#it refuses to admit how much they like it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rmview · 2 days ago

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they beg to be taken back, SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — a reaction of how the stray kids boys realize they can’t live without you, and come to beg you for a second chance!

contents — angst, mentions of fights, possible reconciliation.

bang ♢ chan

bang chan had always been composed, the leader who held everyone together. but when you broke up with him, the cracks in his armor showed. he respected your decision and convinced himself that it was for the best, despite the emptiness growing unbearable.

he wasn’t himself since and the people around him began to notice. the usual spark in his eyes dimmed, and the weight of your absence felt suffocating. he replayed the last argument over and over in his head, agonizing over what he could’ve done differently. but as much as he respected your decision, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to try, just one more time, to fight for what you both had.

it was late when he showed up at your doorstep, his hand hovering over the doorbell. when you answered, you were more than surprised to see him standing there, his shoulders slightly hunched as if he was carrying the weight of the world. his hair was disheveled, eyes rimmed red. he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“chan? what are you doing here?” the nickname slipped from your lips almost too easily and you suppressed the urge to recoil. being around him — being his, was too easy. even with the two months apart, one look into his eyes was all it took for everything to come rushing back.

“i… i needed to see you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly and his australian accent slightly thicker, which was a sign of his nervousness. “i know you said that it’s over, but i can’t accept it — not without trying to make things right.”

you felt something in your chest lurch, and for a few moments you were rendered speechless. a large part of you wanted to forget the fight and what lead up to it, but the smaller part of you kept reminding you of how alone he made you feel despite being together. “we’ve already talked about this. you need to let me go. i... i don’t want to go back to feeling the way i did.”

he shook his head, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “i can’t just let you go,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “i know i messed up. i wasn’t there for you when you needed me most, i treated you like another responsibility, and i hate myself for it. but please, give me a chance to prove that i can do better. i can’t lose you like this.”

“chan…” you looked away, your heart breaking at the vulnerability in his voice. your own eyes blurred with tears and you tried to blink them away.

“i know i’m asking a lot,” he continued, taking a tentative step closer. his hands itched with the need to reach out for your waist; the feeling of your skin under his palms a muscle memory. “but i love you. i love you more than anything, and i can’t imagine my life without you in it. tell me what i need to do, and i’ll do it. just… don’t give up on us.”

his desperation was raw and unfiltered, and it was clear that he’d spent every waking moment thinking about this moment. whether you took him back or not, he was determined to fight for you until the very end.

felix ♢

felix was a wreck after the breakup. the ever-present sunshine in his personality dimmed, replaced by a quiet sadness that the others noticed but didn’t know how to fix. he replayed the moments leading up to your decision endlessly, wondering where he went wrong. no matter how hard he tried to respect your choice and acknowledge his mistakes, his heart refused to let it go.

one rainy evening, he found himself standing in the reception office of your workplace while soaked to the bone. he didn’t care that the receptionist was eyeing him in annoyance for dripping on the floors, or that he looked homeless from his red-rimmed eyes and masked face. when you finally made your way down after a call from your superiors, you were shocked.

“felix? what the hell?” you whisper-yelled, your voice laced with concern despite the shock as you grasped his arms to lead him to the bathrooms instead of the ac-blasting reception so he wouldn’t get sick.

“i had to see you,” he said, his voice trembling. both from the cold and his overwhelming feelings. “i couldn’t just… let it end like that.”

you sighed, grasping his freezing hands in yours and holding it under the hot air of the hand drier, not caring that you were in the men’s room. felix couldn’t care less either as he momentarily basked in the feeling of your soft hands in his after so long. “i know i hurt you, and i hate myself for it. but i can’t let you go without telling you how much you mean to me.”

“and you thought this was the smartest way to do it? by getting yourself sick?” you shook your head, trying to keep your emotions in check. he broke your heart, you tried to remind yourself to keep yourself steely. it didn’t work.

“i know i made mistakes,” he continued, his voice breaking as he sniffled and you avoided his gaze and chalked it up to the cold. “i wasn’t there for you the way i should have been. but you… you’re everything to me. you’re the reason i smile, the reason i wake up in the morning. please, tell me how to fix this.”

his vulnerability was heart-wrenching and you felt your own eyes blur through your silence. felix didn’t look away from you the entire time, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “i’ll do anything, anything to make things right. just… don’t walk away from me. from us.”

as the rain continued to pour outside, felix stood there, baring his soul to you. he wasn’t just asking for forgiveness — he was offering every piece of himself, hoping it would be enough to convince you to take him back.

lee ♢ know

lee know was stubborn by nature, and after the breakup, he tried to convince himself he didn’t need anyone. he put on a brave face around the others, burying himself in practice and work. taking on excess time to keep his mind off you worked for a while, but even then every time he went home to the empty silence of his apartment, your absence hit him like a freight train.

his members began to notice his stubbornness and attempt to dismiss your relationship, giving him the space he needed as they hoped he’d work through it. but it began to become clear he was taking the ostrich’s way out — burying his head in the sand and pretending everything was fine.

it took weeks for him to swallow his pride and realize he didn’t want to deal with the emptiness anymore. the fight was so stupid and you were the love of his life, so why weren’t you together right now?

he wasn’t one to beg, but losing you was something he slowly realized he couldn’t bear. and so one evening after heavy contemplation, he found himself standing outside your apartment door, clutching his phone in one hand and a small bouquet of your favorite flowers in the other.

when you opened the door, you paused and your eyes widened in surprise. your treacherous heart missed a beat and you attempted to school your expression to normal. “minho? what are you doing here?”

“i, uh, i needed to see you,” he said, his usual cool demeanor replaced with a hesitance you rarely saw.

your mind flashed with the hurtful words he threw at you during the argument and you crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “i thought we agreed that separating was for the best.”

“maybe i thought so at first,” he admitted, his voice soft but firm. “but i don’t think i can do this anymore. i can’t pretend that i’m okay being without you because i’m not.”

“minho…” you started, looking away as you didn’t know what to say.

“i know i don’t say it enough,” he interrupted, his gaze dropping to the ground. “but i love you. i loved you then, and i love you now. and i hate that i let you go without fighting for you. i hate that i was so stupid.”

“you hurt me,” you said, a slight wobble in your voice that you attempted to mask with by clearing your throat softly. but the hurt in your eyes was hard to miss. “i can’t just forget that.”

“i know,” he said, stepping closer. he put the flowers down on the floor by your feet as he took your hands in his, his palms warm. “and i don’t expect you to. but i want to make it up to you. i’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again. because i mean it when i say i won’t make the same mistakes again.”

he squeezed your palms softly, bringing your fingers up to his lips. “i know i’m not the best at showing how much you mean to me. but you do — more than anything. and if there’s even the smallest part of you that still feels the same way, please… give me another chance.”

it wasn’t easy for lee know to open up like this, but the thought of losing you for good outweighed his fear of vulnerability and hesitance. whether or not you decided to take him back, he was determined to show you just how much you meant to him.

hyun ♢ jin

hyunjin wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but the breakup managed to shatter the carefully built walls around his emotions. he threw himself into his art and practice, hoping it would drown out the ache in his chest. but no matter how many brushstrokes he painted or routines he perfected, nothing could fill the void you’d left behind.

while hoping to take a walk on evening , hyunjin mindlessly ended up walking into your favorite park, the place where you’d spent countless nights talking about dreams and fears. as usual, you were there sitting on the same bench you’d share, a book on your lap but your mind and gaze were elsewhere.

hyunjin stood there for a few moments, unable to look away until your wandering gaze settled on him. you paused, startled to see him there, his usually confident posture replaced by a tentative nervousness as he slowly walked to you.

“hyunjin?” you looked up at him, unsure if you should address him in public since your relationship was over. he was dressed in black, a mask covering the bottom half of his face, but you recognized him immediately.

he hesitated for aa moment before he sat down beside you, a small bittersweet smile tugging at his lips even though you couldn’t see it. “i wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he admitted.

“i didn’t know you’d be here either,” you replied cautiously, fidgeting with your book in your lap. would you have come if you knew? maybe, maybe not.

he took a deep breath, his gaze locking onto you even though you wouldn’t look back at him. “i just... i needed to see you. i can’t keep pretending i’m okay with this when i’m not.”

“hyunjin, we’ve already talked about this…”

“i know,” he interrupted, his voice heavy with emotion. “but i can’t let it end like this. i know i hurt you really bad, and i hate myself for it every day. i thought i was protecting you from this life and me, but all i did was push you away.”

your fingers softly tightened around the book, trying to calm yourself against the raw emotion in his voice. “it’s not that simple.”

“i know it’s not,” he said, scooting slightly closer. he couldn’t take his eyes off you. you were so pretty. “but i love you. i’ve always loved you, even when i was too scared to show it. and if there’s even a small part of you that still cares about me and what we had, then please… let me try to fix this.”

his voice broke as he added, “i’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if i have to. just… don’t give up on us. not yet.”

you finally looked up at him and your breath hitched at the proximity. the vulnerability in hyunjin’s eyes was almost too much for you to bear. he wasn’t just asking for forgiveness — he was offering every piece of himself, hoping it would be enough to convince you to give him one last chance. he wouldn’t lose you again.

i.n ♢

jeongin had never experienced heartbreak like this before. the breakup ended up hitting him harder than he ever thought possible. he spent days replaying the fight you both had in his head, wondering how he could’ve done things differently. his hyungs tried their best to cheer him up, but their efforts only seemed to highlight the emptiness he felt without you.

you were his first relationship, his first kiss, his first love and the woman he thought he’d marry some day. he’d questioned his success as an idol, he’d question his talents — but the lifetime of your relationship was one thing he never had to question. so to have that one dream shattered was more than the average heartbreak. jeongin would probably never date again.

only nine days had passed since you left, and after those 200 hours, jeongin couldn’t take it anymore. he knew your schedule in and out, and he knew exactly where you’d be on a weekend evening at 5.

he showed up at your favorite café, the place where you’d spent countless afternoons together and took a seat at the very booth you’d always sit at, counting down the minutes to when you’ll show up.

so when you walked in and spotted him sitting at your usual table, his nervous smile and the familiar warmth in his eyes caught you off guard.

“jeongin?” you asked cautiously as you approached, looking around the almost empty area. “what are you doing here?”

he stood up quickly, his hands fidgeting as he spoke, wanting to reach out to you. “hi. i… i wasn’t sure if you’d come here today, but i had to take the chance.”

you hesitated, unsure of what to say. it had barely been over a week since your breakup. “what do you want?”

“i want to apologize,” he said earnestly, his voice quiet but steady. he had already made up his mind. “and to ask for another chance.”

“jeongin, we already talked about this,” you replied, shaking your head softly. the argument was still fresh in your mind and you didn’t plan to give in anytime soon. yet one look into his puppy-like eyes was all it took. damn.

“i know that,” he said quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “but i can’t just let it end the way it did. i know i hurt you, and i know i wasn’t the boyfriend you deserved, but i want to make it right. i need to make it right.”

you sighed, hesitantly sitting down across from him. “it’s not that easy.”

“i know it’s not,” jeongin said, his gaze earnest. he was not going to leave without you. “but i love you. and i’ll do whatever it takes to prove that to you. i’ve been thinking about everything i did wrong, and i promise, i’ll be better. just… don’t shut me out completely. you don’t have to take me back now, but know i’m not going to let this be the end of us.”

his voice softened as he added, “i know i’m asking for a lot, but please… let me show you how much you mean to me. even if it seems a little too late.”

you found yourself softening against your will. jeongin’s sincerity was palpable, and the quiet determination in his eyes made it clear that he wasn’t giving up on you. whether or not you decided to take him back, he was willing to do whatever it took to make amends.

han ♢

han had always been known for his bright energy, and the way he could light up a room with his laughter. but ever since the breakup, his spark was gone and it became glaringly obvious. the jokes came less frequently, and the music he created sounded hollow, even to him. he missed you, missed the comfort of your presence and the way you always seemed to understand him when no one else could.

his group members had tried to give him the time and space he needed, since your relationship was long-term and impactful. you had been by han’s side since before stray kids, and the loss of your presence in his life was something all 7 of them combined couldn’t match up to.

the moment han decided he couldn’t stay away any longer, he abandoned the practice session and rushed straight to your place without even thinking it through. the journey was a blur and his body ran on instinct until he was standing outside your door.

his hands fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie as he rehearsed what he wanted to say for a few minutes before knocking once he was semi-confident of what to say and had plastered a small nervous smile on his lips.

when you opened the door, his smile faltered at the sight of you. “hey,” he said softly, his voice tinged with hesitance, looking over the sight of you in your pajamas.

“han? what are you doing here?” you paused in shock, not expecting his presence out of all things.

“i… i couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the ground. he forgot what he planned to say. “i know i don’t have any right to be here after what happened and what i said, but i needed to talk to you.”

you looked over his sweaty and disheveled appearance as if he ran here, and crossed your arms, looking away. “we already talked, han. what’s left to say?”

“a lot,” he said quickly, his voice trembling slightly — from being out of breath, or from the prospect of losing you, he wasn’t sure. “i know i messed up real bad. i know i didn’t always handle things the way i should’ve, but i can’t —” he paused, swallowing hard. “i can’t lose you.”

you sighed, trying to keep your composure. you knew his words were true. “you realize that now? after all that was said and done?”

“i know what i said,” he said, stepping closer. “but i need you to know how sorry i am. i didn’t realize how much i was taking you for granted until you were gone. and now… now i feel like i’m missing a part of myself. you, and what we had, none of that can ever be replaced. you were the one, and i was so stupid for letting you go like that.”

“han…”

“i’m not asking you to forgive me right now,” he continued, his voice cracking. “but i just want one chance to show you that i can be better. please, just give me that chance. i won’t screw up again.”

his vulnerability was raw and unguarded, and the tears welling up in his eyes mirrored the ache in your chest. his presence only made you realize what you were missing. han wasn’t one to beg, but for you, he’d put his pride aside if it meant that he could win you back.

seung ♢ min

seungmin prided himself on his ability to stay composed, but the breakup had shaken him to his core. he replayed your last conversation over and over, analyzing every word, every tone, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. the silence in his life without you was deafening, and no amount of logic could convince his heart to move on.

he knew he had no right to approach you or ask for forgiveness after his neglect, but damn was it hard to get past your absence in his daily life. meals, practice and sleeping alone felt void — like a puzzle piece was missing, leaving the actions feeling inadequate.

it took him a month to realize he couldn’t go on without you, weeks to decide how he was going to approach you, and another handful of days to work up the courage and find himself standing outside your door. his heart was pounding in his chest and his hands felt sweaty.

when you opened your front door, you were startled to see seungmin there, his usual calm demeanor replaced with an uncharacteristic hesitance and unease. “seungmin? what are you doing here?”

“i…” he hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor as he suddenly felt a wave of unpreparedness. “i needed to talk to you.”

you were surprised but crossed your arms and kept your expression guarded, equally as hesitant. “we’ve already said everything that needed to be said. why now?”

“no,” he said firmly, meeting your gaze. a troubled look in his eyes. seungmin wasn’t sure if he felt like crying, or throwing up. “i didn’t say enough. i didn’t fight for you the way i should have, and i can’t let it end like this.”

“seungmin…” you frowned softly

“i know i made mistakes,” he interrupted, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “i know i wasn’t always there for you the way i should’ve been. but i love you. and i can’t just let you walk away without trying to make things right.”

you sighed, looking away. “it’s not that simple. you hurt me.”

“i know,” he said, his voice softening. “and i hate myself for it. but i want to make it up to you. i’ll do whatever it takes, no matter how long it takes. i just need you to give me a chance.”

when you didn’t respond immediately, he took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly. “i’m not asking you to forget everything. i’m just asking for the chance to prove that i can be better—that i can be the person you deserve.”

the quiet determination in his voice was unlike anything you’d heard from him before. it was clear that seungmin wasn’t just asking for forgiveness—he was willing to fight for you, no matter how long it took.

chang ♢ bin

changbin wasn’t used to feeling helpless, but after the breakup, he felt like his world had been turned upside down. he threw himself into his music, trying to channel his emotions into lyrics, but even that didn’t offer the relief he was hoping for. the studio felt empty without you. his group mates tried to cheer him up, but nothing could replace your touch, the sound of your laugh or the way you’d encourage him after a long day.

it didn’t take long before he realized he couldn’t let you go. your presence couldn’t be replaced by practice or writing, and every heart wrenching feeling being poured into his file of unreleased songs. it had reached a point where he had gotten tired of the separation and ended up impulsively making his way to your apartment one evening.

changbin’s heart was pounding as he worked up the courage to knock, freezing in surprise when you suddenly opened the door in that purple shirt of yours that you always wore to grocery shop. he stared at you quietly for a few moments, watching how your expression shifted from surprise to guardedness.

