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saffusthings · 1 month ago

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second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part thirty-five: normal people

word count: 4.6k

warning: just tooth rotting fluff? pls lmk if i missed anything!

thirty-four | thirty-five | thirty-six

She’s standing in the kitchen, barefoot on tile, a half-filled grocery list balanced on her palm and a pen tucked between her fingers. There’s a smudge of ink near her knuckle where she pressed too hard writing “milk (again)” and a half-eaten apple next to her elbow.

She tapped the pen against her chin and called out it in what she hoped was his general direction. “Anything you want? I’m headed to the shop today.”

The man didn’t even glance over. “Nah, don’t worry about me. I’ll eat at home.”

She blinked. “What home?”

“Mine?”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? Bold of you to act like you don’t live here part-time.”

“I don’t live here. I just visit. Often. And sleep on your couch sometimes. And eat your snacks.”

“Right. Like a polite, British raccoon.”

She could hear the dull thump of him flipping a cushion over and resettling. Y/N shook her head and capped the pen before turning, leaning her hip against the counter to get a better look at him.

He was sprawled on the couch, hoodie slightly askew, curls crushed on one side from a nap he definitely took while she was in the shower. He was watching her lazily now, like she was some interesting artwork he still hadn’t decided the interpretation of yet.

He raised a brow at her, unbothered. “I’ve been busy.”

“Uh-huh.” She jotted something else down. “With my fridge.”

“Your fridge is elite. It feeds me. It listens when I talk. It’s never judgmental.”

“It’s empty,” she replied, dry. “Because you keep eating all my stuff!”

“That’s on you, really. For buyin’ food that tastes good.”

Even though he couldn’t see her, she rolled her eyes on principle. “So, again. Anything you want?”

He yawned, blinking the leftover sleep from his eyes. She tried not to stare at them too long.

“Don’t fuss, I’ll live,” he waved her off.

She looked at him over the top of her list, unimpressed. “Look, either you tell me what you want, or you come with me and pick it out yourself.”

That certainly got his attention. He blinked, propping himself a bit more upright against the back of the couch.

“You want me to come… grocery shoppin’?”

“No, I want you to stay here and text me cryptic things like ‘grab snacks’ and then complain when I don’t buy the right ones.”

He grined. “Hey, that was one time.”

“Three times,” she insisted. “And I still don’t know how you made that much of a fuss over cheerios. Cheerios!”

“They were sad circles,” he muttered.

“You’re a sad circle.”

He smirked. She narrowed her eyes, thinking.

“Fine. Come with me then. Pick out your own stupid cereal. Or snacks. Or whatever it is you pretend you don’t want and then steal from my cabinet.”

She expected some sarcastic brush-off, or a mumbled excuse about being busy. Instead, he stretched his arms above his head and yawned theatrically.

“Alright. I’ll come.”

That made her pause. She glanced up from the list, surprised to find him already looking at her. “Wait, really?”

“You said I could come.”

“Like, for grocery shopping.”

“Isn’t that what you just said?”

“Yeah, but you’re agreeing. Without protest. That’s usually grounds for suspicion.”

He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Now why would I deprive you of my wonderful company, hm, sweetheart?”

She makes a face and flips her notepad shut. “And look at that, he’s humble too.”

“I know! I’m the total package, really.”

“Oh, you’re something, alright.” She’s trying not to smile, but it sneaks through anyway. “Also you have to wear proper sneakers. Those fancy dress shoes of yours won’t save you from slipping in the produce aisle.”

“Oh?” He grinned, finishing the last of his morning tea before he got up to put his shoes on. “That sounds a bit specific. You gonna tell me the story behind that, or will I have to force it out of you?”

“It was a tactical slide,” she mumbled quietly, already defensive. “I was testing the floor.”

“You fell, didn’t you?”

“...Into a stack of lemons.”

“Well, now we know they bruise easily,” he laughed, watching her cheeks turn pink.

She shook her head, turning away before he could see the way her expression softens. He was coming with her. Maybe that didn’t mean anything.

Or maybe it meant enough.

The sliding glass doors of the grocery store swooshed open, and Lando hesitated on the threshold like he’d stepped into another country.. He stuck close to her side, trying to act casual, but his eyes flicked around like a tourist in a new city.

She, on the other hand, pulled her trolley with practiced ease. It was a little squeaky, but she simply kicked the wheel, and it was suddenly good as new. She started to throw a few basics into the cart — butter, milk, bread — before she had to turn back when she noticed that Liam was still frozen like a deer in headlights.

“...This is it?” he asked.

She looked over, eyebrow raised. “What were you expecting? A red carpet? Spotlights?”

He blinked up at the fluorescent lighting. “I don’t know. I guess I thought grocery stores had, like… more drama.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Dunno. Thought there’d be a big wheel of cheese or something. That’s what I imagined as a kid. This place is kind of underwhelming.”

“That’s because it’s a supermarket, not a Bond film.”

Still, she couldn’t help the grin pulling at her mouth as he trailed after her, pushing the cart with more focus than strictly necessary, eyes darting across shelves like he was trying to figure out the logic of it all.

“Why are the carrots all in bags?”

Liam squinted at the wall of orange like it was a code he was supposed to crack, before he made a disgusted face. “And why are some of them hairy?”

“They’re not hairy,” she said, amused, nudging the cart forward. “They’ve just got roots. It means they’re fresh.”

“Right,” he says dubiously, poking at one with his index finger like it might bite him. “That seems fake.”

She furrowed her brows, shooting him a worried expression. “What, you think carrots come waxed and perfectly orange from the ground?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says honestly, and she glanced at him, more curious than judgmental.

She watched as he trailed behind the cart, gaze drifting over shelves like it’s a museum, eyes snagging on price tags and multipack deals like he’s never seen a grocery store before. He doesn’t reach for anything himself, just keeps pace with her, occasionally making faces at the labels.

Idiot.

He looked so serious standing next to the pasta.

“There are… so many kinds.”

She tries her best to hold back a laugh, but with limited success. He just looked so adorably lost.

Liam picked up a bag of rigatoni, turned it over like it might give him directions.

“What do you even do with these? They look like pipes.”

“Cook them, Li. Like a normal human person.”

He put it back, unimpressed. “Too much work.”

She rolled her eyes, already grabbing a box of fettuccine and tossing it into the cart.

