide who should and shouldn’t explore their consciousness?

Let’s unpack this:

Shifting is a skill, and like any skill, it comes with a learning curve. Mistakes and missteps are part of the process. No one is perfect at it from the jump, but that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t try.

This idea of “most people shouldn’t shift” reeks of elitism. What’s the criteria? Who makes the rules? Oh wait—you don’t, because this is an individual journey.

And let’s not ignore the thinly veiled guilt here. “Including myself when I first started” screams “I made mistakes, so no one else should try.” No, sis, you made mistakes so others can learn and grow. Let people figure it out for themselves—your experience isn’t universal. Stay humble. 💁‍♀️✨

3: "If shifting is affecting your current reality to the point where your mental health plummets and you can't function, the cost is too high. This is also at past me."

Okay, valid point. For once, we’re aligned—but let’s add nuance. Shifting itself isn’t the villain here. The problem arises when someone uses shifting as an escape or obsesses over their DR to the detriment of their CR.

Here’s the truth:

Shifting works best when you’re grounded in your CR. Neglecting your CR responsibilities, ignoring self-care, or avoiding real-life problems will inevitably lead to burnout. Your CR self is the foundation for all your realities. If you’re not taking care of yourself here, it’s going to show up in your DR too.

Balance is key. Shifting can be an incredible tool for healing and self-discovery, but it’s not a replacement for addressing your mental health or real-life challenges.

Let’s also call out this “past me” comment. You’re shading yourself for your mistakes, which is fair, but don’t let that self-criticism turn into fear-mongering for others. Instead of saying “the cost is too high,” try saying, “Learn from my mistakes and prioritize your well-being.” That’s the energy we need. 🧠✨

4: "I think there will come a time when shifting is able to be explained scientifically."

Now we’re getting somewhere. Yes, science may eventually catch up, but let’s not act like shifting is waiting for permission to exist. Just because something isn’t fully understood doesn’t mean it’s invalid. Dreams weren’t “real” until REM sleep was discovered. Electricity wasn’t harnessed until the right tools were developed. Shifting is the same—it’s ahead of its time.

Here’s the tea:

Quantum physics already hints at the nature of reality being far more fluid and observer-dependent than we once thought. Concepts like the observer effect and parallel universes align with what shifters describe.

Neurology is just scratching the surface of how visualization and intention shape the brain. Lucid dreaming, meditation, and neuroplasticity all prove that the mind is capable of extraordinary things.

The fact that shifting isn’t yet measurable doesn’t diminish its validity. Science is a tool, not a dictator of truth. Shifting is real now, and science will catch up later. Don’t let the lack of a peer-reviewed study make you doubt your own experiences. 🔬✨

5: "The majority of people on Shiftok in 2020 were lying."

You’re not wrong, but let’s dig deeper. Were there liars? Absolutely. TikTok’s algorithm rewards drama, and fake success stories grabbed attention. But dismissing the entire Shiftok community as liars is lazy and reductive.

Here’s what really happened:

Many people on Shiftok were genuine shifters sharing their tips and experiences. The problem was that TikTok favored sensationalism over authenticity. Real advice got buried under Hogwarts weddings and Draco stans claiming they had seven kids in one night. 🐍✨

The fake stories weren’t malicious—they were clout-chasing. People wanted likes, and exaggerating their experiences worked.

But let’s not let the liars overshadow the genuine shifters who were out there putting in the work. Misinformation thrived because of the platform, not because everyone was lying. Don’t throw out the whole community just because some people were playing the algorithm. 🌟✨

6: "Way more people outside of the internet shift than we think they do, and most of them are adults."

This one is surprisingly solid, but let’s add some layers. Shifting has been around forever—it’s not a TikTok invention. People have been exploring alternate realities under different names, like astral projection, lucid dreaming, and deep meditation, for centuries. These practices have roots in spiritual traditions across cultures, often led by—you guessed it—adults.

Why don’t we hear more about these adults?

They’re less likely to post about it online because they don’t care about clout or “DR trends.”

Many adults see shifting as a private, sacred practice rather than something to flex.

But here’s where the take falters: don’t dismiss teens and younger people just because they’re more visible online. Shifting transcends age. The internet didn’t create shifting; it just gave teens a platform to talk about it. And let’s not act like adults are automatically better at it—age doesn’t guarantee discipline or skill, hun. Stop pitting age groups against each other. Shifting is for everyone, whether you’re 15 or 50. 🌌✨

7: "Nine out of ten times, teenagers do not have the emotional maturity or mental capacity to handle a DR. I know I sure wouldn't have been able to."

Okay, this one SCREAMS projection. Just because you weren’t ready doesn’t mean an entire generation of teenagers isn’t. Emotional maturity isn’t an age—it’s a mindset. While it’s true that some teens might struggle with the responsibilities or intensity of a DR, plenty of them are capable of handling it.

Here’s what you’re missing:

Shifting is deeply personal. One teen’s DR might be about living in Hogwarts, while another’s might be about exploring their self-worth or healing trauma. What they can handle depends on their intent and preparation—not their birth year.

This take also assumes that adults magically have their lives together. Let’s be real—plenty of adults couldn’t handle a DR either. Emotional maturity is learned through experience, not something that just arrives with age.

Instead of writing off teenagers as too immature, why not empower them to approach shifting responsibly? Help them understand the importance of grounding techniques, journaling, and balancing their CR. Support them instead of gatekeeping, babe. Growth comes from guidance, not judgment. 🖤✨

8: "Shifting to live as a child when you are an adult is wrong."

Oh, let’s unpack this nonsense, because the judgment here is LOUD and unnecessary. Shifting to live as a child isn’t inherently “wrong”—it’s all about intent. People shift to younger ages for all kinds of valid reasons:

Healing: Someone who had a traumatic childhood might shift to experience the innocence and joy they missed out on. That’s not “wrong”—it’s deeply therapeutic.

Nostalgia: Revisiting a simpler time in life can be comforting and grounding.

Where’s the harm if someone is revisiting their childhood for healing or self-discovery? The only time this could be “wrong” is if someone’s doing it for malicious, fetishistic, or exploitative reasons. And let’s be clear—that’s an issue with the person’s intent, not the act of shifting itself.

This take reeks of moral grandstanding. If you don’t understand why someone might shift to a younger age, maybe try asking instead of judging. People’s reasons for shifting are complex and personal. Stay in your lane and let them live. 🍼✨

9: "Shifting to live as an adult when you are a child is wrong."

And here comes the hypocrisy. Why is shifting to an adult age suddenly a problem? If a teenager shifts to experience independence, maturity, or even just to see what adulthood is like, how is that “wrong”?

Let’s break it down:

Exploring independence: Teens often feel powerless in their CR lives. Shifting to adulthood can give them a sense of control or help them explore who they want to be.

Learning experiences: Shifting to an adult DR doesn’t mean teens are out here taking real-world risks. It’s an internal journey. They’re not suddenly going to have access to bank accounts or responsibilities in their CR.

The issue isn’t teens shifting to adult ages—it’s how they approach adult themes. If a teen shifts irresponsibly or romanticizes harmful aspects of adulthood, that’s a learning opportunity, not a reason to gatekeep. Let them explore and grow. The real world isn’t handing out “mature enough” badges; why should shifting? 🔑✨

10: "Shifting is a perception of reality that takes place inside your own mind, and this does not make it any less real."

Babe, what even IS this take? Calling shifting “a perception of reality inside your own mind” is the laziest oversimplification. It’s like saying the ocean is just “wet stuff” or the universe is just “space.” Shifting is SO much more than a mental exercise.

Here’s why this is bullshit:

Shifters report full sensory immersion in their DRs—smells, tastes, and even physical sensations. That’s not just perception; that’s a relocation of awareness.

Many shifters describe gaining knowledge or skills in their DRs that they couldn’t have fabricated in their CR minds. That’s evidence of connection to a separate reality, not just “perception.”

Saying it’s all in your head is reductive and dismissive. Shifting isn’t just a daydream or lucid dream—it’s a deliberate movement of consciousness.

By this logic, everything you experience is just “perception,” and therefore not real. Do better. Shifting is as real as the CR you’re reading this in—it’s just on a different frequency. 🌀✨

11: "Therefore, perma shifting is impossible."

Who told you this? Perma shifting isn’t just possible—it’s the logical extension of what shifting already is. If infinite realities exist and your consciousness can relocate temporarily, what exactly is stopping it from staying permanently?

Let’s debunk this thoroughly:

Shifting doesn’t require you to return to your CR. You’re not tethered here by some metaphysical leash. If you can spend weeks in a DR, why not forever?

This take assumes that your CR body is what keeps you “alive.” Wrong. Your consciousness is the seat of your existence, not the meat suit you’re wearing in your CR.

The only barrier to perma shifting is fear or lack of belief. People who say it’s impossible are projecting their own limitations. If shifting is real, so is perma shifting. Stop trying to box people into your doubts. Perma shifters are already out there living their best DR lives while you’re here arguing with yourself. 🖤✨

12: "Your body will not get up and do things while you're shifting."

Okay, I’ll give credit where it’s due—this one is spot on. Your CR body doesn’t suddenly start sleepwalking or doing the cha-cha while you’re in your DR. Shifting doesn’t override your physical body’s autopilot mode. Instead, your CR body stays in a deep state of rest, like sleeping or meditating.

Here’s why this is accurate:

Shifting is a relocation of consciousness, not physical movement. Your awareness moves to your DR, while your CR body stays put. It’s like putting your computer on sleep mode—it’s still there, just inactive.

If your CR body did start moving, you’d be blending realities, which isn’t how shifting works. Shifting creates a clear boundary between where your consciousness is and where your body remains.

That said, your CR body can react slightly to your DR state—like twitching or deepened breathing—but it’s not going to hop up and do laundry. So yes, you’re right, but don’t act like this is revolutionary knowledge. Most people know this already. Your body stays put while your mind does the exploring. 🛏️✨

13: "Most people treat scripting and shifting as a choose-your-own-path fanfic instead of reality."

This one’s got layers, and I’m ready to dig in. First of all, who cares if someone treats scripting like fanfic? Scripting is a personal tool, and people can approach it however they like. But let’s get real: scripting is way more than fanfiction.

Here’s the nuance:

Scripting is a powerful manifestation tool. It sets clear intentions for what you want to experience in your DR. Treating it like a story doesn’t make it any less valid. If imagining yourself as the protagonist in a beautifully detailed “fanfic” helps you focus, then it’s working, period.

Not everyone scripts for the same reasons. Some people use it to map out specific DR details, while others treat it as a loose guide. Neither approach is wrong—it’s about what works for YOU.

Also, let’s not act like scripting takes away from the “reality” of shifting. Scripting isn’t fake—it’s preparation. The moment you shift, what you scripted becomes as real as your CR. So stop invalidating people’s methods just because you don’t like the format. 💁‍♀️✨

14: "Putting your DR on a pedestal makes it harder to get to."

Okay, now we’re talking sense. This take is 100% accurate, and it’s a trap that a lot of shifters fall into. When you treat your DR like it’s some magical, unattainable place, you create mental resistance that makes shifting harder.

Here’s why this is true:

Your subconscious mind follows your beliefs. If you see your DR as something distant or godlike, your subconscious will act accordingly. It’ll say, “Oh, we’re not worthy yet? Cool, let’s not shift.”