“changbin? what are you doing here?” you spoke softly, your gaze flickering around the hall to make sure no neighbor was out.

he hesitated, feeling extremely unprepared despite replaying the conversation in his mind the whole ride here, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “i just needed to see you,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“bin, we’ve already talked about this,” you began the nickname slipping too easily, but he shook his head.

“no, i need you to listen,” he said, his voice firm but he had to clear his throat to stay composed. “i know i messed up. really bad. i know i didn’t always handle things the way i should’ve, but i can’t lose you. i don’t know how to be without you.”

you sighed, fidgeting slightly as you looked over his disheveled hair and troubled expression. he wouldn’t meet your eyes either. “it’s not that simple, changbin. you can’t just show up after what happened and expect everything to be okay.”

“i know that,” he said, his dark eyes pleading as he ran his palm over his face. he wasn’t one to beg but if he left this without knowing you were his again, he didn’t know what he’d do. “but i’m willing to do whatever it takes to fix this. i’ll change. i’ll be better. just tell me what you need, and i’ll make it happen.”

you looked away, trying to maintain your resolve, but his words slowly chipped away at your defenses. he was the best you’d ever had, until he wasn’t. “why now, changbin? why couldn’t you do this before and how am i supposed to believe you’ve changed?”

“because i was scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, looking up at you as he reached out to grasp your hands in his. “i was scared of failing you, or of not being enough. but i realized i’m more scared of losing you forever. i wouldn’t be able to bear that.”

his voice trembled and he nearly found himself in tears, leaning his forehead against yours. “please, give me another chance. let me prove that i can be the person you deserve.”

notes: something about writing sad shit and horny shit really makes me tingle. anybody interested in an individual smut fic?

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hsnlv · 3 days ago

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sweet strokes | y.jw

pairing: husband!jungwon x wife!reader

synopsis: when you beg jungwon to let you do his makeup, he reluctantly agrees, unable to resist your charms. what starts as playful teasing turns into a heartwarming moment of love, laughter, and stolen glances—proving he’ll do anything to see you smile.

wc: 1.1k

warning: bunch of nicknames, fluff (if that needed a warning idk lmao)

“uwon, please,” you beg, almost on your knees now, clasping your hands together dramatically.

for the past ten minutes, you’ve been trying to convince your husband to let you put makeup on him. you just know he’d look so good with it, and you’re determined to prove it. but jungwon? he’s as stubborn as ever.

“honey, no,” he says firmly, crossing his arms over his chest and letting out a long sigh. his brows furrow, and his lips press into a tight line. it’s such a rare sight—jungwon refusing you. he almost never says no to you, and honestly, you’re not used to it.

“pretty, please?” you whine, pouting up at him with your most convincing expression. “i promise i’ll make you look good. uwon, please.”

he groans, leaning his head back against the couch. “why do you even want to do this?”

“because it’ll be fun!” you insist, crawling closer to him and resting your chin on his knee. “and you’ll look so pretty, uwon. please, just trust me on this.”

jungwon looks down at you, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile. “what if i look ridiculous?”

“you won’t,” you assure him quickly, your eyes sparkling with excitement. “i swear. just a little eyeliner, maybe some blush—nothing too crazy. you’ll look amazing, uwon. please?”

he lets out another groan, rubbing his face with his hands. “why do you do this to me?”

“because i love you,” you say sweetly, batting your lashes at him. “and because i know you love me too much to say no.”

jungwon sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “fine,” he mutters, barely loud enough for you to hear.

your face lights up instantly, and you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “you’re the best husband ever!” you exclaim, peppering kisses all over his cheeks.

“yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, though the corners of his lips are tugging upward into a reluctant smile. “just… don’t make me look like a clown, okay?”

“you won’t regret this,” you promise, already grabbing your makeup bag and sitting cross-legged in front of him.

“hold still, uwon,” you murmur, gently tilting his chin up so you can apply eyeliner. jungwon stares at you, his dark eyes watching your every move.

“this feels weird,” he mumbles, his lips curving into a small pout.

“you’ll survive,” you tease, carefully tracing a thin line along his eyelid. “and trust me, the results will be worth it.”

jungwon hums in response, his lashes fluttering when you ask him to close his eyes. he’s being surprisingly cooperative, though you suspect it’s mostly because he doesn’t want to upset you.

“done!” you announce after a few more finishing touches. “open your eyes, uwon. look at yourself.”

jungwon blinks a few times before turning to the mirror. his eyes widen slightly as he takes in his reflection. “is that… me?”

“yup,” you say proudly, resting your chin on his shoulder as you admire your handiwork. “you’re even prettier than i imagined.”

jungwon lets out a soft laugh, his cheeks flushing pink. “i look… kind of cool,” he admits, tilting his head to get a better look.

“you look amazing,” you correct, wrapping your arms around his neck from behind. “seriously, uwon. you could pull off anything.”

jungwon turns to face you, his expression softening. “you really went all out, huh?”

“only the best for you,” you reply, grinning. “now, how does it feel to be the prettiest man alive?”

he rolls his eyes playfully, but the faint smile on his lips gives him away. “if it makes you happy, angel, then i guess it’s worth it.”

“it does,” you say, your voice full of warmth. “you’re so handsome, uwon. our kids are gonna be absolutely gorgeous because of you.”

jungwon freezes, his eyes locking onto yours. “our kids, huh?”

“yeah,” you say shyly, your fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. “don’t you think?”

jungwon’s expression softens even more, and he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “they’ll be perfect,” he murmurs. “because they’ll have you as their mom.”

your cheeks burn at his words, and you hide your face in his chest, making him laugh. “stop being so sweet,” you mumble.

“i can’t help it,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. “you bring it out of me.”

the two of you stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other. but then you suddenly pull back, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

“what now?” jungwon asks, raising an eyebrow.

“we’re taking a selfie,” you declare, grabbing your phone.

jungwon groans, already knowing where this is headed. “baby, no. you’re not posting this.”

“oh, come on,” you tease, holding up the phone and angling it just right. “it’s for the memories!”

“memories that don’t need to be on instagram,” he protests, though he still lets you snap the picture.

you examine the photo, your grin widening. “you look so good, uwon. i have to post this.”

“angel,” he says, his tone pleading. “don’t.”

you pout, holding the phone to your chest. “please?”

jungwon stares at you for a moment, his resolve weakening under your gaze. finally, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “fine. but no embarrassing captions.”

“deal!” you chirp, already typing away.

jungwon shakes his head, pulling you back into his arms. “you’re lucky i can’t say no to you.”

“i know,” you say, smiling up at him. “and i love you for it.”

“yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i love you too, angel. even when you make me do ridiculous things.”

“you mean fun things,” you correct, snuggling closer to him.

jungwon laughs, resting his chin on your head. “sure, let’s go with that.”

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classyhoeeee · 2 days ago

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BEST MAN :: Rafe Cameron

WARNING! :: kissing, oral, unprotected sex, teasing, forbidden love, Dom!Rafe, romance, Rafe Cameron x Reader, soft!rafe, cheating, Topper Thorton x Reader (mentioned), public sex, aftercare, slow dancing.

SUMMARY! :: The reader is marrying Topper Thorton, but Rafe doesn’t care in the slightest. As far as he’s concerned, you were his long before the vows, the dress, and the ring. On your wedding day, he’s determined to make you see it—even if it means crossing every line. Including hurting his best friend, Topper.

A/N:: I know I always say this, but this one is my favorite. It’s the perfect combination of filth and fluff. Please read it.

…………………………………………………………………………………

The air in the bridal suite felt heavy, like even the sunlight streaming through the windows couldn’t cut through the weight pressing down on you. The music outside swelled faintly, the distant laughter of guests drifting in through the open window. It should’ve felt like a fairytale, standing there in your white gown, the lace veil framing your face perfectly, but it didn’t.

You smoothed your hands down the front of your dress, trying to steady your breathing. This was the right thing. Topper was a good man…to some—loyal, patient, safe. He’d been everything you’d needed him to be. But as much as you wanted to believe in the words “happily ever after,” something gnawed at you deep inside, something you didn’t want to name.

A loud knock shattered your thoughts, making you jump.

“Hey, open up.”

You froze, your heart dropping. That voice—low, rough, and unmistakable. Rafe.

“Rafe, go home,” you called out, forcing your voice to stay steady. “You don’t need to be here.”

The door creaked open anyway, and when you turned, he was already inside, closing the door behind him.

“Do you even know how to listen?” you snapped, but it came out more exasperated than anything else.

Rafe just leaned against the door, his arms crossed, looking at you with that familiar mix of cocky and dangerous. His dress shirt was half-buttoned, his sleeves rolled up, his jaw clenched like he was barely holding himself together. His eyes swept over you, slow and deliberate, and the way they lingered made your soft brown skin prickle.

“You’re really doing this?” he asked, his voice low and sharp.

You turned back to the mirror, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yes, Rafe. I’m really doing this. So if you’re here to cause a scene, please get the fuck out.”

He laughed, but it was humorless. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. “Why are you in here? Why today, Rafe? Why now?”

“Because someone’s gotta stop you from fucking up your life,” he said, his voice harsh and unapologetic.

You spun around to face him, your anger bubbling to the surface. “What the hell is wrong with you? This is not your decision to make! You don’t get to just barge in here and act like—”

“Like what?” he interrupted, his voice rising. “Like I give a fuck about you? Like I’ve been sitting around watching you play house with Top, knowing damn well he’ll never give you what you really need?”

You flinched, his words hitting too close to home. “Don’t do this shit, Rafe. Don’t make this about you.”

“It’s not just about me, and you know it,” he said, stepping closer. His eyes bore into yours, unrelenting. “This? You and him? It’s bullshit, and we both know it. You’re just too scared to admit it.”

“Scared of what?” you shot back, your voice shaking.

“Of me,” he said, his voice dropping. “Of us. Of what you really want.”

You shook your head, backing away until you hit the edge of the vanity. “Stop doing that. Stop acting like you know me. You don’t know what I want, Rafe.”

He closed the distance between you in two strides, his hands bracing on either side of you, trapping you in. “The fuck I don’t,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I don’t see it? The way you look at me when you think no one’s watching? The way you can’t even say his name without hesitating? You don’t love him. Not the way you’re supposed to.”

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed hard, your throat thick with emotion. “You don’t understand,” you whispered. “Topper—he’s good to me. He’s… safe. I can’t hurt him like this. I’m not that girl.”

Rafe’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “Safe?” he spat. “That’s what you want? Someone who’s ‘safe’? I think you’re full of shit, and you know it.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice cracking. “Why on my wedding day, Rafe? You’re supposed to be his best friend!”

His jaw clenched, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your face. “Because I don’t give a fuck about being his best friend. I don’t give a fuck about anyone when it comes to you. You’re mine.”

Your breath caught, and tears welled in your brown eyes. “You can’t just… You can’t keep saying shit like that and expect me to—”

“To what?” he cut you off, his voice rising again. “To ignore it? To go play house with Topper and pretend like this—us—doesn’t exist?”

You shook your head, the tears spilling over. “You’re gonna ruin everything,” you whispered.

“Good,” he said, his voice harsh. “I’ll ruin it all if it means you don’t marry him.”

“Rafe—”

He didn’t let you finish. His lips crashed into yours, cutting off whatever protest you were about to make. The kiss was rough, desperate, and overwhelming. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you against him like he was afraid you’d slip away.

For a moment, you froze, your mind screaming at you to stop, to push him away, to think of Topper. But then his lips moved against yours, and something in you broke. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you kissed him back, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you melted into him.

It was like the rest of the world fell away—no wedding, no guests, no consequences. Just you and Rafe, tangled in something you couldn’t deny any longer.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard. His hands stayed on your waist, holding you in place, and his blue eyes burned into your soft brown ones, searching, waiting.

You stared back at him, your mind racing, your heart pounding.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved.

The muffled sound of the wedding music drifted in through the window, a stark reminder of the life waiting for you outside that door. But in that moment, with Rafe’s hands on you and his lips still tingling on yours, you weren’t sure if you could walk away.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to.

——

Topper tugged at the collar of his perfectly tailored suit, sweat pooling at the base of his neck despite the ocean breeze rolling in over the estate. The music playing softly in the background only added to his growing unease.

"Where the hell are they?" he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his neatly combed hair.

"Relax," Kelce said beside him, nudging him in the ribs. "She's probably just, you know, fixing her hair or some shit. Girls take forever to get ready. It's her wedding day, man. She's gotta look perfect."

"She's already perfect," Topper said with a nervous smile, though his voice betrayed the doubt creeping in. "But where's Rafe? He was supposed to be here by now."

Kelce shrugged. "Probably running late like always. Dude's not exactly known for his punctuality."

Topper nodded, forcing himself to believe it.

He told himself there was no reason to worry.

You'd been so calm this morning, so sure about everything. Rafe was probably off doing... well, whatever Rafe did.

In the front row, Sarah fidgeted with the hem of her light blue dress. She leaned over to Kiara, who sat beside her with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"You don't think something happened, do you?" Sarah whispered.

Kiara shot her a look. "I think this whole thing's a disaster waiting to happen," she muttered. "But what do I know?"

Sarah sighed, ignoring Kiara's usual bluntness. She glanced back toward the house, a flicker of worry crossing her face.

If only they knew.

——

Inside the bridal suite, you weren't fixing your veil.

You were on the edge of the vanity, your dress pushed up to your hips, your thighs trembling as Rafe Cameron brought you to the brink of insanity.

"Fuck," Rafe groaned, pulling back just enough to look at you. His lips were slick, his chin wet from his work. His buzzed head pressed between your thighs, and the rough contrast of his stubble against your soft brown skin only added to the fire coursing through your veins. "You taste so fucking good."

Your head fell back against the mirror, your breath ragged as you tried-and failed -to suppress the sounds spilling from your lips.

"Rafe," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smirked, that signature, cocky grin that made you weak even when you wanted to hate him. "What, baby? You want me to stop?"

"Hell no. Keep going," you shot back, surprising even yourself with the urgency in your voice.

His laugh was low and dangerous, vibrating against your skin. "That's what I thought," he murmured before diving back in, his tongue flicking against you in a way that had you arching off the vanity.

"Oh my God," you whimpered, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles turned white.

Rafe glanced up at you, his blue eyes dark and hungry. "What do you want, huh?" he taunted, his voice thick with desire. "Tell me, baby. I'll give it to you."

You bit down on your lip, every ounce of shame and guilt battling against the heat flooding your body. You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. But when his tongue circled you again, the words spilled out before you could stop them.

"Spit on it."

Rafe froze for half a second, his smirk deepening as a dangerous gleam flickered in his eyes. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice rough and commanding.

You looked down at him, your chest heaving. “Spit on my pussy,” you repeated more vulgarly, your voice trembling.

He let out a low, satisfied chuckle, gripping your thighs tighter as he leaned back. "Atta girl," he muttered before spitting on your clit, his tongue immediately following, his movements slow and deliberate as he worked you over like it was his favorite thing to do.

"Fuck, Rafe," you whimpered, your hands flying to his head. The sensation of his buzzed hair against your palms only heightened the intensity, and when his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking in just the right way, your vision blurred.

"Yeah, that's it," he muttered against you, his voice vibrating through your core. "I told you, baby. No one knows this pussy like I do. Not Topper. Not anyone. Just me."

The mention of Topper's name jolted something in you, but it was fleeting, gone the second Rafe slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right. "Oh my god," you choked out, your thighs clenching around his head.

You couldn't reply. Couldn't speak. All you could do was grip his shirt, your nails digging into his shoulders as his thumb pressed harder, sending you hurtling toward the edge.

"Say it," he demanded, his tone commanding as he slowed his pace just enough to drive you insane. "Say it’s mine."