They kept moving, and he noticed things.

Little things.

The way she’d linger at one shelf and then trade whatever she picked for the store brand. Or how she’d turn something over in her hand — cookie butter, frozen berries, good Greek yogurt — look at the price, and then gently set it back down without another glance.

She never said anything about it. Just… kept walking, focused and practical.

But whenever he picked something — sugary cereal, overpriced fruit, dumb snacks that just looked fun—she never said a word about those, never even glanced twice at them let alone put it back.

Sometimes she teased his tastes, sure – “That’s not trail mix, that’s a cry for help.” But she never once made him switch his things out for something cheaper.

It sat weird in his chest. He wasn’t sure why.

They were halfway through the produce aisle when he nudged her shoulder.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“You didn’t grab that yoghurt you like.”

She blinked, then shrugged. “Maybe next week. Not this time.”

“What? Why not?”

She snorted. “Because I like paying rent.”

He opened his mouth to argue but she’d already turned to inspect a bunch of bananas. She looked over her shoulder and saw the furrow in his brow.

“Relax. I’m not dying, Liam. I’m just budgeting.”

Beside her, he went quiet for a moment, contemplative.

“You’ve really never done this, have you?” she asked softly, halfway down the spice aisle.

“I mean, I’ve been inside a grocery store,” he defended. “Just not… this part. Not with a list. Or a trolley. Or… the intent to budget.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” she said, smiling faintly as she placed the store-brand cheese in the cart and put the fancy one back on the shelf.

But when she turned, he was still looking at her.

“Do you always do that? Swap stuff out for the cheaper version?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Well, when you’ve got six bucks left in your bank account, you do a lot of math in the cereal aisle.”

Lando furrowed his brow.

“That’s... that’s a thing? I mean, does it really matter?”

She shrugged, tossing something else into the cart. “If it’s only a few cents, not so much. But if you’re on a budget, it adds up. It’s the difference between getting snacks for the week or just dinner.”

He paused, watching her. She had the same neutral, measured tone she’d use when she explained the different drinks to a customer at the café — like it was all no big deal, just the reality of things. But to him? It was like he’s seeing behind a curtain he never noticed before.

“Weird,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Seems exhausting.”

She rolled her eyes, but there's a softness in her smile.

“You get used to it. Don’t tell me you’ve never had to budget for something.”

He gave her a look. “I... no, not really.”

She snorted, amused. “That explains a lot.”

She’d laughed of course, but for once, Lando’s mind wasn’t focused on that. Something flickered across his face — shame, maybe, or perhaps realization. But he didn’t comment on it. At least, not out loud.

Instead, he glanced into the cart again.“So why haven’t you told me to swap my stuff out?”

“You mean like the bougie almond chocolate clusters you added?”

“They’re elite, thank you very much” he said, clutching the bag to his chest in mock offense.

She laughed, shakes her head. “I figured if you're coming, you get to pick what you like. Budgeting is my problem, not yours, Liam.”

It landed heavier than she meant it to, but he didn't call her on it. He just walked a little closer after that, watching her more carefully. He let his arm graze against hers, choosing not to comment when she picked up avocados and then put them back because they were too soft. He noticed her pause at her favorite crisps, and then reach for a cheaper bag instead.

By the time they both reached the checkout, he’d gone noticeably quiet. Not in a moody way, just thoughtful.

She started pulling items from the cart onto the belt, muttering totals under her breath like it’s muscle memory, making sure each item was accounted for. He zoned back in only when she got to the end and started fishing for her wallet.

As the cashier continued to scan, she pulled out her card without hesitation. And Lando, just as casually, reached forward and tapped his before she could blink.

He stepped forward casually, card already out. “I’ve got it.”

She blinked. “No. No, you don’t– Liam– no, seriously–”

“I insisted on the elite chocolate clusters, yeah?” he said breezily. “Consider it my penance.”

“You can’t just pay for my groceries like it’s a takeaway. This stuff’s expensive—”

“Sure I can.” His tone was still light, but there was a hint of something else in it, a bit of quiet determination. “You feed me. Let me feed you back.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but something about the way he said it, like it wasn’t just about food at all – made her stop.

He went ahead and put in the security pin for his black American Express card, the register beeping once in confirmation. She exhaled, torn between touched and annoyed, but mostly just a little soft.

“Liam.”

“Y/N.”

“That wasn’t a competition. I can pay for myself, you know.”

“Wasn’t trying to win. Just figured if I’m gonna live in your fridge, I should at least pay rent.”

“You—” she stared at him, speechless for a moment. “You are so annoying.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t ask you to—”

“Don’t care.”

She tried to frown but it came out crooked, somehow fond.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he liked having her look at him like that.

And when she looked at Liam, he just looked smug. But quiet, too – he didn’t make a big deal out of it. He didn’t expect some grand thank you or a gold star.

They walked out side by side, her bag slung over one shoulder, his hand casually holding the other.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But you’re still carrying everything up the stairs!”

“Of course. I wouldn’t dare think otherwise. Anything else, princess?

She rolled her eyes as they headed for the exit, but once again she couldn't quite bite back the smile tugging at her lips. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately, she’d noticed – smiling like an idiot over stupid things, things she didn’t remember finding nearly as amusing before.

Lando noticed. There wasn’t much he didn’t notice when it came to her. She laughed, and this time, it was him who turned to look. Just for a moment. Like maybe, just maybe, this whole thing — shopping carts, pasta, her — was a dream that might not feel so far away after all.

“You’re impossible,” she huffed, shoving him playfully with her elbow since her hands were a bit preoccupied.

He looked over at her, his expression softening for a second as he grabbed the receipt.

“Oh, please. You love it.”

She smiled to herself, like a secret just for her

Maybe she did.

She stood at the counter, staring at the ingredients she'd just bought. Dried basil, tomatoes, a bottle of parmesan, and even fresh garlic, which was definitely a step up from the stale garlic powder she’d just finished using last week. A warm, homey feeling settled over her as she inhaled the earthy smell of the herbs. Maybe it was the rain, maybe it was the quiet, but something about it felt tangibly comforting.

The rain had settled into a steady rhythm outside her windows, soft enough to be soothing, loud enough to justify a cozy evening in. Her kitchen, small and usually quiet, felt suddenly full—with the scent of fresh basil and garlic, and the presence of one very unhelpful young man.