When you overhype your DR, you’re also adding unnecessary pressure. Shifting becomes less about the journey and more about the desperation to “make it happen.” That desperation creates doubt, which blocks your progress.

The trick? Normalize your DR. Think of it as a natural extension of your existence, not some impossible dream. It’s real, attainable, and waiting for you—you just have to stop psyching yourself out. DRs are exciting, but they’re not fairy tales. Treat them as real, and your subconscious will follow suit. ✨

15: "I'm really excited about going to my DR in the same way that I'm really excited about going to a theme park or to a museum. Something very exciting but also very real and attainable."

Another solid take—this is exactly the right mindset. Approaching your DR with excitement, but without putting it on a pedestal, is the sweet spot for successful shifting. It’s the energy of anticipation, not desperation, that aligns your mind with your destination.

Here’s why this works:

Excitement fuels intention. When you’re genuinely excited about shifting, your subconscious is more likely to cooperate because it associates your DR with positive emotions.

Seeing your DR as “real and attainable” grounds your belief system. If you treat it like a natural part of your reality, your mind will perceive it as such.

This take is also a great reminder that shifting is a journey, not a chore. Approach it with the same joy you’d have for any adventure, and the process becomes smoother. Your DR isn’t some untouchable fantasy—it’s a place you can visit with the right mindset. Theme park energy, but make it metaphysical. 🎢✨

16: "I'm not excited about going to my DR like some heavenly dream world. That's just unrealistic."

Thank you for saying this, because it’s time to drag the “heavenly DR” myth. DRs aren’t utopias, and expecting them to be perfect sets you up for disappointment. Shifting is about experiencing another reality, not escaping to some flawless paradise.

Here’s the tea:

Every DR has challenges. Just like CR, your DR will have ups and downs. That doesn’t make it any less real or amazing—it just makes it dynamic and authentic.

Thinking of your DR as a “heavenly dream world” adds unnecessary pressure. When you finally shift and realize your DR isn’t perfect, you risk feeling disillusioned or disappointed.

The truth? Your DR is real, but it’s not going to solve all your problems or fulfill all your fantasies. Treat it as an exciting new chapter, not a flawless escape. The more grounded your expectations, the more satisfying your experience will be. ✨

17: "Judging people for what they do in their DR based on CR standards is usually wrong."

Finally, a take that makes sense! This is the kind of nuance we need in the shifting community. DRs operate on their own rules, and trying to apply CR standards to them is like judging a fish for not climbing a tree.

Here’s why this is on point:

Different realities, different rules. What might be morally or socially acceptable in CR could be completely irrelevant in a DR. People shift to explore and experience, not to replicate the exact conditions of CR.

Judging others is counterproductive. Shifting is deeply personal. Someone’s DR journey might be about exploring sides of themselves that they suppress in CR, and that’s valid. As long as they’re not harming others, it’s not your business.

Let’s be clear, though: this doesn’t excuse harmful behavior in DRs. If someone’s intentionally scripting unethical or damaging scenarios, that’s a different conversation. But for the most part, let people live and shift without your CR morality checklist. 🌀✨

18: "Every single thing you script has far-reaching consequences that you cannot imagine until you get there. If you script that you can't sweat or can't grow body hair, you'll show up in your DR with some medical condition that causes those things."

Girl, when we thought there was progress... you do THIS?! Let’s break it down, because this take is serving a mix of paranoia and half-truths, and I’m disappointed.

Yes, scripting can shape your DR reality, but this idea that every single detail comes with “far-reaching consequences” is dramatic and misleading.

Scripting sets intentions. If you script that you don’t sweat, your DR might interpret that literally, but it doesn’t mean you’re suddenly cursed with a medical condition. Your DR adapts to your intentions, not in some twisted monkey’s paw way, but in alignment with your desires.

This take leans heavily into fear-mongering. It’s important to script mindfully, but implying that a poorly worded script will backfire catastrophically is unnecessary drama.

Let’s not scare people into thinking shifting is a minefield of unintended consequences. Scripting is flexible and intuitive. If you don’t like something in your DR, you can shift back and adjust. Chill, girl—it’s not that deep. 😒✨

19: "Things in reality don't just fucking happen for no reason."

This is facts, but let’s unpack it fully. Whether it’s CR or DR, reality operates on cause and effect. Your actions, intentions, and beliefs shape your experience.

Here’s the tea:

In shifting, your subconscious mind plays a huge role. Nothing “just happens.” If you experience something unexpected in your DR, it’s often tied to unintentional thoughts, emotions, or residual CR beliefs.

This take is a good reminder to take responsibility for your scripting and intentions. You are the architect of your DR. If something goes awry, it’s not because the universe is out to get you—it’s because of how you set the framework.

That said, let’s not act like every single thing needs to be micromanaged. Part of the fun of shifting is letting your DR surprise you. Control the big stuff, but leave room for spontaneity. Your DR doesn’t need to feel like a sterile checklist. ✨

20: "Scripting yourself a dysfunctional abusive family on purpose is fucked up."

YES, babe, say it louder for the people in the back! This is a take I fully agree with. If you’re intentionally scripting harmful or abusive dynamics into your DR, you need to seriously reflect on why.

Here’s why this is so problematic:

Your DR is a space for growth, healing, and exploration. Why would you willingly bring toxicity into it? If you want to explore complex relationships, that’s fine, but scripting outright abuse is deeply concerning.

This kind of scripting raises ethical red flags. Even if DR characters are technically constructs, the energy and intent behind scripting abuse can reflect unresolved issues or harmful tendencies.

Shifting is a powerful tool—don’t misuse it by scripting negativity for the sake of drama. If you’re scripting toxic situations, ask yourself what you’re really seeking. Your DR should uplift you, not drag you into unnecessary harm. Do better. 🖤✨

Let’s wrap this up with love and clarity, babes. 💖✨"

So, after unpacking @sectumsempress’s (Christine’s) points, here’s the bottom line: Shifting is YOUR journey. Some of her takes were valid, others were shaky, and a few? Well, they needed a reality check. But hey, that’s the beauty of conversations like these—it gives us a chance to reflect, grow, and strengthen our understanding of shifting.

Remember:

Shifting is deeply personal. What works for one person might not work for you, and that’s okay.

Misinformation doesn’t define you. Always question, explore, and trust your intuition.

You are capable, worthy, and enough. Whether you’re scripting, visualizing, or just starting out, your DR is closer than you think.

At the end of the day, the shifting community thrives when we support, uplift, and educate each other. So let’s keep pushing forward with confidence, kindness, and a whole lot of sass. Your reality is yours to create—don’t let anyone dim that light. 💅✨

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I Want It All: Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Reader, Astarion x Bard!Reader

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Soft!Astarion, Allusion to Astarion's Past (Sexual Assult/Dissociation)

Summary: You and Astarion had been playing this little game of yours for a while; he pretends to care, you pretend not to fall for it. It’s easy, even fun at times. The trouble is, what happens the moment you can’t pretend anymore?

A/N: Holy shit! It's done! Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and reblogged and just...everything. I cannot tell you how much it means to be to know this story has resonated with so many people. I don't have any plans to continue this as a larger story (I still haven't played the game); however, if anyone would like to send requests for small one-shots or headcanons involving Astarion and this Asexual!Tav, feel free to send me an ask.

Also, sorry if I didn't tag you. There were a lot of request, so I stuck to those who asked on the previous chapter.

And as always REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO SURVIVE!!!

Word Count: 5.2K

You didn’t sleep that night, but what else did you expect?

For hours you simply lay in the dark, staring at the window. The patter of rain was the only source of sound besides your own breathing. Even that small comfort didn’t last as the storm passed leaving behind cloud covered silence.

No tears came to you.  What had you to grieve over? Everything you felt had been a product of your imagination. You knew that.

Still, it ached.  There was a throbbing in your throat you couldn’t swallow down and a constant pressure behind your eyes.  You almost wished you would cry, just to get it out of your system. If you could have a nice little breakdown, there was a chance you could get over this. It would be the slap in the face you needed to accept reality. Maybe then you’d stop doing this to yourself.

All the same, it stayed there, pressing heavy on your chest until the sun teased the edges of the clouds beaconing morning.

You groaned, burying your face into the pillow. You couldn’t lie and wallow the rest of the day. You had things to do, places to be, worms to destroy. The sooner you had something else to occupy your thoughts the better.

With an effort you pulled yourself out of bed and slowly made your way to the dining room.

You were a bit surprised to see everybody already up. Wyll, Karlach, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Gale were already seated with plates of half eaten food in front of them.  Two seats were still empty, settings ready and untouched. A quick look around confirmed the rest, Astarion had yet to make an appearance.

“Morning everyone,” you said, trying your best to be cheerful as you sat yourself between Gale and Wyll.  

You could feel all their eyes on you, no doubt noticing the dark circles under yours.

“Morning,” Gale greeted. “I trust you slept well.”

He let out a small yelp of pain.

You looked up to catch him glaring at Shadowheart as she shot him a disapproving look.

You frowned. Did she just kick him?

“I mean, ah, did you lie comfortably?” he amended.

“Seriously?” Karlach questioned.

You swore you could feel the heat of Gale’s blush, as he grumbled into his toast. “Damn it, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” you asked.

“We just hoped you spent the rest of the night…pleasantly,” Wyll tried, and ultimately failed.

Your stomach flipped, as harsh, dreadful realization washed over you.  Yes, of course they would.

“You don’t look well,” Lae’zel noted. “After all his boasting, I had thought Astarion would leave his partners more satisfied.”

You didn’t say anything, deciding to take a bite of egg as an excuse. Now would be a great time for the ground to open and swallow you into the hells. Gods knew it would be an improvement.

“She’s right,” Shadowheart said, sounding a little annoyed to admit it. “You do look tired and not the good kind. Did something happen?”

“Did he hurt you,” Wyll said, his brow furrowing in sudden concern.

“What?! No!” you said quickly. “Nothing happened.”

“How’d you mean nothing happened?” Karlach put in. “We all saw what we saw. How could anyone turn down all of that?”

Fresh embarrassment washed over you, making you wish you could erase the last twenty-four hours and crawl into the nearest, deepest hole. You had spent the whole night worried about what Astarion would make of your vision, you had all but forgotten you had shared that part of yourself with all of your companions. Of course they would have their own interpretations.

“It wasn’t like that.”

A quick look around the table gave away the doubtful thoughts of all.  

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to calm. They weren’t going to believe you if you were emotional about this.

“Look, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. As I said, nothing happened. We talked, and it became clear that we just want different things. That’s the beginning and the end of it. Now are we done or are you all going to keep chattering on like a bunch of fishwives?”

The silence at the table was palpable as everyone exchanged looks.

Alright, maybe being calm wasn't a realistic expectation, but you hadn’t lied. Sure, there were some details you neglected to share, but that really was the long and the short of it. He hadn’t done anything wrong and neither had you. It just didn’t work out.

The plain truth of it settled in your heart carving out a hollow space for it to lay in.

Gale was the first to act, clearing his throat. “Fair enough, the matter is closed. Please, accept our apology. With such an intimate group as ours, it’s sometimes easy to forget that one’s personal matters can be well and truly personal.”

He looked at the rest of the group, each nodding in agreement to various degrees of reluctancy.

“Just for the record though, if you need someone to knock some sense into that pretty boy’s head, you just need to ask,” Karlach offered. 

Despite yourself, you had to smile. “I’ll think about it.”