You shook your head weakly, your lips trembling.

"Say it," he repeated, his voice a growl as his fingers pumped into you harder, his free hand gripping your jaw and forcing you to meet his gaze. "Fucking say it."

Your body betrayed you before your mouth did, your climax ripping through you with a force that left you trembling, broken, and utterly at his mercy around his dick.

Rafe didn't let up, his movements slowing only slightly as he worked you through the high. His eyes never left yours, his smirk widening as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

“It’s yours, Rafe.” You finally say it and he groans with a deep chuckle, the sound muffled as he pressed his tongue against you again, his pace quickening until your body was trembling uncontrollably.

"Fuck y/n," he gritted, his voice low and filthy. "Your pussy tastes so fucking good. I’d kill for it."

Your hand flew to your mouth, muffling the scream that tore from your throat as the pleasure ripped through you, wave after wave until you were nothing but a trembling, incoherent mess.

Rafe pulled back slowly, his lips glistening, his eyes filled with nothing but satisfaction.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with pride as he rose to his feet.

You couldn't move, couldn't speak, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.

He leaned in, his hands braced on either side of you, his lips brushing against your ear.

"You're not walking down that fucking aisle," he murmured, his voice low and deadly. "Not after this. Hell no."

Before you could catch your breath, before you could even think to argue, Rafe's fingers slid inside you again, slow and deliberate, curling just enough to make you gasp. "You hear me?" he continued, his voice thick and dripping with venom. "You think I'm just gonna stand there, watching you let him have what's mine, huh?"

Your lips parted, but nothing came out, your body too overwhelmed to form words.

Rafe smirked at your silence, his other hand gripping your thigh possessively. "That's what I thought. You can't even defend him, can you? Because deep down, you know he's not man enough for you. Not like I am."

"Rafe," you whispered, but it came out shaky, weak, barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

"Shut up," he growled, his tone sharp as his fingers pumped into you faster, hitting a spot that had your eyes rolling back. "You don't get to talk. You don't get to tell me I'm wrong—not when you're dripping all over my fingers like this. Not when you're fucking clenching around me like your pussy knows who it belongs to."

A broken moan escaped your lips, your hands gripping the vanity as your thighs tried to close around him. Rafe just pushed them wider, his strength overpowering you easily.

"You think I'd let you marry him?" he hissed, his mouth so close to your ear that his breath sent chills down your spine. "You think I'd just stand there, watching you let that fucking pussy put a ring on your finger? I'd drag you out of there so fast it'd make his head spin. Hell, maybe l'd do it in front of everyone-make sure they all know who you really belong to."

Your chest heaved, your mind spinning, but you couldn't stop the way your body responded to him. Every word, every movement of his hand, every filthy promise he made—it was wrong, it was insane, but it made your legs tremble and your resolve crumble.

"I could eat your pussy every fucking day," he muttered, his lips brushing against your neck as he fucked you with his fingers, his thumb pressing circles against you that had your hips bucking against his hand. "I bet he's never even made you cum, has he? All that talk, all that money, and he's useless when it counts."

You whimpered, shaking your head slightly, but it wasn't a defense of Topper-it was denial of the truth he was dragging out of you.

Rafe chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "That's what I thought," he said. "He's too soft. Too fucking weak. He doesn't know what to do with you, doesn't know how to make you scream, how to make you fucking crave him."

His hand tightened on your thigh, pulling you closer, his fingers curling inside you in a way that had you gasping for air. "But me?" he continued, his voice low and rough. "I could make you cum every goddamn day for the rest of your life, and it still wouldn't be enough. I'd ruin you for anyone else. Shit, I already have.”

Tears pricked your eyes, not from sadness or fear, but from the overwhelming, unbearable mix of emotions flooding your chest. He was insane. He was cruel. And he was right.

"You know what l'd do to him if you walked down that aisle?" Rafe asked, his tone shifting into something even darker, more dangerous. His fingers didn't stop, didn't falter, as he spoke. "I'd beat his fucking face in, right there in front of everyone. I'd make him bleed for even thinking he could have you. And then l'd take you, just like this, while everyone fucking watched."

A strangled gasp tore from your lips, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself as your body threatened to collapse under the weight of his words and the intensity of his touch.

"You think that's crazy?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost mocking. "You think I care? Baby, l've been crazy for you since the day I laid eyes on you. And you love it. Don't fucking lie to me-you love this shit.”

You couldn’t even deny it. He was right. You loved when he got all crazy. You couldn’t help it.

——

The ceremony was falling apart before it had even begun.

Topper stood at the altar, his jaw tight and his hands fidgeting with his cufflinks as the whispers from the crowd grew louder. The once-perfect day was starting to unravel, and he could feel the weight of every set of eyes on him.

"She's probably just running late," Kelce offered, clapping a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You know how these things go, man. It's all part of the drama."

But even Kelce didn't sound convinced.

Topper's smile was tight, forced, as he glanced toward the house. The bridal suite was quiet, no sign of movement. Still no sign of her. And still no sign of Rafe.

"Where is he?" Topper muttered under his breath, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Sarah stepped forward, her light blue dress fluttering slightly in the breeze as she gave Topper a comforting smile. "She's okay, Topper," she said softly. "Maybe something came up-an issue with her dress or makeup. You know how important this day is to her. She wouldn't just..." She trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought.

Topper nodded quickly, clinging to her words like a lifeline. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. She just wants everything to be perfect."

Sarah gave him a soft pat on the arm before stepping back toward Kiara, who stood farther away from the crowd, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"Something's up," Kiara muttered as soon as Sarah was close enough to hear.

Sarah frowned. "What do you mean?"

Kiara glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention before leaning in closer.

"Where's Rafe?" she asked quietly.

Sarah's face tightened at the mention of her brother, her brows furrowing. "I don't know. He was supposed to be here with Topper. He disappeared like twenty minutes ago."

Kiara huffed, shaking her head. "You don't think..."

"What?" Sarah asked, confused.

Kiara bit her lip, her eyes narrowing as memories flooded back to her. Back when they were all Kooks-her, Sarah, Rafe, and the reader. Back when their group had been a tangled web of drama and tension.

"Rafe always had a thing for her," Kiara said slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You remember that, right?"

Sarah's frown deepened. "Yeah, but... Rafe had a thing for everyone, including you. That doesn't mean anything."

Kiara gave her a pointed look. "No, Sarah. It was different with her. He actually wanted her, and it wasn't just some fling to him. I saw it. Hell, I think we all saw it."

Sarah's eyes widened slightly as realization dawned on her, but she shook her head quickly. "No. No way. He wouldn't-"

Kiara cut her off. "Wouldn't he?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

The weight of the question hung in the air between them, and Sarah's stomach twisted uncomfortably.

"Where do you think they are, Sarah?" Kiara asked, her voice low and sharp.

——

Out on the balcony, the world seemed to disappear. The ocean stretched endlessly in front of you, the salty breeze cool against your overheated skin. But none of it mattered—not the crashing waves, not the golden glow of the sun setting over Figure 8-because Rafe Cameron had you pinned against the railing, your white dress hiked up around your hips, and his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

His large hands gripped your brown thighs, rough and insistent, the pale contrast against your smooth, glowing skin only making the moment feel more forbidden. His movements were relentless, his hips slamming into yours, the sound of your bodies colliding drowned out by your broken moans.

Your curls that were once perfectly styled in an updo were now cascaded over your shoulders, blowing in the wind as Rafe gave you the most delicious backshots you have ever experienced in your life.

"Harder," you begged, your voice shaky but clear, every ounce of shame long forgotten. "Please, Rafe. Harder."

He groaned at your words, a dark, satisfied sound that sent shivers down your spine.

"Fuck," he muttered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "You love this, don't you? Being out here where anyone could see. My dick so deep inside you, you can't even think about anything else."

You nodded frantically, your hands gripping the railing for support as your legs trembled beneath you. "Don't stop," you whispered, your voice breathless and desperate.

He chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing the back of your neck as he slammed into you harder, deeper. "Stop?" he taunted, his voice low and mocking. "I’m just getting started."

His hands slid down your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh as he leaned back slightly to watch the way your body moved for him.

"Goddamn," he muttered, his blue eyes locked on the way your skin glistened in the golden hour light. "Look at you. So fucking perfect. Top doesn't deserve to even look at you, let alone touch you."

You whimpered, unable to argue, unable to say anything but his name.

"Yeah," he said, his voice filled with smug satisfaction. "That's right. Say my name, baby. Let the whole fucking world know who's making you feel this good."

"Rafe," you gasped, your head falling back as his pace quickened, each thrust hitting your g-spot so deep you could barely breathe.

"That's my girl," he growled, his grip tightening on your hips. "You hear them down there?" he asked, his tone mocking as he gestured with his chin toward the crowd below. "All those people waiting for you to walk down that aisle like the perfect little bride. But they don't know, do they? They don't know you're up here getting fucked so good you can't even think straight."

Your nails dug into the wood of the railing, your body trembling as you struggled to hold yourself together. But he wasn't done.

"I bet Topper thinks you're just late," he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "Bet he's down there sweating, thinking you're still fixing your makeup or some stupid shit. Meanwhile, you're up here, dripping all over my cock, begging me for more."

Your eyes rolled back as he hit a spot so perfect, so devastatingly good, it ripped a broken cry from your throat.

"Yeah," Rafe muttered, his voice rough and raw. "That's it, baby. Let go. Don't think about him. Don't think about anything but me. Just me."

His pink lips pressed against your shoulder, his teeth scraping your soft skin as his hand moved between your thighs, his fingers working you over until your legs threatened to give out.

"Look at this pretty pussy," he growled, his tone almost reverent. "So wet for me. So fucking tight. You think Topper could ever make you feel like this? You think he even knows how?"

You shook your head frantically, your voice a broken whisper. "No. He can't. He doesn't."

Rafe grinned against your skin, his ego swelling at your admission. "That's right," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Only me. Always me."

The pleasure built to an unbearable high, your body clenching around him as his name tore from your lips in a broken scream.

"Fuck," Rafe groaned, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you, his grip on your hips bruising. "You're mine," he said, his voice low and deadly as he kissed the curve of your shoulder. "You've always been mine."

As your body trembled in the aftermath, your head fell forward, your chest heaving. The sound of the ocean filled your ears, but all you could feel was Rafe-his hands on your skin, his breath against your neck, his words still echoing in your mind.

He stayed inside you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your neck. "You're not walking down that aisle," he murmured, his voice softer now but no less certain. "Not today. Not ever."

And as much as you wanted to argue, to fight, to tell him he was wrong, you couldn't.

Because deep down, you knew he was right.

——

Rafe didn't stop. He didn't even slow down.

The wind whipped around you, carrying the sound of footsteps from below as wedding guests wandered outside, looking for glimpses of the bride they thought was just running late. But you weren't running late— you were pinned against the balcony railing, your dress still hiked up, and Rafe Cameron was fucking you like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment.

Your body trembled as he thrust into you, each movement deliberate, precise, like he knew exactly how to make you lose yourself.

Your moans spilled out uncontrollably, and you desperately tried to muffle them with your hand.

"Uh-uh," Rafe growled, his voice thick and commanding. He grabbed both of your wrists with one hand, pulling them behind your back and pinning them there easily. "Don't you fucking hide from me."

"Rafe," you gasped, your voice breaking as he held you in place, his grip unrelenting.

"Let them hear you," he said, his teeth gritting as he pounded into your pussy harder, deeper. "Let them fucking know who you belong to."

Tears spilled down your cheeks as the pleasure overwhelmed you, your body shaking violently with each thrust. You could feel him everywhere-his hand gripping your wrists, his chest pressed against your back, his cock hitting that perfect spot that had your legs trembling and your mind unraveling.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, his voice raw as his eyes locked on the way your body rippled with every movement. "You're so fucking sexy. You feel that? Feel how perfect you are for me?"

You couldn't respond-not with words. All you could do was push back against him, your body moving instinctively, meeting his every thrust with desperation.

"Yeah," Rafe muttered, his free hand sliding down to grab a handful of your ass. "That's it. Fuck me back, baby. Show me how much you want it."

His palm came down hard on your cheek, the sharp sound of the smack echoing in the air, and you cried out, your head falling forward as the sting radiated through your skin.

"That's my girl," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he rubbed the red mark he'd left. "You take it so fucking good. Better than I ever imagined."

Your knees buckled, but Rafe didn't let you collapse. His hand slid around your waist, holding you up effortlessly as he pounded into you with a rhythm that made your vision blur.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his teeth gritting as his pace quickened. "Topper could never have you weak like this. That little bitch wouldn't even know what to do with you."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, the forbidden thrill of it all making your body tremble uncontrollably. The tears streamed down your cheeks now, not from sadness but from the overwhelming intensity of it all.

"Rafe," you whimpered, your voice breaking as your body clenched around him.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he taunted, his hand tightening on your hip as he angled his thrusts to hit deeper. "Come on. Show me who this pussy belongs to."

Your release hit you like a tidal wave, ripping through you with a force that left you gasping for air. Your legs shook violently, and your cries filled the air, no longer muffled, no longer restrained.

"Fuck, yes," Rafe growled, his hand leaving another stinging smack on your ass as your body convulsed around him. "That's my fucking girl."

He buried himself deep inside you with a final thrust, his body tensing as he came in your pussy, his warmth spilling into you and claiming you in the most primal way possible. His grip on you didn't loosen, even as his movements slowed, his breathing heavy against your neck.

He pulled out slowly, his hand releasing your wrists as he turned you around to face him.

His blue eyes were wild, his lips parted as he stared at you with an intensity that made your knees weak.

"You're so fucking pretty," he said, his voice low and deadly as he cupped your face in his hands.

His lips crashed against yours in a possessive, hungry kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as he pulled you closer.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"Run away with me," he said, his voice soft but firm, his eyes searching yours.

You stared at him, your chest heaving as the reality of what he was asking sank in. "Rafe, I can't," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Yes, you can," he said, his grip on your face tightening slightly. "No one can fuck with you if you're with me. No one. You know that."

"I..." Your voice broke, the weight of it all crashing down on you.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours again, softer this time, but no less insistent.

"You're mine," he whispered. "Say yes. Say you'll come with me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, every instinct screaming at you to say no, to run, to do the right thing. But when you looked into his eyes, saw the fire, the conviction, the obsession burning there, you knew there was no going back.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Rafe's lips curved into a dangerous, triumphant smirk, and he kissed you again, harder this time, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let you go.

"Let's go," he said, pulling you toward the door.

The two of you slipped back inside the house, your heart racing as he led you through the empty halls. You didn't look back, didn't think about the ceremony still waiting, the guests still wondering, the man you'd left at the altar.

Because none of it mattered now.

You weren't the bride anymore.

You were running away from your own wedding with your fiancè’s best man.

——

Your hand was in his, his grip firm and unrelenting as he pulled you away from the estate, away from the ceremony, away from the life you'd just left behind. The sound of your heels clicking against the stone path was drowned out by the pounding of your heart as you glanced back at the estate, at the guests you could no longer face.

"I can't believe I just did that," you whispered, your voice trembling with disbelief.

Rafe turned to you, his blue eyes blazing with intensity as he pulled you closer. "You didn't do anything," he said firmly, his hand cupping your cheek. "You made the only choice that matters. You chose me."

Your chest tightened, doubt flickering in your mind despite the heat coursing through your veins. "Rafe, this isn’t right I-"

He cut you off with a kiss, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that left you breathless. His hands framed your face, his touch grounding you as his mouth claimed yours. The world around you blurred, the sounds of the wedding fading into nothing as his kiss silenced your doubts, your fears, your guilt.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice was a low whisper. "No one can touch you if you're with me. No one can fucking hurt you. You're okay now."

You stared into his eyes, the truth of his words sinking in as your chest heaved with uneven breaths. And in that moment, the world didn't matter. Nothing mattered except him.

"Let's go," he said, his voice commanding but soft.

You nodded, your fingers tightening around his as he pulled you forward, the two of you breaking into a run. The contrast between you-his pale, tanned skin against your glowing brown complexion-made the moment feel like a painting, a picture of chaos and beauty all at once.