“Do not touch that,” she warned, pointing a wooden spoon at him without turning from the stove.

Behind her, Lando froze mid-bite, a suspiciously square cube of cheese caught between his fingers.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You literally were already doing it.”

“I was testing it. For poison. Very noble of me, really.”

“Right. My hero.”

He popped it in his mouth anyway, shameless, and leaned back against the counter like he belonged there. Like he hadn’t just eaten a chunk of the cheese she needed for the pasta.

She grabbed the cutting board and started mincing garlic, her mind wandering.

"How does pasta sound for dinner?" she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "It's been a while."

From across the kitchen, Liam poked his head around, looking a bit too much like an excited puppy, just without the wagging tail.

“You makin’ food? I can help.”

She glanced over her shoulder, met with his eager eyes.

“It’s alright, Li. I’ve got it.”

“Nonsense.” He drawled, his voice teasing, but his expression was dead serious. “I am a pro in the kitchen.”

She chuckled, turning back to the garlic on the cutting board. “Right. You’ve cooked before?”

“Uh... well.” He hesitated. “Here n’ there, you know how it is. Probably more than you though.”

She raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “You want to bet?”

He walked over and leaned on the counter, watching her chop, completely ignoring the pan on the stove where the oil was already heating.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I could teach you a few things. Like how to avoid burning garlic,” he said, a smug little grin curling at the corner of his lips.

Before she could respond, she heard a faint crinkle, followed by a too-loud sizzle.

“Shit!”

He only laughed, while Y/N quickly scrambled to turn the heat to the lowest setting so that she wouldn’t end up burning dinner before dinner had even started. Once she was able to take a sigh of relief, she pressed a relieved palm to her chest, breathing deeply.

Maybe if he wasn’t so distracting–

Wait.

It was way too quiet.

“Liam!”

When she turned around, he was halfway through a slice of mozzarella cheese, the piece he’d swiped clearly meant for the sauce, his face lighting up with satisfaction.

“What? You said you were cooking. Thought that meant I was in charge of quality control. I’m bein’ helpful, you know.”

“That was for the pasta, dumbass!”

“It’s delicious, though.” He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “No big deal. I’ll just, y’know... fix it.”

She turned back to the stove just in time to smell the garlic before it could start to sizzle too much again. In a panic, she grabbed the pan, shaking it slightly to cool the oil, while Lando watched from the counter.

“You do realize, that was your fault, right? I was just getting into my groove.”

“Your… groove?” He pretended to contemplate for a second before shaking his head, a wide grin splitting across his face. “Sounds fake.

She shot him a look, but he was already back to the counter, grabbing another small lump of cheese.

“You really want to help, don’t you?” She sighed, exasperated but fond.

“Of course I do.” He came over, dropping a few more chunks of cheese into the sauce pot. “S’what I’m doing,” he said, in the same tone someone would say duh.

“You’re helping? That’s news to me.”

He blinked owlishly, with exaggerated innocence. “M’ taste testin’ everythin’, of course.”

Y/N glared at him, but that only made him laugh. “I’m just trying to help. I’m a good guy, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, reaching for a wooden spoon. “Yeah, I remember. You’re a ‘good guy’ who swipes my cheese and tries to burn my food. Useless, you are”

“You wouldn’t even know how good I am unless I helped, though.” His grin was teasing. “I mean, look at this sauce. It’s gonna be perfect, angel.”

She glanced at him just in time to catch him swallowing the last of yet another bit of cheese. She turned back to the stove with a muttered, “Unbelievable.”

I give up.

“You’re welcome.”

“For what? Sabotaging my dinner?”

“Enhancing it. With flair. Personality. Drama.”

“You’re about to enhance the floor with your face if you keep talking.”

“Aww, you flatter me.” He grinned and strolled over, peeking over her shoulder. “What’s this bit?”

“Garlic. I’m sautéing it,” she explained, her eyes flitting to his, the flecks of gold glimmering back at her as something soft and weighty settled over her. Like a nice comforter, she thought.

“Looks like it’s about to catch fire.”

Shit. How does this keep happening?

“Because you’re distracting me!”

She hissed and quickly turned down the flame, stirring the garlic before it blackened. Lando winced, hands raised in surrender.

“Sorry. Sorry. Very serious chef business. I’ll shut up.”

He did not, in fact, shut up.

He was still talking as she chopped tomatoes, still talking as he offered to stir and then immediately flung sauce onto the backsplash. He was still talking when she asked him to hand her the pasta, and he held it hostage until she agreed to let him pick the playlist for dinner.

But eventually – finally, eventually – she softened. Especially when he leaned a little too close trying to smell the sauce and got tomato on his shirt.

“That’s what you get,” she said, the sternness in her voice not matching the care with which she dabbed his sweater with a damp paper towel.

I’d ruin a thousand expensive sweaters if it meant you’d touch me with such gentleness each time.

“Didn’t even flinch. You’re getting used to me.”

“Or I’m building a resistance, like a virus.”

“Romantic.”

She snorted, giving him a playful shove with her hip.

As she plated the food, the rain picking up in a gentle percussion outside, he watched her with a quiet curiosity. Something softened in his gaze. He noticed, maybe, how methodical she was. How calm. How she hummed without realizing. How this, all of it—dinner, rain, soft light—felt like a life.

Not something he’d ever known, but something he was beginning to desperately want to know more of.

She handed him a dish and flopped into her favorite armchair. He’d told her a thousand times to get rid of that ancient thing, that he’d happily take her to get something better, yet ho couldn’t count on two hands the number of times he’d found her curled up in that same spot, study or scrolling or dozed off unintentionally.

He liked knowing her favorite spot.

“My sister always used to ask for this when it rained,” she said casually, interrupting his thought as she swirled her fork in the pasta. “Said it was ‘good food weather.’”

“She’s right.”

“You didn’t even taste it yet.”

“I meant the vibe. But yeah, probably the food too.”

She laughed softly. The kind of laugh that felt like an exhale. Then:

“When I moved here, I used to cook too much. Like… way too much. Didn’t know how to portion for one person. Used to give the rest to the neighbors or just eat it cold the next day.”

“That’s kind of sad.”