You then turned to Gale, who met you with kind eyes and a comforting smile. You let yourself be warmed by it, even if you still felt a little guilty for snapping. He really did understand. It was easy for heartbreak to recognize heartbreak.

“Thank you,” you murmured. 

To your surprise, his first instinct wasn’t to reach for words, but rather your hand as he gave your fingers a gentle squeeze. 

“Anytime.” 

“Good morning everyone. Gossiping without me?”

You whipped your head around to find Astarion standing near the head of the table, a sardonic smile on his lips and a hard glare in his eyes.  No doubt he had heard everything. 

Everybody shifted in their seats, glancing between you and Astarion. You averted your gaze, focusing hard on the table in front of you. 

Gale’s hand still rested over yours. Whatever comfort it had given you, faded as something akin to panic flooded your veins. In the next second, you rose from your chair, scraping it hard against the floor in your hurry. 

“I’ve still got some packing to do,” you said. “Be back down in a few.” 

Coward’s way out? Yes, but after the night you had, you figured you were entitled to it. 

Keeping your head down, you slipped past Astarion, feeling him watch you as you made your way back up the stairs. 

If you had lingered a moment, you might have caught the flash of hurt in his eyes. You might have noticed how his clothes were more rumpled than usual. You might even have seen his hand twitch with the instinct to reach for yours. But you didn’t see, and anything that might have happened disappeared in a brush of air. 

-----------------------

The next several days carried on in much the same way.  Not as torturous as that first morning, but still a drudge of avoidance and awkward silences. 

In your defense, Astarion seemed just as keen to keep his distance. Where he used to be your preverbal shadow, filling the hours of travel with idle teasing and conversation, now he kept to the back, his mouth decidedly shut. 

The others caught on and seemed determined to make up the difference. Karlach, Shadowheart and Wyll especially made a point to walk alongside you, telling stories and jokes in an attempt to make you smile. 

You did your best. They meant well, but in some ways they only served to emphasize the absence of another. 

Gale, on the other hand, had the foresight to try a different approach. He made it clear he didn’t expect you to talk, but always made sure you had the best spot by the fire and a little extra of whatever he made for the camp. You had to wonder if Tara had provided a similar comfort to him after Mystra. It was obvious he had the practice. 

Even Lae’zel offered to help you train it off, something about how your, “objectively weak body had left the rest of you vulnerable to attack”. A part of you felt the insult, but the gesture was appreciated. 

Honestly, all of this care was starting to make you feel guilty. None of them were giving Astarion the same courtesy. He wasn’t being shunted exactly, but the message was loud and clear; they were on your side. 

This was met by him taking a step back from the late night conversations. His interactions with the others were kept short and lacked his usual humorous flare. He took his shifts on watch alone and he spent even more time either roaming the forest or in his tent. 

The only person he consistently spoke to was Gale, which should have raised some alarm bells on their own, but you never caught what they were discussing. All you knew was Astarion never appeared especially pleased while Gale gave a look of someone begging the gods for patience. 

All of this was your fault. You just wanted things to go back to normal. Even if you couldn’t be with Astarion the way you imagined, you still valued his friendship.  If this kept up, there was a chance he might decide to leave all together. An olive branch was needed, something to signal you didn’t hold a grudge or expect anything more. 

The answer came to you one early evening as you took note of his haggard looks and less than graceful steps out of camp.  He hadn’t fed on you in a week and there was only so much deer and boar could do. 

You considered simply offering up your neck, but that felt too forward. Besides, you weren’t sure if you were ready to have him that close. The only other solution you could think of was to bleed yourself somehow. 

This proved more difficult than you first imagined. Astarion seemed to have an instinct for where to bite, balancing enough blood for himself without causing any permanent damage. You couldn’t boast the same. It took more than one cut to fill an empty goblet with what you hoped to be the right amount of blood. You’d ask Shadowheart to heal you properly later. Hopefully she’d accept a poorly executed knife trick as an excuse. 

You wrapped your wrist as best you could and, watching to make sure the others weren’t looking, slipped into Astarion’s tent. 

You were immediately hit with the scent of bergamot, rosemary, and aged brandy. A sense of calm washed over you at the familiar combination, settling comfortably in your lungs as you took in the space.

 A single candle remained lit, allowing just enough light for you to appreciate the rich purple and red fabrics lining the walls as well as the sheer number of pillows littering the floor. How he managed to pack so many was a mystery you doubt you would ever solve. The whole set up was down right ornate, but considering this was Astarion you were talking about, you shouldn’t have been surprised. 

It was only then you realized you’d never been inside before. He’d invited you more than once, but you’d always turned him down preferring to keep your feeding session in the open air. You had known, even then, any closer would give the wrong impression; all for naught it seemed.

You pushed the thought aside, pulling your attention back to the matter at hand. There had to be some place you could put the goblet where he wouldn’t knock it over. Why did he have to keep a side table outside the tent?

A shuffle came from just outside. Focusing your ears, you caught the tread of boots on grass transition to the nearly silent carpet just outside the tent flap. You turned using those handful of extra seconds to school your features into something passively innocent as Astarion ducked inside.

His whole body froze, his arm holding the fabric above his head as his eyes went wide. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. 

You took advantage of his momentary shock to examine his appearance more closely. He looked…well, tired and more than a little confused. No blood marked his shirt or his lips. His pants appeared to have taken a tear or two from a bramble bush. Even his hair looked just a bit disheveled in a way so unlike himself.  

“No luck hunting?” you said, unable to keep the concern out of your voice. 

He stared, as if your words were coming from somewhere far away and required extra time to reach his ears.

“I’ve had better,” he finally said. 

You nodded in understanding, shifting awkwardly as your eyes went to the goblet in your hands. 

“Here,” you offered. “No offense, but you look like you could use it.”

He gave a tight smile. “I’d say no offense taken, but this is me we’re talking about.” All the same, he took the cup, sniffing it cautiously. He blinked hard, his brows furrowing as he stuck his nose further into the cup and took a deep whiff. 

“Is this yours?” he asked. 

You shrugged, holding up your bandaged wrist. “Whose else would it be?”

His mouth parted slightly as if to say something before closing it again. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, his tone oddly serious. 

“I know,” you assured. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Once again, he opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead released a breath of a laugh, allowing whatever tension he had formed in those last few seconds to fall from his shoulders. 

“I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but it seems I can’t help it with you.” 

Before you could ask him what exactly he meant, he raised the goblet to his lips and drank. 

The effect was instantaneous. Your blood met his tongue and any control he had slipped away. His pupils dilated to those of a predator as he guzzled the whole thing down in two deep swallows. He let out a gasp of air before returning to the cup, licking the sides so not to waste a drop. A low hum of bliss came from deep in his chest as he savored the rest, allowing his fingers to scrap the bottom before bringing it back to his mouth. 

The sight should have left you horrified, but in truth, it was encouraging. Things would be different, but you could at least provide him this. 

“Do you need more?” you asked. 

This time his laugh was loud and genuine as he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand before licking the remains; yet another thing you found inexplicably endearing. He really was just a big cat sometimes. 

“Dangerous thing to offer me in this state, darling,” he said. “Luckily for you, I found a nice burrow of rabbits yesterday.” 

Once satisfied there was truly nothing left, he set the goblet down on the ground before turning his attention to your wrist. 

“Let me see,” he said, reaching out a hand. 

“It’s fine,” you promised. “I’ll get Shadowheart to look at it later.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that, give it here.”

Knowing there was no fighting him, you relented, allowing him to unwrap the bandages.  

He visibly winced as he examined the litter of harsh scratches along your skin. “What did you use? A rusty spoon?” 

“I had trouble finding a good vein,” you said, feeling the need to defend yourself. You hadn’t thought it looked that bad. 

“Oh is that all? And here I thought you’d lost an argument with a displacer beast.” 

You pressed your lips into an annoyed line, but Astarion was already digging around his pack, coming back with a salve and potion of healing.  

“Drink this.”

You shook your head, ignoring the pleasant little flutter in your chest at the gesture. “I told you, I’ll just ask Shadowheart.”

“Oh this isn’t just for you,” he said, dryly. “Do you think I want her believing you’d willingly butcher yourself just to give me a proper meal? Neither of us would hear the end of it.” 

A small flush of embarrassment worked up your neck. He was right, of course. The party really hadn’t been subtle in their disapproval. It was the reason you had tried for discretion. 

Without further protest you accepted the potion. 

This seemed to appease him as he quickly got to work on applying the salve. 

He had bought it not long after you had come to your little feeding arrangement. It helped to sooth small cuts and bruises while minimizing the threat of scars. He had initially offered to provide…other services to relieve the pain, but you had declined. This was the compromise. You’d offered to do it yourself, but he insisted, claiming it was the least he could do. In truth, it was all very…transactional. 

This felt different. The hesitation he so often held, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, was gone. His touch was gentle, his expression focused and his body oddly relaxed. It didn’t feel like an obligation, but an act of kindness, one he was more than willing to give. 

Any nerves that remained slipped away.  You could find a way to live with this. Certainly it was more than others had given you in the past. 

Once he was done, he pulled fresh bandages from his bag and began redressing your wounds with decidedly more precision than you had. 

“I am glad you’re here,” he said, breaking the silence. “I was hoping we could talk.”

A sharp sting of anxiety pressed itself into your skin. 

“Oh?” 

He nodded, tying off the bandage. “I think it’s important.”

You swallowed. The instinct to run pulled at your feet, but you managed to keep it in check. You owed him that much. 

“Well, I’m here so…let’s talk.”

He breathed out an audible sigh of relief, raising his hands up as he took a small step back.

“Just stand there a moment. Don’t move.”

He spun around, rummaging through various bags before letting out a cry of triumph. He stepped back holding what looked to be a violin string glowing with magical golden light. 

Your head tilted to the side as your eyes narrowed. “Is that…?”

“Part of the violin, yes,” he admitted. “Bit of a story. Short version, Gale was able to extract one of the strings. It shouldn’t cause any permanent damage to the instrument, as far as I know.” 

You raised a doubtful eyebrow. “And Gale just let you pluck this from his tent did he?”

Astarion shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly. I, ah, may have had some trouble understanding how it worked and…inquired as to his assistance.”

“You asked Gale for help?” you asked, astonished.

“Don’t make me relive the experience,” he lamented. “He told me the strings themselves have different magical properties in order to create the effect you demonstrated the other night. Apparently this one alone compels people to tell the truth.” 

He then took the string and carefully wrapped it around his wrist before handing the other half to you. 

Your eyes widened, glancing between him and the offered cord. “What are you doing?”

“Leveling the playing field,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You shook your head, taking a step back. “You don’t have to do that.”

His lips curved into a self deprecating smile. “I think I do though. I haven’t been honest with you and…while that’s not exactly unique to you, the regret I have is. So you see, it really is a selfish action. If I’m to be free of this, I need to know for certain you understand that what I say next is the truth…all of it.” 

Your mouth opened to protest, but the words caught in your throat. The expression on his face was one you had never seen before. While he did his best to hide under his usual indifferent airs, his eyes gave him away. You’d never seen them so open and unsure. 

Slowly, you took the other end, feeling a familiar tingle spread through your fingers. 

“Alright,” you said, cautiously. “What’s your favorite color?”

Flashes of red shot across your vision, moonlit skies and a pair of eyes you only just caught to be your own before the image settled on something else entirely.

“Pink,” Astarion blurted.

Your eyebrows shot up as the start of a delighted smile spread across your face.