——

Back near the ceremony, Sarah's hand flew to her mouth as she watched you and Rafe disappear down the path. "Oh my God," she whispered. "They're running away."

Kiara stood frozen for a moment before shaking her head and letting out a bitter laugh. "This is insane. What the hell is she thinking?"

Sarah bit her lip, her expression softening. "I mean... it's kind of romantic, don't you think?"

Kiara shot her a sharp look. "Romantic?

Sarah, that's your brother we're talking about. Your psycho brother who ruins everything he touches. And now he's got her."

Sarah's face fell slightly, her eyes flickering back toward the path you'd disappeared down. "You're right," she admitted softly. "I just... I hope he doesn't hurt her."

Kiara sighed, crossing her arms. "Let's just hope she knows what she's doing."

The two of them exchanged a glance before stepping back from the crowd. There was no point in staying anymore-not without you. Without a word, they slipped away from the ceremony, leaving Topper to figure out the truth on his own.

And as they disappeared into the shadows, so did you and Rafe, hand in hand, running toward whatever future waited for you.

——

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you came to a stop, your heels skidding slightly on the stone path. Rafe’s hand remained tightly clasped around yours, his grip firm and possessive, grounding you as both of you struggled to catch your breath. The distant sounds of the Figure 8 estate were gone now, replaced by a serene stillness broken only by the faint bubbling of water.

“Rafe,” you panted, glancing around, trying to make sense of where he’d brought you. “Where are we?”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on you as he stepped closer. The golden glow of the setting sun cast a halo around your curls, and the soft veil still draped over your face gave you an ethereal quality that made his breath hitch. The pale ivory of your wedding dress clung to your glowing brown skin, the delicate lace catching the light in a way that was almost otherworldly.

Rafe, in his rumpled white linen shirt and unbuttoned collar, was the perfect foil to your pristine elegance. His sun-kissed skin and sharp blue eyes were wild, untamed, while you looked like a dream—soft, radiant, and untouchable. Together, you were chaos and beauty incarnate, a contrast so stark it was almost painful to look at.

You turned your gaze forward, and your breath caught again—not from the run this time, but from the scene unfolding in front of you.

A rose garden stretched out before you, its blooms a riot of pinks and whites, climbing over trellises and spilling across the stone paths. The scent of roses filled the air, sweet and intoxicating, mingling with the faint notes of a soft melody drifting through the garden. In the center stood a small fountain, its crystal-clear water sparkling as it trickled gently into the basin below.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your eyes swept over the scene.

“I knew you’d like it,” Rafe said softly, his voice lower now, steady despite the lingering adrenaline in his system.

You turned to him, tears brimming in your eyes as your chest tightened. “You planned this,” you said, your voice trembling. “You planned all of this.”

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing a stray curl from your face. “Of course I did,” he murmured. “You think I’d let you walk down that aisle? Let you choose him?” His hand slid to your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin, a stark contrast between his roughness and your softness. “I’ve been waiting for this moment, baby. Waiting for you to finally see what you were always meant to have.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and you shook your head slightly, your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “This is crazy, Rafe,” you said, your voice breaking. “I left him. I left everyone. What am I doing?”

His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush, his blue eyes burning into yours. “You’re doing exactly what you were always meant to do,” he said, his voice firm, his words cutting through your spiraling thoughts. “You’re choosing yourself. For once in your life, you’re not doing what’s safe or expected. You’re doing what feels right.”

Your lips parted, a fresh wave of tears spilling as the weight of his words sank in. For so long, you’d chased the life everyone thought you should have, choosing stability over passion, security over risk. But now, standing in front of Rafe, his wildness calling to you like a siren’s song, you felt alive in a way you never had before.

The music swelled, wrapping around you like the petals scattered at your feet, and Rafe’s hand slid down to take yours. “Dance with me,” he said softly, his voice low and inviting.

You blinked up at him, startled. “Dance?”

His smirk returned, softer this time, as he pulled you closer. “Yeah. Dance.”

Your protest died in your throat as his arms circled your waist, his grip firm yet gentle, guiding you into a slow sway. The difference between you was striking—his sharp angles and commanding presence against your delicate curves and hesitant grace. His hand rested on the small of your back, steadying you as you let yourself fall into the rhythm of the moment.

As the melody wrapped around you both, Rafe leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with something unspoken. “I don’t deserve you, but I’m never letting you go.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, his lips found yours. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and all-consuming, his hand sliding up your back to cradle your head as he deepened it. His other hand gripped your waist, pulling you closer, as though he could fuse your bodies together if he tried hard enough.

Your hands found his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt as you gave in completely. The heat of him, the weight of his presence, the taste of him—it all melted the doubt from your mind.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice low and steady. “No one can touch you now. No one can take you from me. You’re belong with me.”

Your chest tightened, your tears falling freely now as you whispered, “I’m scared.”

“I know,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “But you don’t have to be. Not with me.”

The music played on, the roses swayed gently in the breeze, and the fountain bubbled softly as the two of you stood there, lost in each other. For the first time, you weren’t running from the fire. You were standing in the heart of it, and it didn’t scare you anymore.

“Rafe…I love you.” You mumbled softly, hoping it’d get lost in the soft music, but it didn’t. He’d heard you.

“I know…” he replies with a smile, resting his head on top of your delicate curls. “I’d kill for you.” The words sent shivers down your spine, but you understood it was his way of him letting you know he loves you too.

The End.

#drew starkey #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x black!reader #rafe cameron x reader #black reader #Spotify

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zhenne · 1 day ago

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tell me where it hurts

dr.zayne + f.reader

syn. you succumb to a nasty virus after nearly a week of ignoring the glaring signs of fatigue. dr zayne, ever the astute physician, is sure to recite one of his lectures on the importance of self care (only after he nurses you back to health ofc).

wc. 1.4k

warnings. fem reader, sick fic, reader is NOT proactive in taking care of herself, lowkey established relationship, greyson + tara cameo ;)

The first hint came Monday morning, subtle enough to ignore. You stirred your tea, blinking against the fluorescent lights of the Association’s break room. Your head felt heavy, and your throat was scratchy, like you’d swallowed a handful of sand. You chalked it up to the changing seasons. Linkon’s weather was always unpredictable this time of year, and you had far too much to do to entertain the idea of being unwell.

By mid-afternoon, the scratch in your throat had deepened into a dull ache that had spread to your temples. You rubbed your forehead with one hand and stared at the endless mission report on your screen. The words swam slightly, but you forced yourself to focus. ‘I’ll take some medicine tonight,’ you thought to yourself, though you couldn’t quite recall if you had any at home.

Tuesday was worse. The ache in your head had turned into a throbbing pain behind your eyes, and your skin felt hot and cold at the same time. You wrapped your scarf tightly around your neck on the way to work, shivering as the chill wind cut through your coat. Your reflection in the building elevator doors startled you—pallid skin, dark circles under your eyes, a hint of red in your nose. “You look awful,” Tara remarked as she passed your desk. You forced a tight-lipped smile and waved her off. “Just tired,” you lied.

By Wednesday, the sickness had settled into your bones. Every joint ached, and a sharp cough rattled in your chest every few minutes. You buried yourself in reports and small missions, staying out well past sunset. ‘If I keep moving, I’ll get through it,’ you told yourself, though the feverish flush on your cheeks betrayed your bravado.

Thursday night, the world finally caught up with you. You staggered into your apartment after another long day, your body trembling with exhaustion. You collapsed into bed without bothering to eat, your coat still on. Sleep came in waves, interrupted by bouts of shivering and fever dreams you couldn’t untangle from reality.

When you woke Friday morning, you couldn’t move. Your body felt like lead, and even the act of opening your eyes sent a sharp pain through your skull. The room was spinning slightly, your vision blurred and unfocused. You tried to swing your legs off the bed, but your muscles refused to cooperate.

A single thought pierced the fog of your mind: “It’s just a cold.” But as you lay there, your breathing shallow and labored, you knew the fight was over.

—

The hospital buzzed with its usual chaos, but Zayne was used to it. He moved through the corridors with practiced efficiency, clipboard in hand and a furrow of concentration on his brow. He had just finished rounds when Greyson fell into step beside him.

“Hey, Dr. Zayne, how’s Y/N feeling?”

Seeing the confusion on Zayne’s face, Greyson hesitantly clarified, “Tara said she called off today.”

“She called off?” He echoed with a frown, slowing to a stop as the words sank in.

“Yeah,” his colleague repeated what his girlfriend, Tara, had told him earlier over the phone, “She sounded bad enough that their Captain told her to take Monday off for good measure, too.”

Zayne muttered a distracted promise of letting him know how you are doing when he checks on you later before Greyson is pulled away by a nurse with an urgency in her voice. The unease settles in his chest like a weight. You never called off work. He knew better than anyone how stubborn you are, how you’d rather push through a cold than admit you needed rest.

It wasn’t until he was in his car, driving through the rain-slicked streets, that he realized how quick his pulse was racing.

By the time he reached your apartment, Zayne had run through half a dozen worst-case scenarios in his head. He knocked, soft at first, then louder when there was no response. “Y/N? It’s me.”

Nothing.

His hand fished around his coat pocket for the spare key you had given him months ago—just in case—and let himself in. The apartment was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of a heater and the patter of rain against the darkened windows. Your coat and bag were tossed haphazardly on the floor near the door, which wasn’t like you at all.

He found you in the bedroom.

You were a tangle of blankets, your hair clinging to your damp forehead. Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his footsteps, glassy and unfocused.

“Zayne?” Your voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and strained.

“Why didn’t you call me?” He shrugged his coat off, draping it over the back of a chair and crossed the room in a heartbeat. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, eyes narrowing at the heat radiating off your skin. Your breathing was shallow, cheeks flushed with fever. He crouched beside you, his gaze scanning your face.

You tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “Didn’t want to bother you. You’re busy.” You shift slightly, nudging your face from the cocooned heat of the blankets. “Besides,” your voice is quiet, “it’s embarrassing…”

Zayne sighed, exasperation warring with concern. “Y/N, I’m a doctor, this is what I do. You don’t have to shy away from me. You can always call me for help.” He shook his head, muttering something to himself under his breath as he stood and began sweeping his eyes around the room.

You watched him through half-lidded eyes as he walked out the room, and faintly heard shuffling from the bathroom, and then the kitchen. Even in your weakened state, you had a inkling of suspicion in what he was looking for, and not even a minute later, he was leaning against the doorframe, seemingly knowing your own answer as well.

“How do you not have a thermometer?”

“Never needed one.”

Zayne’s sigh seemed to have a grounding effect as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Where do you keep your medicine?” he tries instead.

“I, uh, usually just keep whatever I have in the bathroom.” You swallow thickly, the ache in your tender throat bringing about another wave of coughing. Once it subsides, you add, “Above the sink, second or third shelf.”

You had snuggled back into the covers as Zayne stepped out to rummage through your bathroom once again. When he came bak, his frown had only deepened. “Y/N… why is the only thing here an expired bottle of ibuprofen?”

He didn’t give you a chance to reply this time, fearing he already knew the answer to this one too. Resigned to your poor self-care habits, and a silent reminder to grab you some much needed necessities while he’s out, he comes back to your side. Your eyes flutter as he gently brushes some hair from your face before gauging your temperature with the underside of his wrist. He was meticulous, his movements quick but gentle as he listened to your breathing and felt your pulse.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too much,” his tone was soft.

You didn’t respond, but the slight guilt swimming in your irises told him everything he needed to know.

“It’s a bad flu,” he said after a moment. “You’re dehydrated, and your fever’s too high.” He pulled a chair closer to the bed. “And you’re not moving from this spot until I say so.”

You managed a weak chuckle, though it dissolved into a fit of coughing. Zayne leaned forward, his hand resting lightly on your arm. “Hey. I’m serious.”

The weight of his voice made you pause. You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the worry etched on his face. “Sorry,” you murmur.

He squeezed your hand gently. “You don’t have to apologize. Just let me take care of you for once, okay?”

And for the first time in days, you let yourself relax, the weight of your exhaustion finally lifting with Zayne by your side.

#inspired by true events of my past week :’)#love and deepspace #l&ds #lads #lads zayne #love and deepspace zayne #love and deep space #lads fanfic #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #l&ds zayne #l&ds x reader

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lesbiancharliedalton · 3 days ago

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I've been editing this write-up for literal weeks now and I still feel like I can't get in everything that I want to convey, but I'll try.

It's officially been one year since I stayed up ALL night (like, til 10-11 AM) editing this, my very first full-length music video. All in one sitting. To most, it's probably just a regular character edit or fan-made music video. To me, it's something else. It's catharsis, love and and an explosive expression of myself. To this day, I still can't quite explain what I went through when I was making this. I had just heard this song for the very first time about 24 hours prior and I immediately knew I had to make this music video. I listened to the song, and immediately thought of Charlie. I knew I had to make this. When it was done, I broke down crying and didn't stop for about 2 hours. I came to a lot of conclusions about myself and my life and I had never felt simultaneously more vulnerable and more accepting of myself.

I was crying, partially, because I realized that I was feeling real, genuine love for this fictional character who had been living quietly inside of me and influencing me for years and years. Which is an insane and crazy thing to say. And at first, I felt shame, because I knew it was crazy, and also because it made me realize I had never romantically loved another human being before, and certainly not to this extent. This revelation first made me feel scared, isolated and embarrassed. I thought it was really sad that I was only able to feel this way, feel this level of understanding and love for someone who would never exist and who could never hurt me. I thought I had matured past that way of thinking. It was embarrassing to know that I could spend hours upon hours crying and expelling all my emotional energy just trying to craft a love letter to someone who could never reciprocate because they quite literally have never existed.

But then I realized that it felt right. I had spent my life with all this pent-up energy and love and emotion and I kept putting it in all the wrong places. Nothing seemed to work for years and I felt disconnected from most of society. I realized that night that it was my own doing. I had been hurt and beat down so many times that I detached myself entirely. I repressed my passions that others dismissed as frivolous, I refused to acknowledge or show my feelings or admit to others how I felt about them and I lived a life that I was absolutely miserable in due to fear of being embarrassed, made fun of, or alienated.

In my fear of becoming alienated, I had alienated myself.

And for the first time in years, things made sense. Through rewatching this movie, through seeing this character again, my eyes were opened. I don't know why or how, but through loving Charlie I started the long and arduous process of loving myself. I saw parts of myself in him and his journey, parts that I had been repressing for years and years. And I saw parts of myself that I wanted to be in this character. I was seeing clearly for the first time.

And somehow, through this movie, this character, through crafting this love letter set to lyrics that I wish I could tell him to his face, I found myself. I realized I didn't need to pretend to be someone else anymore. I realized that by trying to be what everyone else wanted to be, I was making myself miserable and further isolating myself. I realized that I finally wanted to be myself, whoever that is, for the first time in years. It seems like an extremely obvious conclusion to make, but for some reason it took me seeing Charlie for the first time in ten years to really, truly realize it. It also made me realize that through the process of connecting with myself instead of running from it, it would become easier for me to connect with others around me too. I've become much more emotionally open and even braver when it comes to other people. I've done things I would have never done just a few years ago. I make connections with all sorts of new people constantly, and not online.

I still can't explain how sitting down and manically crafting a music video helped me come to all these conclusions that had been banging around in my head for a couple of months, but sometimes personal epiphanies come to us in unexpected ways I guess.

As ridiculous as it sounds, through Charlie Dalton, through loving him, I found and learned to love myself. And it doesn't matter that he isn't real, because the impact that he's had on me is very real, and personally I've stopped believing that it's cringe and now I think it's kind of beautiful. For years, I had convinced myself that I was incapable of love--giving and receiving. Through making this, I realized that I had plenty of love to give, I just didn't know where to put it. I poured all of it into this video. How beautiful to love something so much and have it change you.

Charlie Dalton - VIENNA

#anyway past me would have been so embarrassed to share this and bc of him i'm not embarrassed anymore. sorry #where's my fucking like. medium article. this should be published somewhere #also i'm adding all the OG tags. bc idgaf #dead poets society #charlie dalton #nuwanda #music video #fancam #billy joel #vienna #character edit #my edit #dps #dps edit #nuwanda edit #charlie dalton edit #gale hansen

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starburstminibot · 1 day ago

Note

Ok, seeing the post about the playlist, you mentioned how Breakdown only gets his act together after finding out that Bee was carrying

So it got me thinking (and this has actually been in my mind since i first came across the au tbh), but how was it while Bee was like, carrying?? There's the fact that, at first, many of the bots probably don't like Breakdown too since, well, he was not the best bf let's be honest.