“It was,” she admitted. “But I like cooking. Makes the place feel… alive, I guess. Kinda like a real home, you know?”

Lando took a bite then, chewing thoughtfully. He looked up at her, eyes warm.

I wonder what it’d take for me to give you a real home.

“Well, this one’s perfect. Even with the distinct lack of cheese.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I mean, it could use a bit more cheese—”

She threw her napkin at him.

The TV flickered in the corner, casting slow, shifting light across the room. Some wildlife documentary murmured in the background—lions in tall grass, a monotone narrator talking about territory and belonging—but neither of them were really listening. They were stretched across the couch, tangled by comfort rather than touch: her legs curled under her, his shoulder tilted back against the cushion, her head resting against his chest.

Lando wasn’t even sure when they’d gotten like this. He just knew he hadn’t wanted to move. Still didn’t.

The room smelled faintly of garlic and basil from earlier. Rain still tapped gently against the windows. It was the kind of night that didn’t need much. Just presence.

She was stretched out across the couch, limbs heavy from the rain and pasta and comfort. He hadn’t meant to stay this long, but the hours had blurred into each other, soft and quiet and safe.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It rarely was. If anything, it was the kind of silence that felt rare — like the world forgot about them for a while. Like they could exist in this small pocket of space and not have to explain themselves.

After a long pause, she murmured, barely above a whisper, “Do you ever think this is strange?”

Lando shifted slightly, looking down at the top of her head. Her face was turned slightly toward him, half-lidded eyes catching his. He blinked, slow.

“No. Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said, fingers gently playing with the cuff of his sweatshirt. “Just… do.”

“We’re not strange,” he said, a little too fast. He tilted his head, brows drawn slightly. “It makes sense.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “How do you figure?”

“Dunno. It just– just does.”

She laughed, her whole body shaking gently against the weight of him. “Thanks, Sherlock.”

He smiled, that lazy crooked kind he did when he wasn’t trying too hard. “I just mean, like… we talk, right? And it, like, works. So, y’know…”

“Gee, just what every girl dreams of hearing,” she teased, poking him.

“I’m serious, though!” he insisted, shifting a little under her. “I tell you loads of things all the time.”

She turned her face into his chest slightly. “No you don’t, dummy. You like being mysterious too much for that.”

“I’m not mysterious,” he protested, offended in that fake way he knew would make her laugh. “I’m, like… normal.”

She laughed then—soft and a little wistful. “I’m not sure anything about us is normal.”

She laughed softly at her own words, but he didn’t laugh with her. He went quiet instead. And when the silence stretched a little too long, she shifted, heart thudding faintly at the idea she’d struck a nerve.

The room went still. The flicker of the TV washed over them in dim pulses. She noticed he hadn’t replied.

She blinked, worried suddenly that she’d struck something too deep. So she pushed herself up a little, reaching instinctively for his shoulder.

“Wait—I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that—”

“If this isn’t normal…” he interrupted, voice softer, smaller than she’d ever heard it, “…is that bad? I kinda like it like this. Not normal.”

The words landed somewhere deep in her chest.

She paused. Lando didn’t look at her. He was staring straight ahead, as if admitting that was hard. As if he wasn’t used to speaking things that close to the heart out loud.

“I kinda like it like this,” he added, voice quieter still. “Not normal.”

She couldn’t help it. Her heart melted at the honesty of it.

She settled back down beside him, this time a little closer as she exhaled softly, more a thoughtful hum than anything. Her features softened instantly, lips curling into a sleepy smile, her body resting back against him.

“Hmm,” she whispered. “I can do not normal.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She settled back down against him, head resting lightly on his chest now. His hand moved almost instinctively to her back, warm and slow and steady.

She dozed off with her arm wrapped around his torso, her hand resting on his ribs.

Still, he stayed awake longer than he meant to, watching the way her face relaxed into sleep. He didn’t move – he couldn’t bring himself to.

A few minutes passed. Maybe more.

And when he was sure she was asleep — eyes fluttered shut, lips parted just barely—he dipped his head just enough to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. Let it linger.

Then, quieter than a prayer:

And then, when he was finally absolutely sure she was asleep – her eyes fluttered shut, lips parted just barely – the room grew quiet and the storm softened outside. Only then did he lean forward, just enough to press the barest, most gentle of kisses to her forehead.

“I’m not a religious person,” he whispered, so low it felt like a prayer, “but sometimes I do think God made you for me.”

She didn’t stir. But his heart did something dangerous in his chest.

He didn’t stop it.

a/n: another chapter! i originally had this chapter plotted totally differently, but it felt too forced, so this happened instead. what do we think?

228 notes · View notes

puzzled-pegasus · 1 year ago

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Here's some silly little metaphors that I think the dragon tribes would use

SkyWings

“Don’t count your clutch before they hatch.” (Don't plan too much too soon)

“Gold is better than silver, but silver is better than nothing.” (If you can't do it perfectly, still try your best. Most dragons forget the second part.)

“‘Sorry’ can't suck the fire back in.” (The damage is done and now you're dead to me.)

“You been eating too much burnt meat or something?” (Are you nuts?)

“Stop all this smoke and use your fire.” (Stop rambling and get to the point already; or stop complaining and do something)

“Doesn't know his tail from his wings.” (Stupid or clumsy)

“You fly like a depressed pigeon.” (Slow flier)

“There's no fire in a rainstorm.” (Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get to work.)

“Nighttime is for the NightWings.” (What are you doing up? Go to sleep.)

SandWings

“She’s all rattle, and no strike.” (Like all bark no bite)

“A diamond in a pile of quartz.” (Like a needle in a haystack)

“You’re watering the cactus and ignoring the sapling.” (You’re focusing on the wrong thing; barking up the wrong tree)

“Everyone thinks the camel looks silly until the dry season comes.” (Don't listen to them, they don't know how unique and strong you are)

MudWings

“Crocodile tears.” (Fake crying in order to gain sympathy)

“You can only catch a trout if your mouth is open.” (Be open to new experiences)

“If the tree gives away too much, it ends up as a stump.” (Don't let people take advantage of your generosity)

SeaWings

“Happy as a clam in high water.” (Very happy)

“The flying fish feels like a fool when it sees an osprey.” (Don't compare yourself to others, run your own race.)

“Plenty of fish in the sea.” (Plenty more opportunities to come.)