 “And orange,” he amended quickly, “and dark blue and…honestly just the color of the sky at sunrise.” He pouted as if annoyed at the words that escaped his lips, but he shook it off. “Alright, you had your little test run. Give me something harder.” 

You considered a moment. It was very tempting to continue on with some more embarrassing questions, but that wasn’t the purpose of all of this. Best to start at the beginning. 

“What did you think of me when we first met?” you asked.

He grimaced, guilt evident not just through his averted gaze but the tug of the string between you. “You were a target,” he admitted. “At best a convenient meat shield. You were just so…open, ready to trust. Manipulating you would be easy.”

You took a deep breath, ignoring the stab of pain between your ribs. You should have expected as much. He wasn’t exactly subtle. 

“And that’s what you were trying to do the other night, manipulate me?”

“Yes.”

Another stab of guilt, a flash of your own back walking out of a candle lit room as a hand that was not your own reached hopelessly outward. 

Your actual jaw clenched. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity.”

“Then what?!” you snapped. “Hells bells Astarion, do you even like me?”

“You drive me to acts of insanity,” he said indignantly, raising up the glowing cord around his wrist as proof. “Do you think I’d willing subject myself to days of Gale’s passive aggressive commentary on my personal life for just anyone? Of course I like you. Gods below!”

You stared, unable to deny the waves of exasperation mixed with the sound of your own laughter as heard through another’s ears. Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in the chest of the body opposite you making your mind spin, as you tried to re-establish the divide. 

“Why did you ask me to come to you?” you asked. “What were you hoping to gain?”

Astarion took a deep breath. It was only then you noticed how tightly he was holding the chord linking you.

“I was hoping to get back on track,” he said, slowly. “I had a plan when we met. A nice simple plan. Seduce you, bed you, manipulate your emotions so you’d never turn on me. It was easy…instinctive.” 

He met your eyes and for the first time, you felt him fight against the images threatening to breach the gap between you. You caught the barest flashes, memories of half forgotten faces passing by one after another. Shame and vile brushed the edges of your mind, and quickly faded as Astarion regained control. 

“But, you seemed immune to my attempts,” he continued. “I could tell you enjoyed my attentions, but you never asked for more. My simple plan that had worked on countless targets, couldn’t get off the ground. And yet, you still gave me blood, protection…trust. I couldn’t understand it. I found myself wanting to know more, to know you. To anticipate what you would ultimately ask in exchange. And then that night, you showed me exactly what it was you desired.”

Something slipped through. You saw yourself in the center of the tavern with darkness surrounding you. A rise of fear entered your heart as you heard your name called from familiar lips. And then, the world shifted, light came back into the world and it was…beautiful. 

“I thought I finally understood you,” he said. “A poor repressed urchin who had been hurt one too many times. All that was required was a more gentle touch. I could provide that. It wouldn’t be the first time.” 

He paused, his expression softening. “And then you had to do the most inconsiderate thing and surprise me all over again: you asked for my heart, in exchange for yours. I should have been elated. It meant my plan had worked, not the way I intended, but you had fallen for it…for me. The trouble was, I hadn’t accounted for the possibility that I would fall for you.”

You stared, unable to say anything as a well of emotion threatened to burst from you. It was as if someone pulled a bow across your chest, creating a resonating sound that moved in harmony with your very soul. 

It was true, all of it. 

By some miracle, you wrestled back control over your lungs and tongue. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted. “Even if I had, would you have believed me?”

You averted your gaze. It was answer enough. 

“It’s alright,” he said, offering a wry smile. “Smart really. I wouldn’t have believed me either.” 

You nodded in appreciation, your mind still reeling from everything he had just confessed. 

“What are you thinking?” he asked. 

You frowned, unable to shake a question that had been stirring for some time. 

“Do you even want to have sex with me?”

His eyebrows shot into his hairline, his mouth falling open. “I’m standing here baring my soul to you and that’s what you ask?”

“You asked me what I was thinking,” you defended. “Besides, it’s a relevant question.” 

He looked like he wanted to argue, but let it go just as quickly with a huff. 

“Well?” you prompted. 

He made a series of non-commital noises, his mouth half forming words before being wrenched in another direction. The chord between you glowed brighter, twisting just a little deeper into his skin.

“I…don’t really know,” he said, slightly stilted, as if surprised by his own answer. “To be clear, I do find you physically enticing. In that aspect at least, I’d hardly qualify bedding you a chore, but... I spent two centuries using lust and desire to lure people back to him. In that time I developed the habit of taking myself out of my body, looking at it as if it were happening to somebody else.  Even in those rare times it could be pleasurable, I still walked away feeling nothing but disgust and loathing. I don’t want those feelings associated with you. At the same time, I can’t help thinking that if we were together, it would be different. But, don’t take that to mean I expect it. Like I said, I don’t even know if I want it. Honestly, before you said it, I didn’t know saying no was an option.”

You took all of that in, your heart clenching as the full weight of what Cazador did to him settled on your mind.  Red filed your vision, the sympathetic ache replaced with a rush of fury.  He was a dead man. One way or another, you would see Cazador bloodied by the end of all of this. But as quickly as it had come you let the emotion pass. This wasn’t about him.  You wouldn’t let him intrude any more on this moment. 

“What do you want from me then?” you asked, softly. 

To your relief, something familiar and teasing flashed across his face. 

“I thought I’d made that obvious.”

With his free hand, he cupped your cheek allowing his thumb to lightly caress your skin. His scarlet eyes burned not with lust, but something warmer and just as desperate. 

“You showed me the chorus of your heart. How could anyone look upon that and not desire it? The trouble is, the price you asked. I…I don’t know how to pay it. I don’t know how to be with someone that way, but I’m willing to learn. I want it all. I want you to have it all.” 

The connection between you burned hot in your hand, but you couldn’t let it go. It felt so warm, so real. It filled every empty part of you to the point of bursting and still you wanted more. You were insatiable. 

Astarion looked just as lost as you, his eyes glazed over with too many emotions for you to name. His body began to tremble. It was becoming too much. 

In an instant you pulled his hand away, unwrapping the chord from around his wrist and tossing it aside.

He took a sudden deep breath as if coming up for air after being submerged in deep water. 

“Shit,” he cursed, gulping for air. Closing his eyes, he ran a hand down his face as he tried to calm. 

Your eyes widened as you caught the angry marks left behind on his wrist. 

“Are you alright?”

He blinked hard as if clearing spots from his vision. “I’m fine. Wasn’t expecting that is all.” He turned his focus to you with a bewildered expression. “Does it always feel like that?”

“That’s admittedly a first for me,” you confessed. You reached out your hand, glancing at his injury. “Let me see.”

He followed your gaze frowning, as if surprised to note the welts forming on his wrist. Still he stepped closer allowing you to examine them without protest. 

“Does it hurt?” you asked. 

He shook his head. “Sort of numb, honestly, tingly.”

You nodded, swallowing hard to keep the rise of guilt and fear at bay. It didn’t help. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, quickly. 

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t think a little thing like this is going to scare me off. I meant what I said. I intend to give you your fill.”

“You don’t have to give it all at once,” you promised. “I can be patient when it counts.” 

A sly smile turned at his lips. “I almost hope you won’t. You’re not the only one who's starving.”

Heat spread up your neck, something Astarion undoubtedly caught as he gave a low laugh. 

“Well, now that we’ve cleared the air, what happens next?” he asked. 

“I’m…not sure,” you admitted. “Nobody else has ever given me the chance to figure that out.” 

He nodded slowly, before taking a small step back. His head tilted as if to examine you from every angle. A question started to form on your tongue just as the start of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He suddenly straightened before placing a hand on his chest and regarded you with a deep bow. 

You grinned, matching him with a curtsy of your own. 

He then offered his hand, which you easily took before he pulled you just a little closer. Your other hand found his shoulder while his pressed lightly on your waist. And then you did what was only natural. You danced. 

It wasn’t anything elaborate. There was no fire or sparks of magic. You simply moved together to a song of your own imagination. It stirred in your chest, the barest pluck of a melody, but it was yours and his; the promise of a symphony to come.

Tag List:

@ambrolyer, @cassiecasluciluce, @tamwritesstuff, @hallowedandhungry, @mangomonk, @amefuyuu, @righteous-scamp, @starved-kitten, @tinystarfishgalaxy, @twinkliker3000, @unrestrictedbyreality, @screechingphantommaker, @becksynthetic, @black-sapphic, @dicenete, @isharaneith, @sarcasticlittlebook, @catsandskyrimcafe, @sora-o-kaku, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ka-du-trur, @baldursgateslittlestar, @rakilein

[sweetkpopmusings]

miserable (you & me) | h. jisung <3

a/n: jisung unlocks a part of me that is deeply emotional and romantic like ...... i love and cherish him so much :-( i really got in my feels with this one, and i hope you enjoy a glimpse into what i think being loved by jisung is like <3 also yes i gave him my favorite lyric of the song as a treat because his lyrics pull me apart and put me back together every time :,-) pics not mine~

content: angst, happy ending | wc: 1.3k | warnings: none really! | pairing: jisung x gn!reader | requests:open

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“i don’t wanna lose a part of me, you are my heart, you know?”

jisung couldn’t believe he was living out an overplayed scene in every book, movie, song, and tv show ever created. maybe some clichés were just universal experiences. if that were true, staring out blankly at flashing lights on the tarmac after the plane touches the ground must be a rite of passage for every modern human. his body barely registered the number of hours suspended in the air, as his mind only focused on one thing: you. if asked about the music he listened to during the flight, he wouldn’t know how to answer. truthfully, he didn’t listen to anything other than the internal chant of your name mixed with alternate beats of i’m sorry and i wish i said so sooner. 

jisung barely survived the past few weeks. existing with love and heartbreak in one body simultaneously sounds made-up, but that was jisung’s reality after he walked away that night. a reality he created and regretted more than anything.

it was classic. both of you were stressed from too many things going wrong in your lives, and the agitation bled into your conversations and actions. even your facial expressions were tinged with negative emotions not meant for each other. then, as it so often happened, one wrong sentence ruined everything. 

you knew jisung didn’t mean it when he said “if you’re so unhappy every time you see me, then why do you keep inviting me over?” 

but he said it, and you heard it, and it hurt. 

though jisung’s face fell at the sound of his words, all you could think to say was, “i think you should go. you have an early flight tomorrow.”

jisung stood there, mouth open, waiting for words–the right ones–to come out of his mouth. the silence hung in the air for too long. he saw your eyes glistening with tears, and he didn’t want his presence to be the reason the tears fell. again, out of exhaustion and fear of a fight, he said the wrong thing.