Idk, I'm just curious to how things were before Breakcheck came to see the world

(Im going out of town for a week and cant draw so im just answering this with a straight up fanfiction-esk paragraph I’m so sorry wish I could be artistic for you anon)

Long story short: the Autobots are very forgiving but they can also be petty motherfuckers.

I mean they welcomed Megatron among their ranks and treat him (for the most part) as an equal and sometimes even a friend. Of course, Megatron earned that trust after years and years of repentance.

I imagine Breakdown is going through a similar arc. He’s never really been THAT loyal to the Decepticon cause. He just… kinda ended up there and didn’t care enough to do anything about it. He views Autobots as these goody, righteous people that he doesn’t feel like he belongs with. So really… what’s left besides Decepticons (considering yourself a neutral at one point was pretty much a death wish. A faction was the only way to acquire any sort of Energon or medical attention. Something Optimus tried hard to avoid, but the reality was safety in numbers.) the only kinship Breakdown ever felt was with the Stunticons… and they’ve been scattered to who knows where… if they’re even still alive.

Except he did have one friend. A friend he’s somehow managed to keep despite being on opposite sides of the war. He tried to convince Bee to join the Decepticons a few times but it was never with genuine intent. Bee was too good for the Cons; Breakdown knew that. He asked to get a rile out of him more than anything. Of course Bee would retort with his own argument of why BD should defect. He was serious about it… but Breakdown knew his place. He’d already done too much…

Now the war is over. And the leader of his faction doesn’t even believe in the cause anymore. Now, Breakdown’s never been a fan of Megatron anyways, but he sure as hell is pissed off when he abandons them to go be buddies with the Autobots. Maybe Breakdown is a little jealous (Of course, he’d never admit it) That Megatron, possibly the cruelest and most unforgiving of them all, is allowed to be redeemed.

He feels betrayed. All the Decepticons do really… He feels like he was led down a path that would only end in self destruction and at the last moment, the one who was paving the way jumped ship, leaving them all to suffer the consequences alone.

He never even wanted this.

But it’s way too late now. He dug this grave and he’s going to see to it that he’s buried in it. But despite the betrayal, and most of the Decepticons now stabbing each other in the back, trying to claim whatever power they can while holding on to this flimsy cause they can barely call a functioning faction, he still has Bee… who is maybe more than just a friend at this point but that’s a lot of feelings Breakdown isn’t ready to unpack.

And he still runs every time it feels a little too good to be true. Still proclaims his loyalty to the Decepticons because he’s too stubborn to admit he’s on a sinking ship. And he still keeps his distance because he refuses to take Bumblebee down with him when it finally goes under.

And maybe they’ve got a fling going… and maybe the autobots start to catch on. It doesn’t matter though, Breakdown doesn’t stick around long enough to see their sneers.

Until… he finds out Bee’s carrying that is… because damn he may not be the best bot in the galaxy but he’s not a complete deadbeat.

And when it hits him… that he’s going to be a sire… well maybe… he start’s sticking around to see the sneers. He hears the mumbles of disapproval. And boyyy does it make him so angry at first. How dare these holier-than-thou bots. They don’t know him or what he’s had to do to survive. How many comrades he’s lost thanks to them. They don’t know what Bee means to him. They don’t know just how much he loves Bumblebee. How he would lay down his spark for him in a klick.

Then Breakdown questions… Does Bee even know that?

From then on… Breakdown realizes, preserving his ego isn’t worth this. He has a chance now. A real honest chance. To do better… to have the life he actually wants… with the one bot who hasn’t ever given up on him.

He wants it so bad.

So he puts up with the comments and the obvious distrust. Because he’s willing to put in the work it takes to earn it. He’s going to prove how much he wants this. He’s going to prove how much he cares. He’s going to prove he is capable of doing better… and maybe along the way he’ll learn… he’s deserving of better too…

Breakdown is lucky Bumblebee has always been a little spoiled because it didn’t take too much convincing for the autobots to give him a shot. To attempt to accept him into their ranks.

He thought Optimus would be the worst of it. The one who practically raised the bot Breakdown knocked up. And for a while it is. Optimus lectures him every chance he gets. Any small hiccup, any little mistake. He doesn’t go easy on breakdown. Optimus at least pretends to be polite about it, or at least professional.He doesn’t yell, or make unnecessary insults. His words are always very honest (which makes them that much harder to hear) but Breakdown will take it… he’ll sit through it, no matter how hard he has to bite his tongue against saying something he’ll regret. He knows how thin the ice is. But he’ll do it for Bee.

The others are a little more brutal… Elita especially so… they are more sharp with their words (and sometimes their blasters) letting him know just what they think of him.

But no… the worst of all… is Megatron. Because Megatron is probably the only bot in the whole faction who looks at him and empathizes. Breakdown doesn’t want empathy. Especially not from the damn bot who betrayed him. Megatron doesn’t give lectures, he doesn’t verbally or physically abuse him when he steps out of line. He barely even raises his voice. And it pisses Breakdown off more than anything. Sometimes he slips up in front of Megatron just to push his boundaries, just to see if he can break this peaceful facade the ex-brutal-dictator seems to be taking. He’s witnessed the warlord beat bots into scrap for far less… and yet… Megatron won’t. Megatron seems to be attempting to guide Breakdown, to offer a new start to their relationship, and Primus Breakdown wants nothing to do with it. He’d rather be lectured and assigned extra training.

And it takes a long while… longer than Bee’s carrying term, and a little while into Breakcheck’s sparklinghood for the Autobots to really start to come around to him. Optimus’ lectures seem to have a bit of fondness to them. And perhaps Breakdown listens a bit more earnestly and takes to heart some of the genuine advice the Prime gives him. And maybe the sparring with Elita has turned less from a one-sided fight and into an enjoyable workout. And MAYBE… he doesn’t intentionally push Megatron as much, and has come to a realization of his own that his Megatron… is nothing like the one who betrayed him… and perhaps there is more in common between them than he’d like to admit.

And when people look at him now, he’s not just the Con Bumblebee has been sneaking around with. He’s a Sire… and a devoted Conjux…

And maybe this is what he’s always wanted. And he can be deserving of it too.

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cybershock24601 · 1 day ago

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I’ve been stewing on more alternate time travel au where the Veilguard sends themselves to the past trying to rip Rook out of the fade because there’s nothing like trying to save your bestie to make you turn to dangerous and unstable magic

Lucanis spends most of his time helping Harding out with her scout work yet refuses to wear the Inquisition uniform because he is still a Crow at heart which means he wouldn’t be caught dead in such an ugly uniform

Turns out the Orlaisean noble woman Emmrich had a thing with one summer was the wife of the Duke Vivienne’s with and the two of them get together to gossip. Vivienne wishes Emmrich wouldn’t drag along his skeleton every time but he is Nevarran so she will let it go. She also assists in giving Manfred etiquette lessons alongside Emmrich because it’s not like she can let the poor thing go around with such poor diction.

Mentioned this before but Dorian’s crush on Emmrich comes back full force and whoever is romancing him whether it be the Inquisitor or Iron Bull ends up wildly jealous of Emmrich

Hardings new connection with the Stone possibly helping soothe Cullen’s lyrium induced issues

Chess pieces from all over Skyhold start going missing because Cole keeps giving all the rooks to the Veilguard

Leliana offers Bellara a nug and she accepts and now walks around Skyhold with the most adorable nug the world has ever seen

If you thought Emmrich and Davrin were insufferable before, their dad off gets a thousand times worse when Davrin's new mabari starts stealing Manfred's bones and Davrin refuses to admit his good boy did anything wrong even if he is privately scolding the mabari.

Davrin and Cullen end up bonding over the mabari as Cullen ends up offering Davrin some advice on how to train the dog. Turns out mabari are not any easier to train then griffons as both are hyper intelligent animals and require different tactics though bribery seems to be working as well on the dog as it did Assan

Manfred starts copying Cole by giving people random objects but unlike Cole who has some weird esoteric logic behind it, Manfred is really just picking up a cool rock he found on the ground and handing it off to the first person he sees and crying out "HELPING" in his little skeleton voice

Harding is now the one in the awkward age gap relationship because what are you supposed to do when your significant other is now physically 13 years old but still mentally an adult but it’s not like anyone but your close friends know that because to everyone else they’re just 13? Hell if Harding knows

The Veilguard collectively gaslighting the Inquisition about Spite because people down south aren’t nearly going to be as cool about the whole possession situation and their assurances that Spite is chill so every time someone tries to bring up the glowing eyes or wings they come up with some bullshit excuse and stick to it no matter how ridiculous and some of them get real stupid

Neve sees Cullen practically falling asleep on his feet and offers him her cup of coffee. This is a mistake because now Cullen is using his new caffeine addiction to deal with his lyrium withdrawals and the man has never been so productive or strung out. Lucanis is suffering in the background because Cullen makes and drinks the same sort of sludge Neve survives off of.

Josephine and Lucanis end up bonding over their shared disgust over the sort of vile concoctions Neve and Cullen keep producing. Leliana also joins in because Josephine already introduced her to good coffee and she also has strong opinions on the culinary crimes they’re committing. She also has a whole lot to add when Lucanis brings up some of Harding’s more adventurous kitchen adventures because after a year of traveling around Ferelden during the Blight, Leliana has some stories of her own to share about Ferelden cuisine.

Solas who hates tea and wants an in to try to figure out what is going on and how much these people know approaches Lucanis about trying some coffee too only for Lucanis who can be one spiteful motherfucker even without accounting for Spite to essentially pull a “I suddenly don’t know how to read” and brew the most black, vile, and disgusting sludge like pot of coffee for Solas to drink. It would have been kinder for Lucanis to have just spiked his coffee with poison. Spite is in the background cackling at the barely concealed disgust on Solas’ face as Solas pretends he can’t hear Spite’s delighted laughter at Solas’ predicament

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sturn777 · 2 days ago

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7 DAYS

pathetic!chris x mean girl!reader — ib : @kiemiu

sypnosis : chris has seven days to prove he’s more than the cocky, reckless guy you’ve always seen him as. from awkward dates to unexpected confessions, he’s determined to win you over—no matter how messy or ridiculous things get. will seven days be enough to change your mind, or is he just setting himself up for heartbreak?

chapter one: prove it.

the party is loud, sticky, and overcrowded. the kind of scene you’d normally avoid. but madi dragged you out tonight, all smiles and promises of a good time. now, you’re stuck leaning against a peeling wall, sipping a vodka soda that tastes more like melted ice, watching everyone else pretend they’re not as bored as you.

you don’t even notice chris until he’s standing right in front of you, all smug confidence and messy hair, like he’s walked straight out of a cliché. “you’re really killing it over here,” he says, tilting his head as he leans casually against the wall beside you.

you glance up at him, unimpressed. “what do you want, chris?” you mutter. “just checking in,” he says, grinning. “you look like you’re having the time of your life.”

“don’t you have someone else to bother?” he chuckles, unfazed by the bite in your tone. “probably. but you’ve been giving me these nasty glares all night, and i wanted to see why.”

“and now that you have?” he laughs softly. “you’re mean. kind of like it, though.” you roll your eyes. “is this your idea of flirting? because it’s not working.”

“nah, i’m just curious,” he shrugs, his gaze lingering on you a little too long. “you come to these things just to stand in the corner and glare at everyone?”

“what i do isn’t really your business, is it?”

“fair point,” he says, taking a sip from his drink. “but it kind of is. you being here makes me think you don’t hate this as much as you want everyone to believe.” you raise an eyebrow at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means you can act tough all you want, but you’re just like the rest of us,” he says simply. “you’re scared someone might actually like you.” the comment hits harder than you’d like, but you don’t let it show. instead, you laugh, sharp and cold. “you think you’re that someone?”

he smirks, leaning just a little closer. “maybe. if you’d let me.” “please,” you scoff. “you’re all talk, chris. probably recycled that line on every girl here.”

“maybe,” he admits with zero shame. “but you’re the first one who hasn’t fallen for it.”

“congrats. you found someone with standards.”

you push off the wall, ready to walk away, but he steps in front of you, his smile fading into something more serious. “seven days.” you blink. “what?”

“give me seven days to prove i’m not just all talk,” he says. “if i can’t, i’ll leave you alone for good.” you hesitate, trying to figure out if he’s messing with you, but his gaze is steady. “and if you fail?”

“you can name your price,” he says. you think about it, curiosity tugging at you despite yourself. finally, you shrug. “fine. seven days. but don’t think for a second i’m going to make it easy for you.”

his grin returns, cocky and sure. “wouldn’t want it any other way.”

you turn and walk away, refusing to look back, but you can feel his eyes on you, and something tells you this is going to get messy.

taglist : ( @emely9274 ; @bluestriips ; @loveparqdise ; @st4rcs ; @starwebber9 ; @conspiracy-ash ; @sweetrelieef ; @chris-hallelujah ; @leoslaboratory ; @matttsangel ; @awnmaneez ; @heartss4clauu ; @mattsstarlet ; @madisturni ; @marrykisskilled ; @beautyloves )

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bigkissbutch · 2 days ago

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A woman stands in the doorway. A hazy vision from across the room, you can barely make out her shape at first; tall, broad, slender. You try to ask her how you got here, who she is, why she’s doing this; a panic rises in your throat with each word that escapes your lips. She waits for you to tire yourself as she scans the details of the room.

After a minute of silence, she speaks.

“Do you like your room, darling?”

Her voice is gentle and raspy.

“I set it up just the same as yours previous. I thought it might help you adjust.”

She steps towards you, and into the light cast by the tableau of sky above. She’s wearing a shirt whose buttons ever so slightly glint and twinkle at you in the moonlight. Her gaze is studying and impersonal as she squats down just out of your reach. You plead and beg and she waits again for silence. However, this time you do not give it to her.

You scream. You beg. You do not like it, it isn’t what you want, you want to leave.

She just watches your tantrum, almost confused. Eventually, she stands and leaves, and you are left back alone.

You notice her attention to detail. A blanket like mom made for you. A photo of you and an ex up on the wall in a hand-painted frame they made.

Time passes. You’re hoarse, and tired. Your eyes glaze over yet again.

Click

The latch again. She returns with a plate of food.

The smell fills the room. As much as you might hate to admit it, it’s delicious. She brings it just within your reach. You eat with vigour, and as you do, she reaches out and touches your hair.

You swat at her this time, and she deftly slides the meal away from you.

“Now darling, I know this transition is hard, but I think it’ll be better for both of us if you learn to cooperate.”

You go back to screaming. She takes your plate and leaves.

Click

After a while in the stillness, you pass out.

When you wake, she is lying next to you, and her lips are almost touching yours. She smells of cigarettes and cologne. You pull away with a start. She looks hurt.

“Please, I’m just trying to give you something better than you had out there, just let me.” Her tone is almost pleading, cracks forming in her demeanour. You back away from her as far as your chain will allow, and cry at her. Your mind is hazy, sleep-deprived and starved. You manage out that she will never give you anything better than freedom, and she should just let you go. She slinks out again.

You don’t see her again for two weeks, just plates of food slid through a slot in the door. Each one has a note from her, asking if you’ll just love her back. You are unrelenting in your refusal. You tear up every one.

When she finally returns, it’s different. There’s a fumble at the latch before it

Click

opens. Her usually composed outfit and demeanour is traded for a wife beater and boxers that reveal a scrawny frame. In her hand, a pistol. As she steps into the light, her face is red and tear-streaked; her composure was just as fake as the moon above her.

She points the gun in her hand towards the bed, and sobs to you.

“I thought you’d be different, I really did. Or maybe I thought I could be? I tried so hard this time. I did everything right.”

You scream. She points the gun towards the photo in the hand-made frame.

“Am I not enough?”

BANG.

The gunshot is loud. Glass scatters the floor. Your ears ring.

You begin to plead. It barely registers. She wraps herself in the blanket like mom made.

She points the gun towards the sky, the moon.

“I swear, I’ll do better next time. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for us.”

You can barely hear her.