“You’ve got ink in your eyes.” (You're blind to something important)

“Lobsters only die when they don't leave their shell.” (Keep yourself busy with new experiences and you'll life a long life)

NightWings

“Sleep is for the dead.” (Why waste your time sleeping when you could be productive)

“SeaWings know their fish and SandWings know their cactuses, but we NightWings know everything else.”(NightWing supremacy propaganda)

“Being nice to a deer never got one in my mouth.” (Other dragons don't matter, only your goals.)

“A prophecy always comes true.” (I told you so but more cryptic)

"You're counting the stars." (You're doing something tedious towards an unachievable goal)

RainWings

“Gray’s her favorite color.” (She's a huge bummer)

“A lemon is yellow on the outside, doesn't mean they're not sour.” (Referring to someone who is two faced or fake)

“I love honey, but I’d rather not get stung by the bees.” (I could do this, but it requires effort so I don't wanna)

“Nobody likes a rotten banana.” (Nobody likes a bummer/downer)

“Don't tie your tail in a knot” (don't get all upset)

“I have all my berries in a basket” (I have everything sorted out)

“You couldn't sneak up on a pineapple” (insult to one's camouflage skills, popular among children)

IceWings

“The seal who asks why the orca is chasing him is the first to get eaten.” (A favorite of parents telling their kids to shut up)

“Not the sharpest icicle on the roof” (kinda stupid or slow)

“Clear as polished ice” (i understand or see it very well)

“You're looking a little pink in the face” (you look sickly. IceWings can turn pink from eating too much krill; a symptom of malnutrition. This line can be applied to any illness.)

“Blue blood kills, red blood spills.” (Patriotic propaganda implying that IceWings win every fight

“The SkyWings toss their blue eyed hatchlings because they're worried they'll be as strong as an IceWing.” (More propaganda)

HiveWings

“Pretty is for the SilkWings.” (Vanity is stupid and impractical)

“If it buzzes like a bug and bites like a bug, it's a bug.” (Don't ignore the obvious)

“Clearsight works in mysterious ways.” (I don't know the answer to your question, now go away)

SilkWings

“It's not always good to know how the honey gets made.” (Don't stick your snout where it doesn't belong)

“She's got a couple of threads loose.” (Calling someone a little crazy, threads refers to weaving)

“The bee minds its flowers and the spider minds her silk, it's when they mix that bad things happen.” (Mind ya business)

LeafWings

“Flytraps only trap because the soil doesn't feed them.” (Dragons don't get angry out of nowhere)

“Looking like a leaf only hides you in the forest.” (Time and place)

“If a branch doesn't bend, it breaks.” (Be flexible)

“Even the corpse flower attracts the flies.” (Even someone who seems ugly to one dragon they can seem irresistible to another)

#wings of fire #wof headcanons #metaphor #idioms

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pukefactory · 16 days ago

Text

•☽────✧˖°˖ HIGH AND DRY ˖°˖✧────☾•

(COMMISSION)

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring An Especially Tall Salesperson ENA X Reader

★ Commissioner: @namosaga

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ It’s not that ENA towers over you. It’s that she looms. Not in a frightening way, more like a glitchy JPEG threatening to overwrite your desktop. Her shadow always hits you first, especially when she’s standing behind you like a smug business tycoon. “Blessed to meet you at eye level,” she says dryly. She is not at your eye level. You are chest height. You are shoulder height on a good day. It’s become a running gag—her running, you trying to catch up.

☆ She uses you as an armrest. Constantly. At first it was infuriating. Now it’s a ritual. Salesperson will lean on your head dramatically like she’s performing an impromptu pitch at a press conference. “This is my associate. They are my rock. Also my armchair.” Meanwhile, Meanie will mutter “Get your head off the merch stand before I sell you for parts,” then proceed to tuck you under her elbow like a large, annoyed bird.

☆ You once asked her if she ever gets dizzy up there. “Only when the oxygen gets thin and the ideas get too good too fast.” She then promptly walked into a lamp post. You helped her up. She blamed the lamp post for being short.

☆ Cuddling is a full-body experience. She folds around you like a praying mantis trying not to stab you with her claws. Her knees tuck behind yours. Her chin rests atop your head (yes, she is smug about it). The red side always runs a little warmer—feverish, giggly, occasionally vibrating like a laptop left on too long—while the pale side is cold, geometric, and perfectly suited to press against the small of your back when she’s brooding about the BATHROOM again.

☆ When she wants your attention, she doesn’t call for you, she reaches. A clawed hand will descend from somewhere above the fridge, tap your head like a prize buzzer, and gesture cryptically toward some chaos she’s just invented. “There’s a new vacancy opening.” she hums, already dragging you by the back of your shirt toward a corrupted alleyway dream where the sky screams in binary. You hold her hand. Her steps are bigger than yours. You nearly trip, often.

☆ She tries to lift you up sometimes so you can “see what she sees,” but the gesture is never graceful. She picks you up like a badly packaged parcel—one mitten hand under your thighs, the claws steadying your back. “You are now elevated above the influence of doubt,” she murmurs in her masculine voice, smiling like she’s selling you a timeshare in the sky. You’re too flustered to respond. She nearly drops you once when she sees a bird and gets distracted.

☆ The first time you kissed her, you had to stand on a crate. She offered you one without asking. “No offence, but your height is becoming an operational bottleneck,” she said, gently tapping your nose with one red claw. When you kissed her, her entire model seemed to freeze. Glitched. Pink pixels stuttered across her face. She rebooted mid-sentence: “YOU LOOK LIKE A- like a…a…hmm.”

☆ She always walks slightly ahead of you. Not because she’s trying to be dominant or dramatic (though she is), but because she forgets how long her legs are. Sometimes, her footsteps stretch with comedic elasticity—like her knees are bouncing off invisible trampolines. She’ll pause, mid-walk, realising you’ve stopped to breathe. “Oh. You’re still living at your normal speed. How quaint,” she muses, then promptly piggybacks you through the rest of the zone.

☆ Despite her intimidating height, she has the posture of a lanky cryptid with social debt. You often have to physically straighten her up. “Shoulders back. Stand tall like the egregious liar you are,” you tease. She immediately collapses into the nearest chair and groans. “My skeleton is mostly conceptual. Stop bullying me for having abstract vertebrae.” You kiss the top of her head. She perks up. She will never admit you fluster her, but her red side lights up just a bit brighter.