“okay, i’ll go.”

jisung’s heart broke when all you replied was, “safe travels.”

neither of you made a promise to see each other after jisung returned. both of you assumed you would see each other as soon as he was back, but both of you feared that the other person wouldn’t want to reunite. somehow words unsaid weighed on both of you more than the misspoken ones. but it felt too late. neither of you knew if continuing the conversation tonight was right, so neither of you said anything. jisung’s plane took him away the next morning, and you couldn’t find the courage to close the distance between you two any time soon.

that fear hung over jisung for the entire trip. it ate him up inside, yet he didn’t have the courage to face it. for weeks, he felt frozen. then, perhaps from the adrenaline of finally being in the same city as you again, he found the courage.

as soon as he unlocked his front door, jisung threw his bag on the floor, and, without a second thought, he turned on his heel and rushed to your place. he didn’t care if he had to wait at your doorstep all night and well into the morning. jisung could not, would not rest until he apologized to your face. you deserved that. if his words were what hurt you, then you deserved a million more kind words from him until you were healed. 

his heart was about to burst out of his chest during the seconds between his knock on your door and you pulling it open. you were so beautiful to jisung, and your beauty became more profound when he saw you again. he felt he could cry looking at you in your doorway. even he hadn’t realized how deeply he had missed you until you were within arms’ reach. 

everything had felt so far away for so long, but, with you, finally, jisung felt connected to everything around him. he felt like he could breathe for the first time when he heard your soft hello. he felt the world start spinning again when you said his name. he felt his heartbeat return to his chest, replacing the dull ache that had filled it since he turned his back to you that night. 

“i’m sorry.”

a small, instinctive smile flickered on your face at the sound of his voice, “come inside.”

jisung nodded, shaking from the desire to spill his heart out to you. thankfully, you sensed this, and you gave him the space to make things right again.

“i’m so, so sorry, y/n. i know i shouldn’t have left that night like that, and i know i should’ve apologized sooner. there are so many things to say to you, and you don’t owe it to me to listen. i just need you to know i’m sorry and i regret what i said and did that night. you didn’t deserve that.”

jisung paused. he held your gaze, eyes very clearly filling with tears. he waited for your permission to continue speaking, which you gave with a nod. he blinked, took a deep breath, and filled himself with equal parts courage and love for you.

“i also regret not saying anything, anything at all, sooner. i got in my head. i was so scared that saying ‘i’m sorry’ over text wasn’t enough, and i felt it was unfair to talk like normal when things clearly weren’t normal. i needed you to know how sorry i am. then, as the days passed, i realized a phone call wouldn’t be enough either. well, that, and i was so scared you wouldn’t answer my call. i would’ve deserved it, but a rejected phone call somehow felt more painful than a prolonged silence, so i didn’t call. i’m a coward, i know, and i am sorry for that too. that’s why i’m here.” 

jisung paused again, wiping his tears before gently holding your hands in his own, “you can kick me out as soon as i say my last word. i won’t fight you on it. i hate that i hurt you right before getting on the flight. i missed you so much that i lost my mind. i never want to feel that lost again. i never want to lose you. so i’m sorry. i will do everything you need me to, just so i can make things right again. you are my everything, and you deserve more than everything i can give you.”

tears fell from your eyes this time, which made jisung cry even more. the way you looked at him as you took in his apology gave him hope. he raised his hands to wipe your tears and then cradled your face softly. you were enveloped in his love and the relief that, despite the mistakes, he chose to come back to you. he kept his promise to choose you every time. that was more than enough proof that his apology was real.

your hands covered his, and you smiled despite sniffling, “i forgive you, jisung. thank you for apologizing, and thank you for coming here tonight.”

jisung felt as though he could sob and shout from the rooftops in joy. you forgave him. he hadn’t lost you. his heart would be complete again. 

“thank you, y/n. that means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

a comfortable, tender silence washed over you in your living room. you held each other, cherishing the distance disappearing. this was how things were meant to be. this was what you and jisung would always work for, no matter what got in the way, because the shared space between you was the strongest center of gravity you knew.

once all of the tears dried, jisung smiled brightly and confessed, “i really missed you so much. you are my heart, you know?”

familiar butterflies filled your stomach in response to jisung’s sweet, romantic words, “i missed you too, jisung. i’m so happy to have you back. more than you’ll ever know.”

the way jisung smiled at you made you think that maybe, just maybe, he knew exactly how happy you were.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[knight-of-flowerss]

I Will Wait.

Part one.

|__> part two will have smut I think :p also if u wanna be added to the house of the dragon tag list pls comment on here and I’ll add u!!

Benjicot ‘Davos’ Blackwood x Bracken!Reader.

Fluff + a bit of angst

Song inspo: I will wait by Mumford & Sons

Masterlist

Being a Bracken was hard. Well, being a Bracken girl was hard. Your brother, Aeron, was a pompous arsehole. Always acting like he was this big, tough knight, when in reality, he was a little boy who was playing as a pretend knight.

Your uncle, Humfrey, also known as Lord Bracken, was also a pompous arsehole, but he knew how to toy with people. He wasn’t a pretender, he would make promises and keep them. Like the promise that he would get one of his guards to whoop you as a child if you didn’t stop misbehaving, and as all children are, you continued misbehaving, and as you can expect, your uncle stuck to his words, even had the nerve to laugh at you when you tried to sit down on your sore bottom the next morning.

There are many things wrong with House Bracken. But the worst and most annoying of all was the ongoing rivalry between House Bracken and House Blackwood.

Apparently, to the Blackwood’s, years and years ago, the Bracken’s poisoned their dear Weirwood tree. It could be the truth or it could be another of the miscellaneous lies that both houses seemed to spew about each other to back up their rivalry. But in reality, I don’t think either side really knows why they hate eachother.

But what you did know is that you love a Blackwood.

And that was wrong.

Benjicot Blackwood was a sweet boy. Shy and caring. He was everything you wanted in a man. And he didn’t care that you were a Bracken.

Even when you were little, Benji always intrigued you. He was an honourable boy, an honourable man. He would never include a girl in a family feud that all stemmed from jealous men.

“Benji.. the war is coming, isn’t it?..” You whispered to him. You were both deep in the forest, Benji sitting up against a large tree, and you lying in his lap, your head resting on his chest as you get your large dress comfortable on the ground. Playing with his shirt, you look up at him, seeing him staring infront.

“Yes my love. I’m sorry but I must fight, it’s what I was born for. If I cannot protect my Queen then what type of Lord am I?” Benji breathed out. You sit up slightly, placing your left hand on his leg and your right on your chest, your faces inches apart.

“And what about me Benji? If you cannot come back alive then where does that leave me? Married off like a brood mare to the highest bidder? Dead at the hands of the other Blackwood’s? And what if Aegon wins? You could get executed for going against the crown-“

“And you can’t? Rhaenyra will win. And when she does she just might have mercy on the disloyal houses like House Bracken. Or she might kill you. But I know my Queen. The backers of the usurper cunt call her King Maegor with teats. She mourns her children! Her legacy! But even after all that she would spare the lives of those serving the pretender, because she is a good Queen.”

Tears brim your eyes as you stare at him. Wishing this could all be different. “Benji.. I don’t care who wins and who loses, I just want you. I want us to marry and grow old and have children, I want to not be afraid to love you Benji..”

Leaning your head against his, you squeeze your eyes closed and pressed your lips together tightly, trying not to spill tears or a pathetic whimper.

“I’m sorry my love. I promise you I’ll be back. And when I do, I promise I’ll marry you under the Weirwood tree, under the Old Gods and the New. I’ll love you unconditionally, no matter what any Bracken or Blackwood say. You are mine and I am yours. The day we get back, I either ask for your hand or take you as mine if anyone objects.”

You open your eyes and look at him, lips parting slightly. “Really?..” He adorns his sweet little smile finally and let’s out a small, breathy laugh. “Of course my love, you mean the world to me and I’d rather die than let you be used as a political piece for those piece of shit Brackens. Always have been a piece of shit, do you know what your uncle did to my father when they were-“

You grabbed his face, slamming your lips onto his, it was probably the last time that you could and you were going to make the most of it.

It had been two years. Two full Fucking years. It was over, finally. The usurper, Aegon, had been defeated.

From the start of the war ‘til now, you had matured a lot. All Noble women and children of the Riverland houses had lived in Riverrun since the war started, protecting the houses heirs and family.

Two years ago you were naïve, wide-eyed, and dependent on your surroundings to comfort you. Innocence was your very essence.

Now, post-war, you had come to terms with the world, it couldn’t change, people will continue to kill each other for power. But also, you were ‘ready for children’ according to Lady Tully. She claims your hips have widened and your breasts have grown. She is determined to find you a living husband to carry on your Bracken line but in reality, you wanted to taint that line, with Blackwood blood.

Soldiers were returning home.

Finally, your family was returning home.

Thousands of men from each houses spewing through each and every crevice, determined to get home.

Tully men made their way towards the Riverrun to celebrate their victory with their wives and children, with those who fought bravely along side with each other.

Darkmont men marched their way home, proud banner men who were eager to pray to the Seven, giving thanks for the victory that the Warrior gifted them, grateful that the Warrior answered their prayers of protection, valour and skill in battle.

The Piper men stalked towards the Pinkmaiden Castle near the Golden Tooth and the border with the Westerlands. Their loyalty towards the Tully’s unwavering in and out of battle. They make their way home while their faces reflect their words, ‘Brave and Beautiful’.

Other houses marched home, House Endymion, House Deddings, House Teague and others. They were all either matching home or to Riverrun to celebrate. You would try and pay more attention, but you’re too busy to acknowledge each and every men as you’re looking out for your man.

Your silly, crazed, depraved man that, hopefully, still has that shy, tender-hearted, gentle and loving boy inside.

You were just about to turn away, to pack up and return home to see what was left of your family, when you see it.

Three sets of flags, each having a trail of burned, bloodied and beaten soldiers following.

In the middle there rode a man holding the Clement House coat of arms on a large banner, a white flag with for blue, jagged line going down vertically.

They were loyal men of the Tully’s, Defenders of the Riverlands but there is only so much those soldiers can do before they stick their swords through their chest due to the constant bickering of the houses on either side of them.

On the left of House Clement, there was your family. House Bracken. Holding their golden banner with the Carmine coloured Stallion plastered in the middle up high as if they weren’t serving the pretender, the usurper, the loser. They had been defeated, yes. But their life long rivalry with the house over the field seemed to make them forget that.

You finally spotted your brother, Aeron. He looked utterly defeated. But that was in his eyes, his body and mouth concealed his battered condition with a confident facade.

Even from so far away you could tell they were bickering. They always were.

Finally your gaze drifts towards the right of House Clement, to your enemies.

A large, grey Stallion, big hooves, a dark matted mane with bit splotches of white and grey littering it the further you get towards its back legs moved in sync with the others at the front of the House Blackwood line. It was the most beautiful horse you had ever seen, trotting at a slow pace and showing off its regal strut. For being such a big and burley horse, it was quite elegant.

But, as beautiful as the horse was, a god sat atop it. The Maiden herself reincarnated as a Blackwood boy, Man.

Benjicot Blackwood had returned, more a man than those marching. He held his family’s banner up high, displaying their victory.

You smiled and stepped away from the window, running through the halls of the Riverrun. You stood at the front of the gates, greeting men as they trotted in.

All the other houses entered or passed and then finally House Clement entered, the banner men leading the Fyrd.

Next came your house, House Bracken. Your cousins and siblings came boasting in. Upon an auburn horse, your brother chucked the banner to the on foot soldiers and got off his horse.

“Sister!” Aeron shouted as he rushed towards you, “The fucking bitch Queen won, the little fuckers burnt half our house, I’ll fucking kill them.”

“Maybe it is for the best Aeron, we should at least be grateful she hasn’t burnt us to a crisp. And.. I’m glad to have you back brother.” You smiled and pressed a palm to his cheek. He sighs and wraps his arms around you tightly, “I’ve missed you sister, truly. It was horrifying out there, you ever seen a dragon rip a man to shreds? Well, hopefully not. Has everything been alright while we’ve been gone?”