BANG.

The room is plunged into darkness. You can barely see. You can barely here the sounds of her approach.

You feel her hand grip your wrist and the barrel of the gun press into your chest. She looms over you. You can’t make out words through the ringing in your ears. You’re apologizing now, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

The gun is pointed up into your jaw.

She leans in for a kiss. You taste the salt of her tears on her lips, look at the perfect, awful clarity in her eyes, and hear her sob out an apology.

And then, you hear nothing at all.

This is, I suppose you might say, a writing prompt. It's also an experiment, and an open invitation to anyone who would like to write and perhaps have me write back.

The fur lined steel cuff is custom fit, neither so tight that it cuts and bruises nor so loose that it shifts and chaifs. The chain is almost insultingly thin, it invites the misconception that it might be broken. The thick bolts that secures it to the concrete wall suggest otherwise.

The roof twinkles in a reasonable faxcimile of a clear night sky. The fake moon, hanging several meters above the floor, illuminates an enormous bed that dominates the room. The plump pillows are perfectly placed upon the luxiourious looking blankets. There is a palpable air of care. The creation of this room was an act of love, or perhaps misplaced devotion.

The perfection is almost eerie, each item entirely untouched, the blankets unruffled, the draws unoppened. And much like the eyes of the plush toys strategically scattered about the room the only occupant stares blankly at the wall. Unmoving, crosslegged, cuffed by the ankle. Until

*click*

The latch on the door

Eyes fly wide. A breath sharply inhaled.

The door opens

#inkstain

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agalychnisspranneusroseus · 2 days ago

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Propaganda:

Vampire!Anne breaking the brooding angsty vampire trope by being her ray of sunshine self. Won't drink human blood no matter how hot Marcy claims it will be and no matter how much Sasha insists she needs it. Pretends like nothing happened. Gets irritable and annoying when hungry and her mom refuses to let her go out with her friends until she eats like, a piece of raw beef to get her shit together. Secretly wants to drink her friends' blood but she's so deep in denial she won't even admit it to herself.

Vampire!Sasha is THE brooding vampire stereotype, she's so edward cullen coded it's actually embarrassing. You have it all: the supernatural piggyback rides, the angsty distance, turning her face away because she can barely resist the temptation... Marcy thinks it's genuinely cool when she finds out and offers her blood a little bit too eagerly, while Anne just blinks and goes "sure. she's a vampire now. okay. this definitely won't awaken anything in me" while Sasha is throwing the typical tantrum like noooo im a monsterrrr stay away from meeee and it's all shits and giggles until she actually caves one day and bites Anne all of a sudden.

Vampire!Marcy is still her adorable but traumatized self who Anne and Sasha are very determined to protect and that includes feeding her, something that Marcy refuses to do for so long, still haunted by guilt. But then Anne craddles her in her arms and offers her neck to her and she just can't hold back - you wouldn't expect a vampire to be so docile, so small, and fragile, but that's precisely how Marcy looks when she feeds, her loves always making sure she's healthy and safe.

#me and my random ass polls #amphibia #sashannarcy #my posts

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youknowwho-mustnotbenamed · 1 day ago

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December 13 - Hot Chocolate | word count: 996 | @wolfstarmicrofic

Sirius hates when other people are in pain.

Maybe it’s just a trauma response from his childhood and having to see Reggie in pain, but now, even when somebody around him is even the slightest bit uncomfortable, he will go out of his way to remedy that. Which is why, as soon as he suspected about Remus being a werewolf, he did as much research into the topic as he could. He learned everything Remus refused to tell them.

About the aches and pains werewolves suffered both before and after the full moon—some experienced the antsy wolf worse than others, and sadly, Sirius suspected Remus was one of them. About how they feel a chill in their bones that won’t thaw—Remus generally goes about the castle wearing as many jumpers as he can pull over his head. About how they feel repulsive and think others feel the same—he knows well about the paranoia. He learned about how they find comfort in things that remind them they are human—physical touch, comfortable clothes, their favorite foods, people they recognize—so Sirius does as much as he can to give Remus those without overstepping boundaries.

Which is why right now, he is balancing a nearly overflowing mug of hot chocolate up from the kitchens. Under his other arm is an enchanted blanket with an intricate heating charm that doesn’t just warm the skin, but deeper inside the body as well—he had to seek out Regulus’ help for this one—as much has he hates to admit it, Regulus is far better at advanced spells than anybody else he knows.

Remus returned to the dorm room just a few hours ago now, leaving Sirius with the complicated task of slipping through the common room, uninterrupted, and untouched. Luckily, the others seem to recognize the Black scowl, and pull away. As much has he hates resorting to using the power his family has, he won’t hesitate to use it if it means Remus feels himself again.

Because Sirius can’t stand the long silences, the blank stare, the shivers, the distancing, any of it. He needs Remus in his life like he needs his lungs to breathe. Inseparable, necessary. If Remus leaves, simply because he thinks himself too much of a burden, Sirius is certain he will fall apart. Which he knows is an odd thought for a thirteen-year-old, but he can’t help the way he feels.

“Hey, Rem.”

“Sirius?” He croaks in surprise. Sirius can also see the way he forces his body to relax, trying not to show an ounce of pain on his face. But the slight crinkle around his eyes and the stiffness of his limbs gives him away.

“I brought something for you.”

“You did?”

“Of course. Here.” Kneeling on the bed, he wraps the blanket around Remus, whose eyes blink open wide in surprise. He knows exactly how it feels—he tested it himself to make sure it worked properly—like a warm hug. Physical touch, check. Warmth, check. Remus is already wearing his favorite jumper, check. His favorite food, modified slightly to help ease the cold, check. Somebody he recognizes, check.

“Oh.” He accepts the mug, and immediately takes a sip. “Oh, this is delicious. Where did you get it?”

Suddenly, the blanket under his twiddling fingers is far more interesting. “I owled your mum. I know you mentioned how much you love her hot chocolate, and I figured with… everything, that you would appreciate a little bit of home right now.”

“I…”

He finally looks up, only to find a devastating sight. Remus is crying. That defeats the purpose of everything he was trying to do. He should be smiling right now, forgetting about the pain and returning to himself, to Sirius’ Remus.

“Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong? I’ll—”

“You did this for me?” Remus chokes out.

“Yeah, of course. Why not?”

“Because…. Because… why?”

“I… um… I know.”

“You know? Know what?”

“I know that you… I know—I know where you were three nights ago.”

“I was in the hospital wing. You know I get sick a lot, Sirius.” He is trying to seem casual, but Sirius can catch the slip of panic in his tone.

“You weren’t there, Rem. I went to check in on you, but you weren’t there.” He can sense Remus’ entire body go stiff. He can tell, that this moment, right here, right now, is what determines their future. Will Remus turn away and leave him alone, or will he fight the paranoia and acknowledge that Sirius accepts him as he is. “It’s alright. I know you think you are a burden, but you aren’t. You are the best person I have in my life, and I couldn’t imagine losing you.”

“But… but I’m a monster.”

“So is my mother, but I’m not afraid of her.”

“Sirius—”

“I’m being serious here. I know, and I’m not afraid. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

“How did you find out?”

“I’m good at reading people.” He shrugs. “I also hate to see other people in pain if there is something I can do to help.”

“Do the others know?”

“Nah. It’s your secret to tell, and I’ll support you whether you want to tell them or not.”

“Thanks, Sirius. You are the best friend I could ask for.”

For whatever reason, Sirius’ heart aches at the word friend. It is so insignificant. He always hated these labels people stick on their relationships to help make them make sense. His mother is hardly his mother if she locks him in closets and invades his mind, Professor McGonagall, is more of a mother to him, but he can never label her as such because of “societal norms” or whatever. And yes, Remus is his friend, but he is so much more, Sirius isn’t sure there is a label for it.

But still, he smiles, “Of course, Rem.”

Friends.

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #sirius black #remus lupin #marauders era

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the-bifrost-blogger · 2 days ago

Text

Of Chaos and Quiet Moments

Title: Doctor's Orders

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Timeline: Shortly after Loki's sentencing.

Thor’s voice echoed through the house, rattling the walls as if the thunder itself had descended into Jane Foster’s modest living room. He paced back and forth, his towering frame casting long shadows against the evening light filtering in through the windows.

“Loki, enough is enough!” Thor bellowed, his deep baritone carrying both frustration and exasperation.

Loki, reclining lazily on the couch, appeared completely unfazed. His legs were crossed, one ankle resting on his knee, and a polished green apple hovered between his fingers, suspended midair by a faint flicker of golden magic. He spun it absentmindedly, his emerald gaze focused more on the fruit than on his brother’s righteous fury.

“I fail to see what the issue is,” Loki drawled, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

Jane, seated at the dining table with her laptop open but clearly forgotten, threw her hands in the air. “The issue, Loki, is that you’re impossible to work with! Do you have any idea how many people I had to call after the soup kitchen fiasco?”

Loki’s lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “I’ve told you before, mortal, it was a mere grease fire. Hardly my fault that their equipment wasn’t up to standard.”

“Grease fire?” Thor barked, stopping mid-step to glare at his brother. “You turned the entire kitchen into an inferno! They’re still cleaning soot off the ceiling!”

Jane rubbed her temples, muttering under her breath, “And replacing half their pans...”

“And then there’s the dog park,” Thor continued, his tone growing darker. “What in the Nine Realms possessed you to bring an elephant to a dog park?”

Loki’s grin widened. “Admit it, brother. It was rather amusing.”

Thor’s nostrils flared as he stepped closer, looming over Loki like an impending storm. “Amusing? Amusing? The poor beast trampled half the park benches and terrified every dog in sight!”

Loki shrugged, utterly unrepentant. “It was a lesson in adaptability for those pampered Midgardian pets. You should thank me.”

“Thank you?” Jane cut in, her voice rising in pitch as she stood up and approached the two brothers. “Loki, the city’s animal control had to tranquilize the elephant in broad daylight. Do you know how much paperwork that caused? And let’s not even talk about the chihuahua incident—”

Thor groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “And those are just the minor incidents. What about the library debacle?”

“Ah,” Loki interjected, finally looking up from his apple with a gleam of pride. “That was a masterpiece. A simple enchantment, and poof! The books sorted themselves. It’s not my fault the mortals couldn’t handle the reorganization.”

“You made the books levitate, Loki!” Jane exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “One woman fainted, and another filed a police report because she thought the library was haunted!”

Thor pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly trying to compose himself. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less firm. “Loki, this is serious. Your community service is not just a punishment—it’s a chance to make amends. But every organization we’ve sent you to has refused to take you back. If you don’t fulfill these hours, Father will have no choice but to intervene.”

At the mention of Odin, Loki’s expression flickered. For the briefest moment, his smirk faltered, replaced by a shadow of something heavier. But it was gone just as quickly, and he resumed his air of indifference.

“Very well,” Loki said with a sigh, tossing the apple into the air and catching it deftly. “Where, pray tell, do you intend to send me next? A preschool? A landfill? Perhaps I should clean your mortal sewers.”

Jane exchanged a glance with Thor, then crossed her arms. “Actually, I have a friend who’s willing to give you a chance. She works at Starlight General Hospital.”

“Hospital?” Loki repeated, his voice laced with disdain. “You expect me to play nursemaid to the sick and injured?”

Jane’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Not just any patients. Children.”

Loki’s eyes widened, and for the first time in the conversation, he looked genuinely horrified.

The sleek black car pulled up to the entrance of Starlight General Hospital, its polished surface gleaming under the mid-morning sun. Thor, seated in the driver’s seat with a grin as wide as the Bifrost bridge, turned to his begrudging passenger.

“Come on, brother,” Thor said cheerfully, slapping Loki on the shoulder with a force that jolted the smaller man forward. “It’s time for you to face your destiny.”

Loki, seated in the passenger seat with his arms crossed and a scowl etched across his face, stared out at the cheerful hospital façade. A brightly colored sign over the glass doors read “Pediatric Wing: Where Healing Meets Happiness!” and was adorned with cartoon drawings of smiling animals. The sight alone made Loki recoil.

“I refuse,” he said flatly, his emerald gaze narrowing. “Surely there is a more suitable punishment. Perhaps scrubbing the streets of New York or restoring those blasted park benches you’re so fond of mentioning.”

Thor leaned back in his seat, savoring Loki’s discomfort. “You’ve run out of options, brother. Every organization has refused to take you back. This hospital is your last chance. Unless, of course, you’d like to explain your failure to Father.”

At the mention of Odin, Loki’s jaw tightened. He turned to glare at Thor, his expression dark and venomous. “You will pay for this indignity,” he growled, stepping out of the car with the grace of a man marching to his own execution.

Thor followed, his booming laughter echoing across the parking lot. “Come now, brother! This will be good for you. And besides, how much trouble could you possibly cause in a hospital?”

Loki’s lips curved into a smirk as he walked ahead, his cape billowing dramatically behind him. “You underestimate me, Thor. That’s always been your weakness.”

Inside, the hospital lobby was a flurry of activity. Nurses wheeled patients past the reception desk, doctors hurried through the halls with clipboards, and the faint beeping of monitors mingled with the chatter of visitors.

Loki wrinkled his nose, already unimpressed by the sterile environment. His sharp eyes scanned the room until they landed on a figure dressed in bright pink scrubs that offended his aesthetic sensibilities.

The woman turned, revealing a clipboard tucked under one arm and a coffee cup in the other. Her scrubs were covered in cartoon kittens, and her name tag read: Dr. (Y/N) (L/N), Head of Pediatric Surgery.

She spotted Thor and broke into a warm smile. “Thor! You made it!”

Thor stepped forward, enveloping her in a bear hug that lifted her off the ground. She laughed, playfully swatting his arm when he set her down. “Easy, Thunder God. Some of us aren’t indestructible.”

Thor chuckled. “Dr. (L/N), this is my brother, Loki.”

Loki stepped forward, his posture stiff and his expression unreadable. “Charmed, I’m sure,” he said coolly, though his tone suggested anything but.

Dr. (L/N) raised an eyebrow, giving him a once-over. “So, you’re the infamous Loki. of Asgard”

“Infamous?” Loki repeated, feigning offense. “Surely you’ve heard of my glorious exploits. They’ve been somewhat exaggerated, I assure you.”

She smiled sweetly, though there was a spark of steel in her gaze. “Well, Mr. Infamous, let’s lay down some ground rules. No mischief. No tricks. And absolutely no causing trouble for my kids.”

“Your...kids?” Loki echoed, his brows furrowing.

Dr. (L/N) gestured toward a set of double doors painted with whimsical animals. “The pediatric ward. Those kids are my world. If you disrupt their peace, you’ll have me to answer to.”

Thor let out a low whistle. “Careful, brother. You’re in the presence of a true warrior.”

Loki’s smirk returned, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—curiosity, perhaps. “I shall endeavor to restrain myself,” he said smoothly, though the glint in his eye suggested otherwise.

Dr. (L/N) led them through the hospital, giving Loki a brisk tour of the facility. She pointed out the nurses’ station, the playroom filled with toys and games, and the cafeteria where he could find snacks if he behaved.

“And this,” she said, stopping outside a brightly decorated room, “is where you’ll start.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, peering inside. The room was filled with posters of superheroes, stacks of comic books, and a collection of plush animals. In the center of the room was a hospital bed, occupied by a boy of about eleven.

The boy looked up as they entered, his face lighting up with excitement. “Is that Thor?” he asked, his voice high-pitched with awe.

Thor chuckled, stepping forward to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Indeed, young one. And I’ve brought someone else for you to meet.”

The boy’s eyes shifted to Loki, widening. “Who’s that?”

Loki stepped closer, his gaze flicking between the boy and Dr. (L/N). “I am Loki,” he said, his voice smooth and commanding. “God of Mischief.”

The boy’s jaw dropped. “No way! Are you a superhero too?”

Loki scoffed, but Dr. (L/N) interrupted before he could reply. “Loki’s here to help you out, Dylan. He’s going to make sure you have everything you need today.”

Dylan beamed. “Really? That’s so cool!”

Loki turned to Dr. (L/N), his expression a mix of irritation and disbelief. “You expect me to play servant to a mortal child?”

She crossed her arms, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. “That’s exactly what I expect. Consider it your first lesson in humility.”