☆ The ultimate height difference moment happened during a casual dance. A glitchy jukebox played warbled swing music. She took your hands. She didn’t ask, she just danced, twirling you like a marionette on invisible wires. You barely reached her collarbone. Her legs bent at angles they shouldn’t. “Your movements are adorable,” she whispered, spinning you again. “Like a data packet having a small tantrum.” You called her beautiful. She glitched again. Froze in place. Buffering.

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pearly-necklace · 2 months ago

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laios desprate humping reader ?? turns full sex ???

Surprise surprise!! I finished cooking it up!

This is a Laios x Gn!Reader(so far),Makeout, Dry humping.

It is more of a part one. I don't have a beta reader so this is pretty much raw besides spell check on word. I appreciate any feedback or critiques (pls be respectful). I am especially curious about my paragraph formatting let me know!

Btw cross posted on AO3

Enjoy!

You have been adventuring with the Touden party for a few weeks now, not even asking twice when what seemed like an angel descending from heaven asked you to help him find his sister. He had found you in a tavern in the town outside the dungeon sipping away your sorrows from being left by your previous party. What you did not know was how quickly you would get hired by another one. The Touden party was certainly unlike any party you had been a part of until then, a tall-man same as yourself, an elf, and a halfling. Eventually you also meet a Dwarf, Senshi, who also joins the group. Cooking monsters was certainly never an option you undertook but you were not a fussy eater, and Senshi was a good cook. Beyond the first few meals at which you hesitated, you simply grew used to them.

Many floors deep, your boots tapped and echoed against the paved dungeon floors and walls as you walked with your group. A cacophony of soft noises from steps to the blunt noise of Marcille’s stick hitting the ground, to the various pans and trinkets hanging off your bags clunking to one another. The day had been long despite not being able to see the sun and it was about time to call a break and allow everyone to sleep and rest. Laios, who found himself often leading the group, stopped at a closed door where you found a safe spot to rest for the night. You filled your water pouch as did you party members before settling down for mealtime. Everyone pitched in to prep, and for dinner you had Basilisk egg and mandrake root omelets served with a side of leftover mandrake leaves, they were much better than you had expected.

The group had developed a habit of doing guard rotations for more security, so after the meal and clean up, you and Laios, as per the rotation, hung back from the group preparing to fall asleep. Marcille was doing up her hair in a protective style, while Senshi cleaned his tools, and Chilchuck fixed up his pallet. You hung back the door leaned against the wall across from Laios who was already on sat, looking up at you. He was such a cryptic, if not the most cryptic individual in this party, he always seemed to share too much, talk too much, seem a bit too upfront to you. It would have been normal for you to not be spoken to very much at the beginning since you were an outsider, but he was quick to get close to you, with almost always a new monster or dungeon fact every time you saw a new specimen existing about. Asking you how you were doing, asking for your thoughts on the food, including you in all conversations. You appreciated it, being a newbie was not always easy, but he made the process smoother for you.

But Laios had his moments too, and you caught him one too many times staring at you, sometimes with a hand on his sword, sometimes with such deep intent in his eyes, it ran a shiver down your spine but you were not sure if you should feel as turned on as you had. It was getting distracting. Of course, upon getting caught he would always look away and a pink tinge would color his ears. This did not stop friendly chatter between you too if you avoided mentioning it and ignored how he always kept his legs suspiciously closer, as if self-conscious. You tried not thinking about it for the sake of the party.

This night was no different, you talked for a while about the day, reflecting on your experiences and noting what new creatures you may have seen while the other prepared for bed but as soon as Marcille’s soft snores reached your ears your whispers slowed down to comfortable silence feeling as exhaustion weighed down on your shoulders. You sat perpendicular to how he did against the door with only the light of a small torch keeping the left side of Laios’ face visible. In the quiet night you could not take your eyes off him either. This pale skin almost glowing under the fire, slight eye bags and discoloration under his eyes indicative of the circulation running beneath and his sleep deprived state, his slightly chapped lips which he did not seem able to stop chewing at, his slightly rosy cheeks, his hazel-colored eyes staring back at yours, glinting slightly. Startled, you looked away, down to his body. Having discarded his armor, you saw the rise and fall of his chest, his slightly opened shirt allowed for his collarbone to show through and beneath the top of his pectorals. Your eyes slid down further his body, he gulped and recoiled slightly but you felt it was payback for how he had been acting towards you. It was not like the view was anything to shrug at anyway. Although when you reached his groin, you felt the heat grow to your cheeks and you looked away back up to his face to find him mirroring your surprised and embarrassed expression. He was hard, painfully so.

Much to your surprise, instead of staying put and waiting for the tension to awkwardly go away he crawled closer towards you. His expression twisting, with his eyebrows shooting up and his lips forming into a slight pout. “Laios” You whispered in surprise he echoed your name “Do you want to…?” he whispered a hint of desperation in his voice.

After a brief silence to internalize his request, a small smirk stretched on your lips as you replied smugly “want what?” to which he sighed deeply as he looked away, his cheeks and ears blushing clearly. You chuckled softly before cradling his face with one hand, noting the warmth of his hand in contrast to your cold one that had been resting against the smooth paved floor. You brought him closer, and he had no trouble following along. The puzzle pieces all fell into place as your lips crashed. His lips slotted perfectly against yours like he had been practicing for it. Barely a few pecks in that he felt he should lick against your lower lip with a soft hum. You gave him access but just as you felt his hands start to roam your upper body you stopped him pushing him away firmly by the shoulders.

“w-wha..” I mumbled as he looked at you with surprised eyes wondering if he had done something wrong barely a few minutes in. “Let’s go elsewhere” you whisper with your thumb running across his lower lip, hyper aware of your fellow party-mates and Chilchucks's sharp senses. Without hesitation he got up and opened the door and led you to the room next door which luckily sat empty as well with a few torches keeping it bright. He shut the door and pressed you against the wall, his presence suddenly more imposing as he looked down at you, his thumb and forefinger holding your chin in place as he resumed your make out just where you left it.