“Of course it has brother, I’m a Bracken after all. A Bracken woman. I know how to handle myself. Now, go inside and show everyone how a Bracken stands tall, even after a loss.”

He smiled at me, tightly nodding. He let of me and started walking inside, catching up with our cousins on the steps.

Finally, finally the Blackwoods came marching. But that large stallion wasn’t matching at the start, Benjicot Blackwood, your Benji was no where to be found in fact.

Panic set in through you. Where had he gone? Had he fled? Had your family hurt him? Your questions were left un-answered as Lady Tully came out.

“Sweetheart, come inside, celebrate.” She spoke to you with great kindness, her hands gripping the sides of your arms and gently pulling you away into the Riverrun.

While the Lady Tully was coercing you inside, Benji was arguing with your uncle, Lord Bracken.

“Your false, usurper, cunt of a ‘king’ has been defeated Lord Bracken, I see no reason why you still think you can act like you have the upper hand.” Benjicot had started to lose his temper.

He had came to Lord Bracken to ask for your hand in marriage, to throw away their rivalries and start a new beginning of joint houses. Of course this was not Benjicot Blackwood speaking, Benjicot Blackwood would rather die than admit this. No, this was Benji speaking. This was the boy who loved a woman speaking.

But as time passed, his new nickname gifted to him in the war came shining through, Bloody Ben came out. He started losing his temper, lashing out at your depraved uncle, calling out his foolishness.

In reality, Benjicot was being just as foolish, lashing out at a Bracken while their large hoard pricks surround him, fucking stupid. But, he had brought Oscar and Kermit Tully alongside him, two long friends of his. So if shit went down, at least they’d die together.

As the bickering continued, both Bracken and Blackwood became increasingly more agitated and aggressive, the two Tully boys standing there like they’re ready to kill them selves and not the men coated in yellow.

“Young Lord Blackwood, do you really think I’d let your tiny Blackwood cock defile my innocent neice?”

Benji huffs, “Lord Bracken, your neice will have the taste of a real man, not a Bracken boy. The gods know we are destined-“ , “You worship the old gods! You will not say the fake gods destine you and her.”

Kermit moves forward, leaning to whisper into Benjicot’s ear, “Ben, maybe we should leave”, Benjicot puts a hand on his chest and softly nudges him away.

“Lord Bracken, rest assured, the old gods and the new know our binding of houses will avoid years of bloodshed in the future-“

Lord Bracken interrupts him, “Why would you want out houses binded? The Blackwood’s hate the Brackens and vice versa, it’s been like that for years, why would you of all people want that? You wish to take a jab at House Bracken while we are at our weakest? Belittle us?-“

“I love her.” Exclaimed Benji, Kermit looked to Oscar and Oscar rolled his eyes, just wanting to sit and feast, tired from the war.

“You know nothing of love, boy.”

Tags: @thethreeeyed-raven @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @tiredsleepyhead @onlyrealjoy

[clockwayswrites]

Both Ways at Once Part 3

wc: 1565, Masterpost

Danny wanted to pace. He wanted to work out the energy and anger burning under his skin by moving. But he couldn’t— he wouldn’t. Red Hood still had a grip on his sleeve and Danny wouldn’t take that grounding point from the other, not when it seemed to help the man so much. Not when Danny knew how bad the separation from one’s haunt hurt.

The touch was also grounding him, Danny could admit that much. He knew that his powers were getting away from him. He knew they were seeping in that way that they did these days, bleeding out and warping pieces of the reality around him. It was more than he wanted to show the Justice League, but he couldn’t keep it all inside. He was spiraling.

Danny took a deep breath and tried to focus.

“It’s alright, Red Hood. You don’t need to stand guard in front of me. They won’t hurt me,” Danny said. At least he hoped they wouldn’t try.

“You are a threat to them.”

Danny shook his head. He could be, of course, but he wouldn’t be. “I’m not.”

Red Hood turned his head, just slightly. Even without seeing the other’s eyes, Danny felt he was being watched. “You didn’t do things their way. That means you’re a threat. They eliminate threats.”

Danny bristled. Not at being called a threat, but because of the picture that painted about Red Hood’s captivity.

“Perhaps we should all have a seat,” Wonder Woman suggested as she took a seat sat the table herself.

Everyone else hesitated a moment, but Danny nudged Red Hood towards a seat and took one across the table from the heroes himself. He held back a sigh as Red Hood chose to stand behind him instead, one gloved hand rested on Danny’s shoulder. It was an improvement, at least.

Batman took the seat to the right of Wonder Woman, and Superman the right of him. They clearly framed the man. John very clearly put himself in the middle of the two groups— both literally and figuratively. Uneven odds, but Danny had faced worse.

“I need the whole story, Constantine,” Danny said, not waiting for one of the others to take charge. His hands were gripped white knuckled together where they rested on the table. He couldn’t keep the thread of anger out of his tone, but he reigned it in as best as possible. “Because from my point of view, I walked in on you all torturing Red Hood in a way that could very well kill him.”

“We don’t kill,” Superman said, puffing up with his pointed words.

Danny stared at him for a long moment before he glanced up at Red Hood. “Is that the way of theirs you went against? The one that made you a threat?”

The hand on his shoulder tightened subtly.

“He’s a murderer,” Superman said, leaning forward as if imparting something important. “He beheaded people to make a point.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny said, crinkling his brows up purposefully in confusion. “Did I ask you anything?”

While Superman looked like he’d sucked on a lemon, Danny turned to Constantine. He knew the shadows were growing around him, lengthening, and he let them this time. “I need the whole story. Now, John.”

John glanced from Danny to the others, cigarette turning restlessly in his fingers. Whatever he saw in the big three, it was enough and he slumped heavily back into is seat. The sigh he heaved was full bodied and he just looked weary suddenly. “Justice League asked me to check something out in Gotham. Which is…”

Danny nodded and motioned for him to go on. Gotham was a cursed city of pretty notorious reputation in the magical community. In general, people of any real power stayed away unless they were up to something very dark. The only ways to operate in Gotham as a proper magic user was to be supported by Gotham’s curses or be supported by Gotham herself, and her favor was rare to earn.

“So I recruited the vigilante known as Red Hood. Not… exactly the one behind you,” John said, motioning with his cigarette. “And by recruited I mean badgered him until I promised to play errand boy for a few things.”

“…and yet you claim you didn’t know he’s a protector spirit?” Danny asked sharply, the words almost hissing with his rage.

“Pomp,” John leaned forward, spreading his hands over the table top. The cigarette barely stayed between his fingers. “I swear to you, in full weight, that I didn’t. Other Red Hood was alive. He reeked of death, but all the Bats do. You do. I went to him since he uses magic, abet dubiously, and is…” John shot a glance at Batman before grimacing. He continued anyways. “He’s a sodding Son of Gotham, alright? His presence at my side let me work in the city.”

Danny sucked in a breath through his teeth. Well fuck.

“How angry is Gotham?”

John shrugged. “That’s… complicated, Pomp. Let me finish the damn story?”

Double fuck. Danny leaned back in his chair and tried to unclench his hands.

“So we go and find the problem,” John continued. “Which of course…”

“Cult.”

“Cult. What else in Gotham, right mate? We fight, Red Hood comes in handy, but then the head fucker shows some serious skills— or paid for some serious skills at least. They go on this rant about undoing what made one what they are today, motioning with this staff. I can only think that it was meant to get rid of how I got my powers, but Red Hood shoves me out of the way and takes the blast to the chest instead. There’s a cloud of magic because the whole cult is showy bastards and when it clears, there’s this Red Hood standing there and also his civilian ID, or at least a version of him. Looks a might bit smaller, mind you.”

“Okay, sure, right,” Danny said. He could feel the headache coming on. “So we’ve got the vigilante and then… who he would have been if he’d never been a vigilante?”

Danny swore Batman shifted at that.

Batman never shifted.

Danny was about to call him out when Wonder Woman cleared her throat and leaned forward. She rested a deceptively delicate hand on Batman’s arm. “No, before he was Red Hood, he was a Robin.”

“What it changed,” Red Hood explained, voice rough even for the modulation, “Is if we died. I still did. I feel it. I’m the Robin that died.”

Even Batman didn’t manage to hide his flinch at that.

Triple fuck.

-----

AN: Surprisingly, Danny hasn't gone off yet! And we're starting to get more answers! Kinda? Somewhat. Now I wonder what that other version is doing...

Stay delightful, darlings!

I no longer tag people, but you can subscribe to the Masterpost instead to be notified!

[wosoragebaiter69]

tears streaming down your face

barça femeni x reader, lena oberdorf x reader

request: here

A/N: please tumblr gods, stop giving me sicknesses i write about in sickfics. i am TIRED.

also the the requester i changed it a lil bit - hope it makes you happy (do not ask how this would work, this is fiction. this does not make sense in any reality tbh)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

As soon as you go down, you know what it is. The worst injury any footballer could imagine. Then, out of nowhere Lena Oberdorf (the defender marking you) can’t seem slow down and when she tries she trips over your good leg. Groaning as her knee hits the ground with a pop. Similar to yours.

Your faces are near each other, both silently empathising with each other when a rush of blaugrana swarms the area. Alexia sensing what your injury could be already.

“Is it?” She doesn’t want to say it, nobody ever wants to hear those letters.

“I think so, Ale I don’t want this please.” You sob, climbing into her lap.

“I know, I know. Deep breathes, you’ll get through this.” You do as told then you hear commotion to the right of you where Lena lays. You listen to the accented angry voices of Claudia and Patri.

“Ay, stop being dramatic. You literally tripped over her now you’re pretending to be hurt? Estúpida.”

“You are telling me you could not stop? Lies.”

As you’re about to tell them to stop, Wolfsburg players have shoved the spaniards away from their hurt teammate. Alex does the same with Lena as Alexia does to you.

Players around and above you are shoving each other and in your opinion it’s all too much. You’re overstimulated, in pain and all you want to do is cry. It seems Alexia notices this.

“Aye, Barça why don’t you be responsible and leave so that both medical teams can come over and do what’s needed for the players.” Her voice is her stern and the German captain agrees telling off her players as well.

When the crowd has gone, medical teams swarm and do the necessary on field tests, both ultimately asking for stretchers. Not a good sign.

You send a small sad smile to Obi, an understanding between you two. No bad blood or anything.

You part ways into seperate areas and get given the rundown. They suspect it’s the ACL, but scans will be needed to determine how bad it is and what type of surgery needs to be done.

You’re deflated, 9-10 months of recovery sounds horrific. They give you crutches, and put ice on your knee allowing you to watch the rest of the match in the stands. When you make it out, the young German is there as well, looking equally as tired.

“So, the three letters?” You ask, focusing on the match.

“Yeah, you?” You nod, sighing.

“It’s all apart of the game, it sucks that we have to miss so much though.”

“Yeah, it really does. Also before I forget, sorry. I didn’t mean to trip over you.”

“Hey, I know you didn’t. Maybe after our surgeries we could meet up sometime.” She stares at you.

“Would you come to Germany?”

“I’ve always loved Germany, it’s so nice there. So yes, I would.” Her eyes light up.

“So this hangout… is it like- a date orrr.” You laugh at her nervousness.

“Do you want it to be?”

“Yes.”

“Then it is, probably shouldn’t tell the teammates about this though. Not just yet, after nearly giving you another injury themselves.” You smile sadly at her, feeling guilty for your friends actions.