Thor clapped Loki on the back. “Good luck, brother. Try not to disappoint the lad.”

And with that, Thor strode out, leaving Loki alone with Dylan and the formidable Dr. (L/N).

Loki stared at Dylan, his sharp features betraying no emotion, though a storm of irritation brewed beneath the surface. He could scarcely believe the indignity of being assigned to "assist" a mortal child, no less one so infuriatingly cheerful.

The boy, oblivious to Loki’s disdain, grinned ear to ear. “So, what kind of powers do you have? Can you fly? Can you shoot lasers out of your eyes?”

Loki blinked, caught off guard by the boy’s enthusiastic questions. “I am not some circus performer,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I wield magic far beyond your comprehension.”

Dr. (L/N), standing just behind him, cleared her throat loudly. “Loki,” she said, her tone sharp enough to cut through steel, “remember what we talked about—kindness and patience.”

Loki glanced over his shoulder, his lips curling into a mock smile. “Ah, yes. Patience. My favorite virtue.”

Dylan giggled, clearly amused. “Can you show me some magic? Please? I promise I won’t tell anyone!”

The boy’s excitement was so genuine, so infectious, that even Loki found himself considering the request. With a dramatic sigh, he raised one hand, allowing a shimmering green orb to form in his palm. It flickered and danced like firelight, casting soft shadows across the room.

Dylan gasped, his eyes wide with wonder. “That’s amazing! Can you do more?”

Before Loki could respond, Dr. (L/N) stepped forward, placing a firm hand on his arm. “No tricks that could scare or hurt him,” she said, her voice low but commanding. “These kids have been through enough.”

Loki tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “I am perfectly capable of entertaining a child without traumatizing him,” he said, though his tone suggested he didn’t appreciate the insinuation.

Dr. (L/N) smiled sweetly, but her eyes were sharp. “Good. Then I’ll leave you to it.”

She turned to Dylan, her demeanor softening instantly. “If Loki gives you any trouble, just press the call button, okay?”

Dylan nodded eagerly. “Got it, Dr. (L/N). Thanks!”

As she left the room, Loki couldn’t help but watch her go. There was something about her—the way she carried herself, the way she looked at him without fear or reverence—that intrigued him. He shook his head, forcing the thought aside.

“Okay, Mr. Loki,” Dylan said, breaking the silence. “What else can you do?”

Loki raised an eyebrow at the boy’s audacity. “Do you presume to give me orders?”

Dylan shrugged, unfazed. “You’re supposed to help me, right? So, help me not be bored.”

Loki sighed, muttering something in Asgardian under his breath. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a small illusion—a flock of shimmering golden birds that flitted around the room, their wings leaving trails of light.

Dylan clapped his hands, laughing in delight. “This is so cool! Can I keep one?”

“They’re not real, you foolish child,” Loki said, though there was no real malice in his tone. “They’re illusions, meant only to entertain.”

Dylan frowned for a moment, then brightened. “Can you make them do tricks?”

Loki hesitated, glancing at the boy’s eager face. With another sigh, he wove his magic, commanding the birds to form intricate patterns in the air—circles, spirals, even the shape of a dragon.

For the next several minutes, Dylan watched in awe, his laughter filling the room. Despite himself, Loki felt a flicker of satisfaction. Perhaps this task wasn’t entirely without merit.

Just as Loki began to relax, the door swung open, and Dr. (L/N) stepped back inside. She froze, her eyes narrowing as she took in the glowing birds.

“Loki,” she said slowly, “what are you doing?”

“Entertaining the boy,” Loki replied innocently, dispelling the illusion with a casual wave of his hand. “Is that not what you assigned me to do?”

Dr. (L/N) crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “No magic unless it’s absolutely necessary. Hospital policy.”

Loki smirked. “Ah, but you never specified that earlier. Shall I add ‘mind-reading’ to my impressive list of abilities?”

Dylan stifled a laugh, earning a glare from Dr. (L/N). She stepped closer to Loki, her voice dropping to a whisper. “This is a hospital, not a stage. If you can’t follow the rules, you’re free to leave. I’m sure Thor would love to hear about your inability to cooperate.”

The mention of Thor made Loki bristle, but he forced a smile. “Very well, Doctor. Your rules are my command.”

Dr. (L/N) arched an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Good. Then maybe you can help Dylan with his reading assignment instead.”

“Reading assignment?” Loki repeated, his voice dripping with disdain.

Dylan held up a thin book titled Adventures in Space. “It’s my homework. I have to read a chapter and answer questions.”

Loki stared at the book as if it were a venomous snake. “Surely you jest.”

Dr. (L/N) smirked, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Welcome to the real world, Loki. Have fun.”

With that, she left the room, leaving Loki alone with Dylan and the dreaded reading assignment.

Loki stared at the small book in Dylan’s hands as if it were an affront to his very existence. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself. “Of all the indignities I have suffered, this must be the gravest.”

“It’s not that bad,” Dylan said, grinning. He opened the book and flipped to the marked chapter. “I mean, it’s about space. You like space, right?”

“Space is not a subject, child—it is an infinite expanse of wonder and chaos. Hardly something to be trivialized in...” Loki snatched the book from Dylan, examining the cartoonish illustrations. “This.”

Dylan giggled, clearly amused by Loki’s dramatics. “Come on, Mr. Loki. It’s only one chapter.”

Reluctantly, Loki sat down on the chair beside Dylan’s bed. He scanned the first page, his expression growing more incredulous with every sentence.

“In the vastness of space, Captain Zoom piloted his trusty rocket ship toward the glowing nebula…” Loki read aloud, his voice dripping with disdain. He lowered the book and gave Dylan a look of sheer disbelief. “This is the drivel they force upon you?”

Dylan shrugged. “It’s for school. I think it’s kinda fun.”

Loki rolled his eyes but continued reading, his voice taking on a sarcastic flair. “‘With his loyal robot companion Beep at his side, Captain Zoom prepared to rescue the alien queen from the clutches of the evil Star Lord.’” He paused, his lips curling into a smirk. “Star Lord? Truly, your Midgardian literature knows no bounds of absurdity.”

Dylan burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. “You’re funny, Mr. Loki!”

Loki arched a brow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do not strive to amuse, boy. This is merely my natural state.”

Once the reading was finished, Dylan picked up a pencil and opened his workbook. “Okay, now we have to answer the questions.”

“We?” Loki repeated, his tone filled with indignation.

Dylan grinned. “You’re helping me, remember? It’s part of your volunteer job.”

Loki sighed dramatically but leaned over to glance at the workbook. The first question read: What was Captain Zoom’s mission in this chapter?

“Rescuing the alien queen,” Dylan said, scribbling down the answer. He looked up at Loki. “See? Easy!”

Loki snorted. “Your educational system sets a disturbingly low bar.”

The second question read: Why did Captain Zoom trust his robot companion Beep?

Dylan tapped the pencil against his chin. “Um… because Beep was programmed to help him?”

Loki leaned back, folding his arms. “How unimaginative. A truly great ally is forged through bonds of loyalty, not mere programming.”

Dylan frowned, erasing his answer. “What should I put, then?”

“Write this,” Loki said, his voice authoritative. “Captain Zoom trusted Beep because true loyalty is demonstrated through unwavering actions, even in the face of great peril.”

Dylan dutifully wrote down the sentence, then looked up at Loki with wide eyes. “You’re really smart, Mr. Loki.”

“Yes, I am,” Loki said, his smirk widening.

As Loki finished helping Dylan with his homework, the door opened, and Dr. (L/N) stepped in. Her eyes immediately went to the workbook.

“Homework duty done already?” she teased, walking over to inspect their progress.

“It is an utter waste of time,” Loki said, rising to his full height. “This boy should be learning something of value, not reading tales of fictitious space captains.”

Dr. (L/N) tilted her head, clearly unimpressed. “And what would you suggest, Loki? Teaching him how to conjure snakes or make people disappear?”

Loki smirked, stepping closer. “I could teach him to see through illusions, to question the falsehoods presented to him. Surely that would be a more valuable skill.”

Dr. (L/N) crossed her arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Or maybe we should let him enjoy being a kid while he still can. These stories might not be your idea of profound, but they give him hope and joy—something he desperately needs right now.”

Her words struck a nerve, though Loki refused to show it. He glanced back at Dylan, who was watching them with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

“I suppose,” Loki said slowly, “there is some merit in allowing the boy his distractions.”

Dr. (L/N) blinked, surprised by his concession. “Well, that’s... unexpected.”

Loki smirked. “Do not mistake my acquiescence for agreement, Doctor. I merely find arguing with you to be… tiresome.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

Loki found himself loitering in the hospital’s staff break room, a space he had declared “unfit for anyone with even a modicum of taste.” It was a sterile room with plain white walls, mismatched chairs, and the faint aroma of burnt coffee.

Dr. (L/N) stood by the counter, pouring herself a cup from the offending coffee pot. She turned, her eyes catching Loki’s as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression one of idle amusement.

“Lurking again, I see,” she said lightly, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Merely observing,” Loki corrected, his tone dripping with faux innocence. “You Midgardians are endlessly fascinating. Tell me, is that what you call coffee?”

She raised an eyebrow, unperturbed by his sarcasm. “It gets the job done.”

He stepped closer, his boots making an irritatingly soft sound on the linoleum floor. “Does it, though? Or do you simply endure it because you’ve convinced yourself it’s the best you can manage?”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Do you ever stop?”

“Rarely,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

The way he looked at her then was different—less playful, more intense. Her pulse quickened as his piercing green eyes swept over her, taking in the tired lines of her face, the faint smudge of ink on her wrist where she’d made notes in haste earlier.

“And what about you, Doctor?” he asked, his voice softening, almost a purr. “Do you always settle for mediocrity?”

She didn’t step back, though he was close enough now that she could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. “I don’t settle for anything, Loki.”

“Bold claim,” he said, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I wonder—are you always so controlled? So perfectly in command of every situation?”

Her jaw tightened, but she held his gaze. “Why don’t you tell me what this is really about? Or do you just enjoy hearing yourself talk?”

Loki let out a low chuckle, stepping even closer. He was invading her space now, and they both knew it.

“Perhaps I do,” he admitted, his voice a murmur. “But perhaps I also enjoy seeing you flustered, Doctor.”

“I’m not flustered,” she said, though the slight hitch in her voice betrayed her.

“Oh, but you are,” he said, leaning just slightly into her space. “Your heart is racing, your breathing has quickened. Shall I go on?”

Her lips parted, but no retort came. For a moment, she was acutely aware of how near he was, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the burnt coffee aroma. She hated how much she noticed, how much she cared.

But then she smiled—a small, knowing smile that made Loki pause. “You know, for someone so clever, you’re remarkably predictable.”

That threw him off balance. “Predictable?”

“Yes,” she said, stepping around him to refill her coffee. “You think you’re mysterious, but really, you’re just lonely.”

The words hit like a dagger, and for a split second, his mask slipped.

“What would you know of it?” he asked, his tone sharper now.

She turned, meeting his gaze again. “More than you think.”

There was no malice in her voice, only quiet understanding. And that, somehow, made it worse.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them crackled with tension—part challenge, part something neither of them dared to name.

Finally, she broke the silence. “If you’re done trying to get under my skin, we have a patient waiting. Unless, of course, you’d rather sulk.”

He smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Lead the way, Doctor. I wouldn’t dream of keeping your adoring public waiting.”

...

Leave a comment on any of the posts relating to this series if you would like to be added to the taglist!

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@buttercupcookies-blog @msdjsg7

#loki laufeyson #loki marvel #loki of asgard #loki x reader #loki x you

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velvetvexations · 16 hours ago

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Just saw a hot take that boils down to "women generally do traditional female gender role stuff specifically because they are afraid of the men in their lives, this goes extra for trans women". Which like. I get where they're coming from, but it's a take that I feel circles back around into misogyny by refusing to acknowledge that some women do "traditional female gender role" stuff by choice and not by coercion. Like my mother and grandmother were staunch feminists who both take pride in their ability to cook and take care of a family and host people because those are skills that they have practiced and worked on. And those skills aren't even gender locked, my mother has been teaching my younger brothers to cook and now they also take pride in having that skill. Also I don't know about y'all but in my personal experience every time I have done something like clean or cook out of fear of negative consequences, that turned out to be an explicitly abusive situation, and while I know abuse is common I refuse to believe it is the only potential ending point for women, cis and trans alike. Idk it just seems like a very sad take on the world, and I don't really like it because like I said it refuses to leave room for choice and agency and pride in these skills, it refuses to leave space for the lived reality of me and my family

it also way downplays the extent to which women are brainwashed and abused by their mothers and the other women into being Good Women lol like hey it's a patriarchy but a lot of women are complicit in a very active way so a lot of times the patriarchy itself is a distant passive thing

This goes extra when you add the trans element. I'd have to see the actual post to fully comment on it but trans women should recognize that to whatever extent they consider "men" their enemy they should feel the exact same way about cis women. I'm not saying I personally think either cis men or cis women are The Enemy, but like, if you're going to make a big deal about how much trans women have to fear from Men, then yeah, you need to extend that to cis women, who may not directly hate crime us with their own two hands but are more often than not EXTREMELY ENTHUSIASTIC about fucking us up. There are cis women who fought for decades for things like abortion rights only to immediately toss lighter fluid all over everything they worked so hard for because conservatives who proudly admit to wanting The Handmaid's Tale IRL promised they'd keep trans children from playing volleyball with their friends. Cis men may physically assault us more often, but how often is it because a White woman screamed about there being a man in the women's bathroom?

Again, I'd have to actually see the post for myself to be sure, but when I read "women (...) afraid of men are their lives, this goes extra for trans women" it feels like the issue with people just wanting their oppression to be 1:1 with how it works for cis women lol. And if it's making a point about how trans women should fear trans men? Oh, golly, that would be fucking brainless and pathetic.

#discourse

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alisonkittredge · 1 day ago

Text

BG3 Headcanons Nobody Asked For.

Part 1: Sleep.

Staring up at my ceiling waiting to sleep made me ask, "How do the companions realistically sleep?" Thank you insomnia for the inspiration.

Gale:

He has to be comfy. He's particular about his pillows and will be very angry if someone "borrows" HIS pillow. (Karlach and Astarion thinks his reaction is funny and will steal it, likely giving it to Lae'zel who has no idea how it got in her tent and insists AGAIN it wasn't her)

It takes him a while to fall asleep, he's a canon overthinker and what better time than alone, pent up, in a tent.

Speaking of pent up, he is likely to wank off to help sleep. It's science. (Is thinking of tav)

Tosses slightly in REM or at the beginning, eventually stays pretty much in the same position all night.

On particularly stressful days/nights, he sleep talks. You could have full conversations with him, even if they are whacko and hilarious (Shadowheart loves to mess with this). He also says funny gimmicks in his sleep like his "By Algeron's nose!" quite loudly. It does wake camp and will start with others messing with him.

He has a tendency to early to sleep, early to rise, UNLESS he has found himself caught up in a recent hyperfixation where he will be up all night and crash at daybreak. His sleep will be much different and he crashes on his stomach, drooling a lot.

Most common position is one leg straight, the other slightly bent (almost making the 4 pose), hand on either side of his chest, unintentionally touching the orb.

Has a magical alarm set the to same time every morning. He gets up promptly and is a bit peeved by those who seem to "Dilly Dally" (because he says shit like that unironically) in the mornings.

Karlach:

Almost complete opposite of Gale. The girl's got ADHD as canon so IYKYK. If you don't *Let me describe it to you*:

She crashes. Girl can be asleep in under 20 minutes and can do it in almost any conditions. Had to learn to sleep wherever chasing devils in the hells. She rocks out and goes down hard.

Tosses and turns all night. Full on starfish queen. Always starts the morning with "Gods I was so cold last night". Likely because she kicked off all her covers at hour 2.

Sleeps hard. Doesn't wake up for anything. Zariel's entire entourage could show up at 2AM and she would have to be woken up.

She has 2 modes: #1) falls asleep before dinner because she just wanted a "nap", wakes at 4am for a snack and falls back to sleep. #2) She stays up talking until everyone is going to bed, even staying up to talk with whoever is on first watch and finally crashing when the second shift gets up.