His kisses grew needier and sloppier. You pushed against him to get more comfortable on the floor, understanding where this was leading. When he pulled his lips away from yours it was only to come back against your jaw, following the shape of your bone he kissed softly, attentively to your huffs. He nibbles softly at your ear lobe which did not fail to draw a whine from your lips. Similarly, he did not seem immune to your noises, his hips rutting against yours slightly. Your hands that fell against his clothed back triggered him further pushing himself with more strength, allowing himself to groan between kisses, his hot breath turning you on further.

Eventually he stopped kissing you as his eyes shut tightly, one of his hands gripped your hip, albeit slightly painful to hit the angles he was looking for. You winced at the feeling but not enough to pull him away. You muttered his name close to his ear before he simply begged “Please…please…just a little more…just a little...” He trailed off. At every other stroke we should say, he hit against your core, teasing you before missing repeatedly. You were certainly attracted to this and allowed him to keep going, curious to see him finish against you.

His whines grew more desperate as he rolled his hips faster and harder, making you ache for his teasing touch more and more. You kissed up his neck, kissing and nibbling while your tongue shot out leaving little spots that sent shivers down his spine as the saliva grew cold in the cold air. Your hands found the hem of his shirt and you let your hands trail up his back, feeling against the strong muscles that carried his huge backpack on top of his suit of armor every day. Against every bump, ridge, and valley you slid your hand softly, while your other hand carded through his hair. You felt his breath hitch and what he liked best encouraging him to go on.

The few same words spilled out of his mouth as he got closer to his peak. “I’m almost there, just a little…a little…” he gasped out against you and in an already foggy mind you did not even think to push him away. With a sharp intake of air and controlled moan he came against you, in his pants, and despite the euphoric state he found himself in he felt the cold spot in his pants. After a few moments, in which he laid limp against you to recover, you felt equal parts gob smacked at what had just transpired in so little time, and terribly horny.

“Laios, you sly devil” you whispered as you turned to kiss the shell of his ear. The night was nowhere near over for you both.

Part 2?

#dunmeshi #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #laios x reader #laios touden #laios dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon laios #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #fanfic writing #gn reader #gender neutral reader #no y/n

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fear-is-truth · 10 months ago

Text

INTERVIEW WITH THE ANTICHRIST

── michael langdon x gn! reader. || wc: 980

The chamber was eerily silent, illuminated only by the flickering candles and the warm glow of the fireplace. You were seated in a plush armchair, stiff and cold beneath your fingers, your back pressed tight against the cushions.

The air was thin, as if it was being slowly siphoned away. You felt small, trapped. Like an insect in a glass jar. Langdon had only arrived at the outpost a day ago, but already, you could feel the shift in power. Even Venable—the high and mighty bitch who ruled over all—was clearly shaken by his arrival.

No one knew much about him, only that he was important. And dangerous.

The interviews with Langdon had quickly become a topic of annoyance among the other inhabitants. Each person who had been interviewed complained about his cryptic nature and nonchalant attitude. Whatever his purpose here, it felt like a game to him—a clever farce meant to toy with you all.

And now it was your turn to entertain him.

You kept your gaze fixed ahead as Langdon rose from behind his desk, the sound of his boots against the floor the only disruption to the stifling silence as he approached you. He did not bother to sit. Instead, he stood before you, arms clasped behind his back, his expression inscrutable as he studied you.

“You’re the seventh,” he announced, and his voice was smooth, like a glassy winter pond. You nodded, swallowing hard, unable to tear your eyes away from him as he began to circle you. The way he moved was languid, graceful.

You fidgeted slightly, trying to suppress your nerves. Langdon was, undeniably beautiful— angelic, even. He looked as if he had been sculpted from marble, with sharp, almost impossibly perfect features—chiselled cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. Long, golden hair fell in soft waves over his shoulders, and his pale skin stood out against his all-black attire. The dark clothing gave him an air of authority, likely because he was sent by The Cooperative.

“Tell me. How do you feel your life here, at the Outpost?” he purred, his voice curling in the air around you. The question seemed casual, yet there was something in the way he said it that made you feel anything but.

“It's...” You paused, your throat suddenly dry. “It’s fine,” the words felt hollow on your tongue, laughable, given the bleak reality of your existence here. Sure, you were relieved to be alive, the temptation of sweet oblivion often lingered at the edge of your thoughts. Langdon moved behind you, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could feel his bright blue gaze drilling into the back of your skull.

When he spoke again, his voice was a soft, coaxing whisper, like honeyed velvet.

“What do you miss the most?”

The question struck you off guard. It wasn’t what you had anticipated—then again, you hadn’t known what to expect.

“…I’m sorry?”

“Prior to… all of this,” he clarified, gesturing vaguely at the surrounding walls,

“What do you miss most?”

You exhaled shakily, gripping the armrests tighter as you spoke.

“I… I miss the colours. The sky, the sunsets. And the trees, the ones that lined the sidewalks. The way they change in autumn.”

He chuckled softly, and you swore you could detect genuine humour in the sound. Embarrassed at the wistfulness in your tone, you stared down at your lap, at the monotonous gray of your uniform.

“You miss beauty, don’t you?”

he murmured, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned closer. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw in the lightest of touches. Stunned into silence, you simply nodded.

He stopped in front of you now, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if appraising your response. The silence stretched, tension pulling at the edges of the room until it felt unbearable. Then, he deadpanned,

“The world outside is a wasteland now,”

There was no trace of emotion, his words as detached as if he were reading from a script. He stepped closer, leaning in. The cool press of his hand settled against your cheek, the metal of his rings biting into your skin. You froze under his touch, your breath catching in your throat.

“But perhaps,” he mused, his voice soft, almost to himself, “some beauty has survived after all.”

Just as quickly as he had touched you, he withdrew his hand and resumed circling. Every step he took only made the knot of anxiety in your chest tighten further.

The questions that followed were innocent but somehow, simultaneously intimate. He asked about your favourite book, about what scared you most as a child, your childhood best friend.

Throughout it all, his piercing blue eyes never strayed from you. They stripped you bare, as though he was peeling back the layers of your very soul. You answered as best you could, because you had a nagging suspicion that he already knew the answers before you spoke.

Then, just as quickly as it had started, the interview ended.

“That’s all for now.” Langdon turned on his heel, striding toward the door with the same measured grace. His fingers brushed the sleek panels, sliding them open with ease. He paused at the threshold, turning back to look at you. His expression was unreadable, yet there was something lingering in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite put your fingers on.