“Yeah, if I wasn’t in so much pain I probably would’ve yelled back. But you know I was also held down by a certain scary yet very nice woman.” You agree with that statement. Alexia is the same.

You both talk for the rest of the game and exchange numbers at the end with a promise to see each other soon.

- - - - -

You get confirmation of the rupture later that day, and told that in about a week you would go through surgery.

Alexia has essentially forced you to stay with her because she knows what it’s like and she knows the rabbit holes you could go in. She tries her hardest and you respect that.

She makes you come to training, not for you to watch them but for them to watch you. Jana stays with you in the gym working on her own recovery.

She makes jokes and makes the long week a bit easier, you’re also on your phone a lot. The others think it’s your way of distracting yourself… but it’s not particularly you that’s distracting yourself.

More like a certain Wolfsburg player.

Lena had been good, it was also confirmed for her and she had her surgery as soon as she was back in Germany.

Things were going well, and in 2 weeks there should be another game between your teams and in Germany. Which should be fun.

- - - - -

It’s the day after your ACL surgery, it went well and now you’re hobbling around sad, annoyed and in pain. Some of the team was at Alexia’s house trying to cheer you up but you didn’t even know what you wanted.

Out of nowhere Frido and Ingrid pull you up from the couch saying nothing other than.

“We’re taking her, bye!”

You follow them slowly into Frido’s car and sit in the backseat.

“What is it?” You ask the Scandi’s.

“Hmm don’t think we haven’t seen you messaging on your phone a lot. Do not forget we have also played at Wolfsburg.” Oh, they knew. Of course they did.

“So, tell us everything. Are you coming to Germany with us?” Ingrid asks after Fridolina.

“It was my plan, yes. Also, the thing with Lena is new. I just don’t want to mess up. I think my feelings are growing stronger so I want to do what’s right.”

“Ahh, young love.” The Norwegian says dramatically putting a hand to her chest.

“Ingrid didn’t you nearly go to jail for threatening a man trying to hit on your girlfriend.” Frido snickers at your comment.

“Frido, you are in love with a MAN. Please.” The silence is loud as you laugh at yourself.

“Kid I will murder you.” The blonde says.

“Nooo you’d have an angry German to deal with and their language is already angry enough. Then Ale would cook you.”

She hums in agreement, before conversation turns normal and light, filled with laughter.

- - - - -

You’re in the stadium waiting for the game to start, sitting next to Lena. Talk is small, about recovery and everything in between. It’s comforting to know that someone near you is also going through the same thing.

As the game progresses, so does your chatter. You make plans for afterwards, going to a small restaurant she liked.

By the end of the game, your hands are sealed together and as the final whistle blows, you kiss her cheek and walk to the field.

Maybe this journey for recovery won’t be so lonely.

—————————————————————————

i lost my first cricket match… this one girl can’t catch a ball and does nothing 💀 how is she on the team

also this won’t be a 2 parter because i have no motivation ❤️

[keikikait]

ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀꜱ (ɢᴏᴊᴏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: gojo x f!reader (not au, gojo is 29, reader is early-mid 20’s)

word count: 2.6k

summary: you always wanted to be a teacher, even after discovering the jujutsu world. after graduating from kyoto jujutsu high, you decided to make your dreams a reality and teach at the sister school, tokyo jujutsu high. the only downside (and secret upside), is your teaching mentor, satoru gojo. what started as a few flirtatious glances turned into a full-blown relationship situationship. you were his, and he was yours, until he goes on a date.

warnings: (FOR THIS PART) angst?, plot with basically no porn (i’m sorry), gojo is kind of an asshole & a tease, implied dom!gojo and sub!reader, nickname use [baby, pretty girl], no use of y/n  

a note: been sitting on this bad boy for a while and decided to finish it. more parts to come (eventually). also, the comment about flirty baristas is just for fluff, baristas don’t flirt with customers (source: i am one). also also, they say tokyo jujutsu high is on the outskirts of tokyo, but i wanted everything to be inside of tokyo so i just kinda guessed, whoops.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You were just his teaching assistant. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what everyone else thinks.

Secretly, you were his. After long hours, he would find solace in your arms as you lay in bed together. 

You weren’t dating by any means, although you wanted to. You understood why, it wouldn’t be a good look for you or Gojo if the higher-ups found out about you, but you both had an understanding. You were exclusive, just not publicly. You followed his rules, turning down dates and avoiding the flirtatious gazes of baristas or waiters.

You thought he would follow his own rules, too.

It was supposed to be a fun trip; a peaceful eight days of relaxing in Nikko before returning to school after the winter break ended. In reality, it was a week and some change stuck in a log cabin hunched over a desk grading papers, freezing from the cold. The gender-segregated cabins didn’t help. It was too cold to venture into Nikko during the day, a thick layer of snow covering the ground at all times no matter how much was shoveled. It was also, as Gojo had pointed out the day before making the trip, suspicious for the two of you to venture into the city alone. It was twice as hard to be away from him at night, you had gotten so accustomed to sleeping in his arms and hearing his soft snores in your ear. You were lonely.

You could see him, though. The men’s cabin was bigger and had a massive irori in the middle that heated the entire place. You sat with him as you graded and planned lessons, and his teasing touches left you aching. You were going on 8 days without his dick, and you were dying.

As you sit hunched over the desk, trying to make out what Yuji had written on his worksheet, Shoko bounds up to the table, sliding into a chair opposite Gojo. 

“Hey, Gojo,” she says. “Are you going to the winter festival when we get back?”

You tried not to react. You had begged him to go with you, but he always gave you the same excuse; it was suspicious.

He stretches his legs out a bit and smirks. “I was planning on stopping by. Why?”

Shoko smiles. “I have this friend, Himiko. She’s new to the city and was looking for a date for the festival. I’ve been telling her all about you, I honestly think you would be an amazing match. What do you say?”

You feel your heart drop to your stomach. Although you and Gojo had agreed to stay exclusive, you couldn’t ignore that he was Satoru Gojo. Everyone wanted him.

Gojo chuckles a little, adjusting his mask. “Sure. I don’t see why not. Is she cute?”

Shoko leans over the table and shows him Himiko’s social media while you keep your head down, staring at the pile of worksheets in front of you.

You keep grading, trying to focus on your work and not the feeling of your heart tearing in two. Gojo continues laughing and talking to Shoko, their conversation drowned out by your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You wish you could ignore your jealousy, but it’s hard to ignore the anxiety creeping up your spine at the thought of Gojo finding someone else, especially if he could go public with them.

You know his reputation; the ladies' man, the bachelor. The guy no one can catch. But you know the real Gojo, the one that stays over at your small apartment even though he has his own, bigger place. The one that cuddles you every morning and whines when you try to get up and get ready.

You don’t know this Gojo. You felt like strangers.

For the rest of the day, you kept to yourself, grading papers and reading books to try to drown out the thoughts. He isn’t even looking at you when you leave the men’s cabin and head back to your own. You and the rest of the staff leave Nikko tonight, and you have one more day of freedom back in Tokyo before the new term begins.

You pack up your stuff and wait outside the bus, shoving your suitcase into the undercarriage. A headcount is done before you all start piling onto the bus. You sit in the back, pressed up against the frost-covered window. Headphones in and music blaring, you only look up from your phone when you feel someone warm sit next to you.

You’re a little surprised when you look up to see Gojo getting comfortable next to you. He didn’t sit next to you on the ride to Nikko, he sat up at the front with Shoko and Akari, claiming it would be suspicious if you sat together. He leans closer, so close that you can almost feel his breath on your neck. Then he grabs your arm, moving your headphones out of your ear.

“Don’t wear these in public,” he says in a low voice, “Someone might grab you from behind and pull you into the crowd.” He leans into you and whispers, “I almost missed you sitting back here.”

You should be mad, but you can’t be. His smell fills your nostrils and you feel yourself succumbing to him. You smile softly. “You didn’t, though.”

"I didn't." He leans back and sighs, resting his hands behind his head and stretching his arms out. You enjoy the warmth coming from him, the way it spreads through you. "What do you want to do when we get back home? We can head out to a bar and grab a drink. Or we could go get some ramen from that place you like. Or we can just go back to your place and we can spend some…quality time together.”

You bite your lip a little. You’re normally a little feral when it comes to Gojo, but going without his touch for eight days has almost sent you into a frenzy. “I like the sound of that last one…”

Gojo laughs and squeezes your hand, running his thumb along your knuckles. "And how bad do you want it?" He leans in closer until his face is inches away from yours. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in the air. "How badly do you miss me, baby?"

You can hardly think straight. Your mind is telling you to push him off, to stay upset with him for accepting that date with Shoko’s friend, whatever her name was. But your heart, and more importantly your pussy, is telling you differently.

Your mouth feels like cotton, but you manage to say, “So badly, Gojo. I’ve been aching without you. These past eight days have been driving me crazy.”

Gojo chuckles and traces your chin with his fingers, leaning even closer as his face towers over yours. "You missed me, huh? My pretty girl didn’t do so good without me, did she?" He strokes your cheek gently, smiling as you lean into his touch, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin. "Say it. Tell me what you've been wanting to tell me for the last eight days, what you didn't want to say in front of everyone."

The bus suddenly lurches and you remember where you are, on a cramped bus surrounded by your coworkers. You look around, nervous, hoping nobody caught you guys.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Gojo asks. He grabs your chin and turns you to face him. “Look at me.”

You do, nodding softly. You can’t see his eyes, but you can still feel him staring into your soul. “I am looking.”

“Then answer my question.” He says, dragging his thumb across your lips. You can hardly think straight already being this close to him, but the feeling of his thumb on your mouth is mind-numbing. 

“I missed you,” you whimper. It’s been a long eight days since you last felt his touch, since you last felt his breath on your skin. As he continues to stroke your lip with his thumb, you feel your mind melt away into a puddle. His touch is like a drug, and you’re desperate to not end this feeling.

“I know you have.” He coos, moving his hand down as someone up by the front gets up from their seat to change positions. He waits until they sit down before speaking again, “I’ve missed you too.”

You sink further into the seat, hoping no one looks towards the back. The bus ride isn’t super long, only about two and a half hours. Maybe no one would think to check on you two until you made it back to Tokyo.

He reaches over and turns your face towards him again. “But that’s not all, is it?” His thumb glides across your neck, his eyes under his mask flicking between your own and your lips. You can’t look away. You don’t want to. “What else have you been thinking about?”

You gulp, your mouth dry. "It's been so hard without you. It's hard to fall asleep...and I've barely gotten any sleep here because I stay up all night thinking about you."

"You have?" His eyes search your face as his thumb strokes the length of your neck. "I haven't had the best sleep either. I kept thinking about you, about how much I missed you. Thinking about all of the things I wanted to do to you when I got back." He takes a deep breath, his eyes flicking to your lips, his breath coming out in hot puffs of air. "You make it so hard for me to have self-control. Do you know how hard it is to jerk off with Masamichi and Kiyotaka nearby?"

You nod, understanding him completely. You had tried to touch yourself, too, hoping that your fingers would feel the same but it felt weird to do it with Shoko and Akari in the same cabin. “I know. I haven’t cum since we left Tokyo.”

He hears the soft whine in your voice and grins. "You’re so tempting," His breath washes over you as he whispers those words in your ear. His hands trail from your neck to your cheek, his thumb brushing along your jawline. "Do you know what I want to do with you when we get to your place? What I'm thinking about doing to you right now?"