It takes her forever to get out of bed. Everyone could be up and nearly ready to go and it takes the smell of food or someone nudging her to get her to start. Even if she does wake up, she takes forever to get ready or even off her bedroll. If the group wants to leave in a timely manner, someone has to get her up early (usually Gale because being late makes him angyyy. Also Lae'zel is very punctual but refuses to wake Karlach because "she needs to learn to do it on her own")

She is super groggy when she gets up. Will not talk to anyone.

Has to hug something: Tav, Clive, a pillow, extra bedroll, Scratch, etc.

Talks in her sleep as well, but hers are unintelligible. Some words like "Heya" or small phrases can be deciphered, but usually its just loud mumbles. (Cannot hold full on conversation like with Gale)

Vivid dreams. Likes to recount them on travels and tries to figure out if they mean something. They are usually very odd and funny. Though, she does have nightmares of the hells more often than she will admit. Has only admitted such to Astarion, who can relate.

Lae'zel:

Irish exits to bed. Tells no one. If everyone is drinking and she just decides she's tired, she goes to bed. Most don't even realize she's gone for a while.

She sleeps like the dead, but will wake up wide awake. She can be woken up by sound in the middle of the night, but she easily goes back to sleep.

Doesn't move an inch after sleeping. Sleeps on her back hands on her stomach like the dead. Sometimes a leg will shift an inch or so.

She has the perfect internal clock. Has to go to bed around the same time and wakes around the same time naturally. Soldier's hours. She was trained at her creche to sleep and wake at exact times - no exceptions.

The first time she ever slept in was after a night of drinking where she went to bed after her internal clock was ignored. She had a full on panic attack and got very angry that no one woke her, despite everyone being hung over and not waking up early too.

Dreams are vivid, but she doesn't talk about them like Karlach.

Stretches before bed in her tent, trains before breakfast every morning.

If it was her way, everyone would be on her schedule. Hates the differentiation between habits. Used to the organization and tries to repeatedly convince the group that it's the only way they should be doing it. They oblige her for two days, then stop. Karlach is the first to quit. Shadowheart secretly likes the idea of organized wake and sleep times, but will never admit it to Lae'zel.

Shadowheart:

Has to have tea before bed. Convinced herself she won't sleep well without it and now she doesn't. When the group has to make quick camp and she has no time to make it, she is annoyed, but won't say anything about it.

Light sleeper. She will sleep a full night, but wakes up several times. Likes to tell the one on watch it's because she wants to check on them, but in reality, she woke up having to pee. Like every night. And because they were likely too loud doing something to keep themselves awake and it woke her up.

She sleeps like a normal person would (is anyone normal? I guess I mean what statically people have a tendency to do...). She tosses a little in REM and then stills. Side sleeper. She also snores when she is really tired, and it can wake herself up. Once Astarion called her out for snoring and she vehemently denied it, but she knew it was likely true. She's really self conscious about it.

Though she loves Tav, she doesn't love sharing a tent. She grew up sharing everything with initiates and having her own space for once is nice. She will snuggle for a few minutes then tell Tav they're a little hot and scoot away. Not even a foot touch. Girl needs her space.

Despite needing space the exceptions to this are Scratch and the Owlbear. She has to have them in her tent. She will bribe then away from other companions because she won't sleep without them. (HC is in her playthrough she romances Halsin and will sleep next to him as a bear, when she can change into her lycanthropic wolf form, she might sleep that way next to him too.)

Wakes up as soon as she hears people about, usually right after Gale and Lae'zel. Hates that Lae'zel likes to be the group alarm clock by using her sharpening stone to wake everyone up. She did try to call Lae'zel out on it, but Lae'zel just shrugged and told her everyone should be up by sunrise anyway. She is secretly thankful even if it's the most annoying noise ever because she would just sleep in if Lae'zel didn't.

Wyll:

He likes to stay up late and wakes up only when breakfast is ready. Not as bad as Karlach.

He is usually the one to take first watch, so he can stay up and read his erotica, take a private bath (he's got a routine), dance alone, train, have a drink, etc. Have "me" time.

He sleeps flipping from back to side several times. If he's really tired, he ends up on his stomach. Heavy mouth breather. Knows he is because he will wake up with dry mouth or drool crust. Very insecure about it. Half of avoiding sex with someone is the sleeping over. He thinks he's a bad sleeper. He's not that bad. One time someone called him out on it, has been embarrassed ever since.

Dreams of falling asleep snuggling with Tav, but in practice, it kind of annoys him and they keep him awake. Used to his own routines.

Has to have water nearby. Will wake up with dry mouth and chug it.

Has dreams, but rarely remembers them.

Won't really talk to anyone until he's had tea, coffee, or food. Gale makes him super annoyed in the mornings because he wants to talk immediately.

Halsin:

Can stay up late and rise early. Will often be found talking to Karlach well into the night.

Has a tent, rarely uses it. Can fall asleep by the fire with people talking nearby or even someone up on watch. Will move his sleep spot to places just outside of camp to get more of a "falls asleep under the stars" feel. Can sleep without a bedroll if he wanted.

Naturally warm (werebear HC all the way), he doesn't often need a blanket, let alone clothes. Will skip clothes when he's outside of camp or in his tent. Wishes the companions were more "open minded" about the benefits of sleeping nude.

When not asleep in camp where he can be seen, will definitely, almost every time, wank off to sleep. It's natural! If he's got Tav, he will respect their no, but will always ask for a romp before bed.

He reveries peacefully, even if he's having "nightmares". No one would know if they looked at him that he was reliving the day his archdruid mentor died. He won't burden anyone with it either.

Big cuddler. Likes cuddling before reverie if Tav is willing. Or even if on of the companions are. Doesn't have to lead to anything, a cuddle is a cuddle.

Wakes with the sun everyday. Stretches and takes a walk within minutes of waking. Sun in the first 10 minutes kind of guy. (He would love Andrew Huberman)

Will want to talk as soon as he wakes up too, to Wyll's chagrin.

Minthara:

Has shit reverie. Super light sleeper most nights, where she can't say she got much sleep. Then once or twice a month she will crash. Will sleep like Karlach and not wake for anything.

DO NOT WAKE HER UP SHE WILL HURT YOU (only verbally if you're lucky, there is a literal knife under her pillow).

Even if she has sleep issues, she insists on an image of "early to sleep, early to rise". She sees herself in a secret camaraderie with Lae'zel. She won't admit she wants Lae'zel to give her approval, but she smiles and nods at her every morning.

Eternal eye bags, but pretends they aren't there. She is gorgeous and she knows it.

Nightmares about her life in Menzoberranzan or memories of the love of her life alive are the regulars on the menu, though after a few months with the companions, she starts having reveries about Karlach in battle... a lot.

Knows she should take a shift of watch and would be the best candidate for it, but won't do it unless someone asks.

Doesn't move in her sleep and if she wakes up, she moves as fast as a spider when you try to catch it. So, once again: DO NOT WAKE HER UP.

Doesn't talk to anyone until everyone has eaten, even if she is wide awake. She hates talking to people in the morning, unless you're Tav... or Karlach (but as previously mentioned, Karlach doesn't wake until breakfast and doesn't talk until breakfast, so it's her dreams come true.)

Astarion:

Left him for last becasue talking about the causes of CPTSD on sleep can be heartbreaking and complicated. I'm thankful I don't often relive memories in my dreams, but I know many who do. And he sure does.

He has broken reverie, not just shit reverie like Minthara. Minthy still reveries. He dreams/reveries together. He can't tell what is a memory and what is a dream anymore. His memories have been so rewritten, he doesn't believe he actually remembers anything properly, let alone his life before Cazador. He considers anything that comes up from back then to be a fantasy his mind made up.

It takes him forever to fall asleep and he wakes up easily. He is getting only a few hours each night. Spends a lot of time staring up at the tent ceiling or secretly watching the first watch until his turn at second. Is very often on either first or second watch.

Knows a lot about how the rest of the companions sleep. You can just assume he took these notes that I'm now recording for you.

He has no real sleep routine because he thinks they don't work and is frustrated by them even though Gale insists he keep trying.

Even when he's tired, exhausted, body ready to pass out, his mind is awake. He will still just lay there. Chronic insomnia.

When he has Tav's blood for the first time, it is the first time he has a full night reverie in centuries. It's not even scary memories, but rather sad mundane ones (would be sad and traumatic to anyone else, but traumatic for him is much more intense obvs).

By canon will have severe nightmares when too hungry.

Usually has to hunt before bed if Tav (or another companion) doesn't give him blood (HC is that Halsin is one of the only other willing to share). Gets excess anxiety out, but also feeding helps him get at least to sleep, eventually. Nights he doesn't he pulls all nighters or ends up having very short, nightmare induced reveries.

If Tav sleeps next to him, he sleeps a tad bit better, but is extremely nervous his insomnia will keep them up. First few times lies there just listening to them sleep.

Will pretend to "wake up" after others have gotten up, but has been up for hours already. Is the actual first one up even if no one else knows. Often takes a walk in the early light (Has seen Halsin sleeping butt naked and has considered waking the bear with a special "treat"). But usually uses the time to feel the sun on his skin and wade in the river alone.

Thank you for enjoying my very detailed mindless imaginings.

#bg3 companions #minthara baenre #halsin #karlach #astarion #gale dekarios #laezel #wyll ravengard #shadowheart #insomniac thoughts #cptsd #I love these guys #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 headcanons

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atsro-slut · 2 days ago

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Heyy astro! So I just fell ill out of nowhere, so I gotta cancel so many plans 😔 Being sick sucksss, especially when you finally have a break from school 😮‍💨 Could I please ask a nice comforting fic about Remus taking care of reader when she's sick? Possibly with her feeling nauseous (without actually getting sick) and being triggered bc of her Emetophobia? Thanks lovely! 🫶

Comfort in the Quiet, Calm in the Storm

Hi hun!! Im sorry you're sick :( I hope you feel better and enjoy the fic!!

Remus Lupin x female!reader

Remus helps Y/N feel better when she falls sick!

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:☆

It was a cold evening at Hogwarts when Y/N first felt it—an odd, unsettling sensation in the pit of her stomach. She tried to ignore it at first, busying herself with homework in the Gryffindor common room. The flickering firelight and the comforting presence of the castle were usually enough to keep her grounded, but today was different. The nausea seemed to worsen with every passing minute, and soon she found herself clutching her abdomen, trying to breathe through the sudden discomfort.

“Y/N?”

Remus Lupin’s voice brought her back to the present. She glanced up, meeting his warm brown eyes across the room. He had been studying at the table nearby, but his gaze was now fixed on her, concern written all over his face.

“I’m fine,” Y/N muttered, shaking her head in an attempt to brush off the queasiness. “Just a bit of a stomachache.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You don’t look fine. Come here, love,” he coaxed gently, his tone soothing.

Y/N didn’t resist. She knew he wouldn’t let it go, and honestly, she was grateful. As much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t feel fine at all. In fact, she felt like her whole body was on the edge of something she couldn’t control.

She slowly stood up and walked over to where Remus was sitting. He shifted aside to make room for her, and as she sank into the armchair beside him, he instinctively reached for her hand.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he said softly, his thumb gently tracing the back of her hand.

“I don’t know,” Y/N whispered. “I just feel… off. A bit dizzy. My stomach’s turning, but it’s not—” She stopped herself, aware of what she was about to say. The word hung heavy on her tongue, a word she tried so hard to avoid. She swallowed, willing herself to stay calm.

Remus’s eyes softened with understanding. “You don’t need to say it if you don’t want to,” he said gently. “But I’m here for you. Whatever it is.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over her just from hearing him say that. It was rare for her to open up about her struggles with emetophobia, especially with the one person she cared about most. Remus had always been understanding, but today, her fear felt overwhelming. Her stomach churned at the thought of getting sick—something she hadn’t been able to control since childhood—and her mind began to spiral.

“I’ll get you something,” Remus continued, sensing her distress. “Something to settle your stomach. You’ll feel better soon.”

Y/N gave a shaky smile, grateful for his calm presence. He always seemed to know how to make her feel better, how to soothe her even when the world felt out of control.

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:☆

The evening stretched on, and Y/N couldn’t shake the sensation of nausea that clung to her. She had tried to drink some water, but it hadn’t helped. She had curled up under a blanket beside Remus on the couch, but the nausea still gnawed at her insides, and the dizziness refused to leave.

"Do you want me to get Madame Pomfrey?" Remus asked after a long silence, his voice careful.

Y/N shook her head quickly, but the movement only made her feel worse. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to steady herself, but she couldn’t escape the overwhelming sense of discomfort.

"I’m fine, really," she replied, her voice strained. "I just need a minute."

Remus didn’t push further. Instead, he carefully shifted so that he was sitting behind her, supporting her back with a cushion. His hands were warm and steady as he placed one on her shoulder, rubbing soothing circles on her skin.

“I’m right here,” he murmured, his voice like a gentle lullaby. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

The kindness in his tone made Y/N’s heart ache. She had always been so terrified of being judged, of appearing weak or fragile, especially around him. But Remus never made her feel that way. He never once looked at her with pity, and that was something she cherished more than anything.

She leaned back against him, resting her head on his chest. His heartbeat was steady, a rhythm she found grounding, and it helped her focus on something other than the sickening feeling in her stomach. She closed her eyes, listening to the quiet, to the sound of his breath, and allowed herself a small moment of peace.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Remus asked after a while, his voice soft, barely a whisper.

Y/N hesitated, biting her lip. She had been carrying this fear around for so long, and though she had told Remus bits and pieces before, she had never truly opened up about how severe her emetophobia could be.

"I don't know if I can," she admitted, her voice trembling.

Remus didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he simply continued to hold her, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos of her mind.

When he finally spoke again, it was with a quiet understanding. “You don’t have to tell me everything, love. But if you want to talk, I’m here.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she had never been able to express. She had always been afraid of burdening others with her fear, especially Remus, but the kindness in his voice and the gentleness of his touch made it feel just a little less daunting.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “I hate this feeling. The nausea, the thought of being sick. I just… I can’t handle it. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Her chest tightened, her breathing becoming shallow. Remus’s arms tightened around her as if he could somehow absorb the tension in her body. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Whatever you need.”

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” Y/N continued, her voice barely audible. “I just want it to stop. I’m afraid of being out of control. Of not being able to stop it when it happens.”

Remus’s thumb brushed against her temple, as though brushing away her worries. “I know, Y/N. I know you don’t want to feel like this. But you’re not alone. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

He kissed the top of her head, his touch tender and reassuring. “We’ll get through this together. One step at a time.”

Y/N clung to his words, willing herself to believe them, even as her fear threatened to swallow her whole.

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:☆

The night stretched on, the fire crackling softly in the background, and the hours passed in quiet conversation. Remus didn’t try to rush her through the nausea; instead, he focused on calming her mind, drawing her attention away from the spiral of thoughts that threatened to take over.

As time went on, Y/N began to feel a little less overwhelmed. The nausea was still there, lingering in the background, but it wasn’t as suffocating. She had Remus with her, and that made all the difference.

“Do you want some tea?” Remus asked, his voice soft. “I think it might help settle your stomach.”

Y/N nodded, grateful for the suggestion. “Yes, please,” she murmured.

Remus rose from the couch and moved toward the small kitchenette in the corner of the common room. He returned shortly with a steaming mug of chamomile tea, the aroma of the herbs filling the air.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her the cup. “It’s not much, but it should help.”

Y/N took the mug from him, the warmth of the tea comforting against her chilled fingers. She took a slow sip, letting the soothing liquid settle in her stomach. For the first time all evening, she felt a small glimmer of relief.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Remus smiled, his eyes soft. “Anytime, love. You don’t ever have to go through this alone.”

She smiled back, leaning into his side once again. For the first time in hours, the knot in her stomach began to loosen. The fear wasn’t completely gone, but it didn’t feel as overpowering. And with Remus there beside her, it felt a little easier to breathe.

They sat in silence for a while, just being together. The world outside seemed distant, irrelevant in the face of their quiet comfort.

Y/N’s head rested on Remus’s shoulder as they watched the flames dance in the fireplace. She didn’t feel entirely better yet, but with him there, it felt like the storm inside her had calmed—just a little.

And in that small moment, she realized that maybe that was enough for now. She had him. And that was all she needed to make it through the storm.

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