The bus takes a sharp turn going down the mountain and it snaps both of you back to reality for a second. 

You notice his hands still on you. Gojo notices too and grins, removing his hands with a sigh. He leans back into the seat. "Sorry," he says, running his hands through his hair. "I was a little carried away there." He chuckles. "We have a while before the bus arrives. I think maybe I should go to the front before I do anything stupid."

You go to protest but he’s already gone, striding to the front of the bus effortlessly as it rocks side to side, plopping himself next to Akari. You sit there, your body still feeling the heat of his hands, his words still ringing in your ears. You sink deeper into the seat as you try to calm down. You watch him for a while, seeing how he talks and laughs with Akari and Shoko and the way he never glances back toward you. 

You feel like a stranger to him, yet he’s the one who’s supposed to be yours. You were supposed to be together, even though your situation is less than ideal. The bus rocks back and forth, its engines humming quietly. You lean your head back against the seat, letting out a deep sigh. Your mind races, wondering how Gojo acts when you're not around. Did he only accept this date with Himiko to make Shoko happy? Why wasn't it ever you that made him happy?

You sniffle, blinking away the tears as you pull down the food tray and prop your phone up. You put on your favourite movie, hoping the familiar faces of the characters will distract you until you reach Tokyo. Occasionally you look up at him, hoping you’ll catch his eye before he goes back to his conversation but you don’t. He doesn’t look at you once.

The movie sucks you in like it has many times before. You don’t notice how fast time is moving, silver-tipped mountains giving way to serene towns and stretched farmland. It’s late, almost 1 am, and as soon as you feel yourself starting to fall asleep you feel the bus stop and hear the driver announce your arrival, right in front of Tokyo Jujutsu High.

You look over to see him already heading off of the bus with Shoko and Akari, heading in the direction of Kabukicho, laughing about an inside joke you’ll never be a part of. You grab your bag from the undercarriage and head to the train to head back to your apartment in Taito-Ku.

The train is packed full of tired salarymen and high school students, none of whom bother you. Your thoughts drift to Gojo as the train shakes and shudders its way back home. When the train finally reaches Taito-Ku’s station, you exit the train and head down the stairs, stepping out into the frozen city. You walk to your apartment and head inside, shutting the door to your small, solitary room.

You lie awake, hoping he’ll call you, or even show up at your front door drunk. It wouldn’t be the first time. The minutes turn into hours, your eyes shifting rapidly as you glance between your phone and the door. You start to wonder if he’s thinking about you as much as you’re thinking about him right now. And what he’s thinking. You glance at your clock. 2:57 AM.

You shouldn’t feel disappointed, but you do. He could’ve at least texted you and told you he would be out with his friends for the night instead of being curled up with you watching a cooking show. You’re his, but you’re not his girlfriend. He has no obligation to do anything with you, really, but you wish he would. You wish he cared enough to want to.

Your eyes glance back toward your phone and you hesitate. You mumble a curt fuck before picking it up and calling him. The phone is ice cold against your cheek as it rings. You wonder what your contact name is on his phone. Your name? Your name and a heart? Or is it just your number, unsaved?

He answers and you can hear faint music in the background. “Hey, baby.”

You smile a little, biting your lip. “Hi. I just wanted to see if you were coming over tonight.”

You hear him groan a little, but you don’t know if it’s out of annoyance with you or how late it is. “Yeah, I was planning on it. But uh, Shoko brought her friend tonight, Himiko. The one I’m going to the festival with.”

You nearly choke on your spit. The way he was so casual about his date with Himiko made you feel sick. “Oh, did she?”

“Yeah, baby. How are you though-” His words are interrupted by a female voice in the background begging for him to come back inside. “Uh, listen, I gotta go. I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Okay, I-” The call ends, your phone beeping at you as he hangs up. You set your phone aside, face down, as you lay back on your bed. 

You feel ashamed as you cry. Gojo isn’t your boyfriend, and he has a reputation to uphold with his colleagues. You should be fine with it, but you aren’t, and it kills you. You bury your face in your pillow as you sob, hoping one day you and Gojo can stop being strangers.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part two is here

[thrashkink-coven]

Special reminder to all the new Luciferians that forgot that he is the adversary, yeah, he’s gonna fuck with you FOR FUN.

If you’ve been working with Lucifer for a week or so and have started getting “conflicting” messages, you are not alone 😩. Lucifer loves to test us, he loves to see how deep our values go. He will purposely say things you disagree with or it would seem like he would disagree with just to fuck with you. This dude LOVES to debate.

For example, a large part of my relationship with Lucifer involved coming to terms with my neurodivergency. For weeks we were working on accepting my limits, being aware of my disorders and having patience for myself. But during a meditation I got the very strong message from him “People with mental illnesses are just looking for an excuse to be lazy”

and I was like ????? what the fuck???? No they’re not??? You fucking idiot???? Who am I talking to right now???? And he was like “yes and anyone who claims to have a disorder without a diagnosis are just looking for attention. Prove me wrong if you think differently”

and I blew up, providing so many arguments for why he’s wrong and why that stance is so stupid, and eventually after a while he was like “Hm… that’s interesting. I guess you’re right. Now that we’ve established this I guess we won’t need entertain the idea anymore”

and any time after that, when I was having self doubts, maybe I’m just faking it for attention, maybe I’m just lazy, Lucifer has been like “OH! So I guess I WAS right!” and I’ve been like NOOO!!!!!! YOURE WRONG!!! THE ENTIRE IDEA IS STUPID AND I WONT LET YOU TELL ME OTHERWISE!!!

and Lucifer will then be like “Oh, good then. Don’t let you tell you otherwise either”.

He will press your boundaries, even if only to make sure YOU know where your boundaries are. When writing a spell together Lucifer has been like “yes, we will also need to sacrifice a cat”

and I’ve been like “wtf no we’re not sacrificing a cat why the hell would I do that”

and he’s responded “Because I said so. You will obey my order without question.” (again, extremely out of character, this is a test’!)

until I finally put my foot down and say “I don’t care who or what you are, doing this goes against my core values and I will not abandon those for you or anyone. With all due respect I refuse to do this task”

and Lucifer will be like “I’m just fucking with you, I really liked the way you stood your ground against me though, that was very hot”

and for even less obvious things, Lucifer will test you. He wants to know why you think the things you think. We recently had a very long conversation about the concept of Pedophilia. Super uncomfortable, a conversation I didn’t know we’d ever have, but it was important. He starts by asking me if pedophilia is wrong. Um what??? Obviously???

“Why is it wrong? Explain your reasoning.”

Well because it hurts kids.

“What about non offending pedophiles? What about pre offending reformed pedophiles?”

You don’t have to have the answer to those questions, but you must understand that the answers to those questions matter, even though they are incredibly uncomfortable. Are there evil people? Do evil people deserve empathy? What is an evil person? I don’t like thinking about that, that’s the reason why I don’t have an answer. Lucifer will force you to come to that answer.

“How do we conduct a society where we prevent pedophiles from hurting children without creating another form of discrimination? Do you believe pedophiles deserve empathy? Do they deserve to die? How do we deal with murderers and rapists without becoming murderers and rapists ourselves? How do you console yourself with the reality that some people genuinely enjoy evil things? If you were the Emperor of Hell, how would you manage all the most wicked people who have ever lived? Why is incest bad? Why is murder bad? Do racists deserve to die? Do war criminals deserve to die? Who should be allowed to determine who deserves to die? How far does your empathy extend to people who have done horrible things? How does your moral compass navigate these complex scenarios? What is right and what is wrong? Why do you believe the things you believe?”

There will be times when it seems like he’s trying to do everything in his power to just disagree with you. It’ll seem like he’s leading you to argue with him, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’ll ask you questions that should seem like common sense. He’s establishing that not only is it okay to disagree with him, but that at times, he will force you to, to ensure that you are not deriving your own personal values from “whatever God tells you”. He will lie to you, just to see if you’re able to identity a lie. He will say things that he obviously doesn’t believe, only to hear why YOU don’t believe it. It’s important to be firm on your boundaries even if your God is pushing them. You should not be afraid to disagree. You should not be afraid to disobey if it is important to you. Lucifer is not a Shepard and you are not a sheep. You need to understand your own morality alone, without God, without a cheat sheet telling you the answers. and you need to be firm on those. To the point that if God Himself told you differently, you wouldn’t budge.

So if you’ve started working with him recently and are confused as to why he suddenly started saying things you disagree with, investigate what he may be trying to get across. You’ll learn a lot more about yourself.

[sad-drake-lyrics]

what my 65yo father has to say about antis:

let me preface this by saying, i literally wish i had what just happened on video to go viral on TikTok. i was shook by this conversation down to my bones; and if you could see my father - a loud old Italian man with dramatic hand gestures - say what he had to say, i think this shit would blow up. but as i was obviously not filming him while we were eating, i will have to relay to you the story with my words.

so i'm sitting eating dinner at the coffee table with my father while watching TV, as Americans often do instead of eating at the dinner table, and since the news was on he started telling me this story that had been recently mentioned on TV once again from maybe ten years ago (it was in 2014, you can read about it here) where these two 12-year-old girls killed one of their friends as a sacrifice to the Slender Man. yeah, real thing. fucked up.

and so my father told me about how they interviewed one of the killer's mothers, and when questioned about where her daughter's motive could've come from, she said something along the lines of: you know, when i was a kid, i was into Stephen King and horror - and so when my kid was into that kind of stuff, i didn’t think it was a big deal.

so, of course, my response was "yeah, being into that stuff isn’t a big deal at all - it's normal - but being a sociopath and murdering someone is not normal; it's fucked up. but there's nothing wrong with being into horror stories - they're just stories meant to entertain - it doesn't make you a murderer to enjoy Halloween - but it would if you put on a Michael Myers mask and went out and stabbed people." and, of course, like any sane person, my father agreed with me.

then, continuing this line of conversation, i started talking about the concept of how "fiction isn’t reality," and how a frightening amount of people don't understand that; and i literally started telling him about antis - people on the internet who attack and harass others over "problematic" or "inappropriate" fictional interests.

i used well-known pop culture examples like: if you're into Game of Thrones and like Jaime and Cersei together or wanted Jon and Daenerys to end up together (i didn't think he would process the term "shipping," but clearly by the end of this conversation i think i was wrong), that people (antis) will say things like "you should die," and that you "support inc*st in real life," and that "you're disgusting."

i also used the examples of "toxic relationships" in pop culture, like the Joker and Harley Quinn, or Kylo Ren and Rey, and how if you’re into those kinds of fictional relationships that people (antis) will say that you "support toxic relationships," and that you are "glorifying abuse," and that it all "must be what you really want and believe is right or good."

and my fucking 65-year-old father literally goes: "I don’t understand. It’s a TV show. Don't they know it’s fake?"

queue my jaw dropping to the fucking ground because i'm like. YES. THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT PRO-SHIPPERS ARE TRYING TO SAY AND THESE PEOPLE DON'T GET IT.

he was flabbergasted, my pals. the shock in his eyes was incredible to behold.

and, oh boy, that isn't even the best part, guys.

my father then says, "Don’t tell me it’s like that with anime too?"

and i said, "it's worse with anime."

and i fucking swear to you - no joke, on my life and baby Jesus' cradle - again my 65-year-old father looks at me and says, “It’s a fucken cartoon."

... ... ...

... i can't ...

i can't end this post better than that.