“I look forward to our next meeting.”

You blinked, unsure if this was the end. The knot of nerves tightened in your stomach as you stood from the armchair, wringing your hands together.

“Wait,” you called after him, your voice trembling slightly.

“Have I… did I get in?”

Langdon turned fully to face you, a faint, almost amused smile curling at the corners of his lips.

“You were already in before the interview,” he murmured, as if it were an afterthought.

“I just wanted to speak to you nonetheless.”

#𝐅.𝐈.𝐓 #ahs season 8 #divider credit : astralnymphh #american horror story #ahs #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x y/n #michael langdon x you #cody fern #tate langdon

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le-chevalier-au-lion · 3 months ago

Text

everywhen you look: rosquez [g], part 1

1997-2025

“You really aren’t going to tell me anything.” Valentino flicks his leg irritably, kicks up a wave.

The man brushes the chlorine from his face and snorts. His name is Marc, he’d said, among other incredibly useless trivia facts such as, this is Madrid, it’s March of 2025—which sounds like a fake, sci fi year—and i Nerazzurri are leading Serie A by one point.

“Eh, it’s for the best.”

Valentino mutters under his breath, eh, it’s for the best, in a mockery of that Spanish accent. Marc only looks up at him bemusedly from the water, through his wet lashes. He’s being very evasive.

It would have been considerably more annoying if he weren't quite so handsome.

If he hadn’t been stuck at home, with snow coming down in buckets—too much to ride, too much to sneak out for a little while. The baby had been crying—crying, crying, crying. Luca is usually a very good kid, not fussy, but he’d been angry. Neither he nor Stefania could calm him down. Stefania said he might be colicky.

Valentino had felt a little like Graziano, sitting on the couch, watching her try to make Luca stop howling for five minutes, please baby, we’ve got you.

So here is better. No snow. The pool is nice, very rich people, perfectly warm. A little further away, the house seems odd, a sharp, gray block, but he supposes nothing there costs less than a hundred lire.

And Marc is interesting.

“But you know me,” Valentino tries again, a different approach.

Marc’s expression of vague delight doesn’t flicker. He keeps staring at him with unblinking intensity. Someone should tell him it’s kind of creepy when he does that, but also—Valentino’s hands spasm at the edge of the pool, and he has to look away first. Heat prickles under his skin. He wants to keep bullshitting to see how far he can take it, how much Marc can figure out.

“Well, obviously. I thought we had gone over that already.”

It’d been the first thing he’d said when he emerged from the deep end. Valentino? A quiet, overwrought noise, a bit like he’d been slapped, suddenly looking very young. No matter how much he tries, Marc refuses to slip like that again.

He’d guessed the year it should’ve been for him on the first try, too.

“From racing,” Valentino suggests.

“It’s 97 for you, no?” Marc raises a pointed eyebrow. Valentino runs a hand over his hair just as pointedly—dry, creaking and bleached. “You know you’re a good rider.”

“Good as in a couple of lower-class titles or good like Mick?”

Marc swallows, wastes a moment too many just staring at some point over his shoulder before sighing. Valentino might’ve found a way to twist the knife resting between them—the one Marc is studiously squirreling from naming—by accident. There’s no triumph to it, the way he imagined there’d, just that uncomfortable feeling of being wrist deep in a cadaver.

It’d have been incredibly helpful to know what is wrong, exactly, to only make it hurt if he wants to make it hurt.

“Don’t worry, you’re going to enjoy your career,” Marc says, his voice low and cryptic.

Valentino’s eyes narrow. “You’re fucking with me.”

Marc just leans back, his grin stretching wider, an edge more infuriating. What are you going to do about it? in no words at all.

He doesn’t mean to, but frustration spills out in groan. Valentino thrusts his foot out, jabbing it toward Marc. “I’m already asking vague questions,” he mutters, scrambling against himself to not sound sullen. “You could at least give me something.”

Marc opens his broad mouth and cackles. Valentino can see inside it, his large, pink tongue and the white straightness of his teeth. It’s an ugly, honking noise that comes out, quite shameless. In Tavullia, or in the lower classes, Valentino would’ve made fun of him for it. Too loud, too weird, too much, but Marc—handsome, and difficult, and probably thirty—doesn’t look like he’d care.

Might go cute, Vale, the way Norick does, sometimes.

Which—

This nameless disquiet tugs in his stomach, red-hot, unwanted. He presses his lips together, drums his fingers on the floor. Restlessness makes him fidget, a little mean with nowhere to put it.

Marc grabs Valentino’s ankle as he tries to poke him again. His hands are leather-thick, rough like sandpaper. Strong, he notes, swallowing an embarrassing, reedy hiss when he tries to haul his leg in and Marc squeezes his ankle, keeps him pinned in place. He makes it hard to stay bothered.

“You’re going to—ah, I don’t know, get in trouble. Might fuck your timeline up.”

A splutter churns in his mouth, half offended, half playing it up, right until Marc lets go of his leg and gets up, hauls himself half out of the pool to stand braced against the edge, the skin of his arm brushing against Valentino’s jeans, getting it wet.

He’s got nicer tits than a good half of the girls he’s fucked. Fat enough that he thinks he could push them together and put his dick between them, like he’s seen guys do in porn.

“Who? Me?” Valentino goes wide-eyed, puts a hand over his heart. Pretends to not have been staring.

Marc shakes his head. “See what I mean?” But the corners of his lips twitch up, stubborn. Fond, mostly despite himself—Valentino is familiar with the look.

Like this, he’s close enough to count the few moles scattered on his collar. Catch the seesawing jerkiness of his shoulder and the raised, pink lines on his arm. Either he let them scar badly, jaded, ugly edges, or they were bad injuries.

Valentino sweeps his eyes over him again—Marc, waxed smooth, meticulously posed, built like an anatomy study given life. Bad injury it is.

“Well?” Marc’s hand slides over to Valentino’s knee, fingers digging in lightly.

Valentino’s leg jerks, a reflex, but Marc’s too close now, his breath searing against his skin. The sudden proximity catches him off guard, heat rising in his chest. Annoyance slices through him, a dull, serrated cut at the chuckle Marc lets out. This squirming thing gnaws at his ribs, pries open his mouth before Valentino can plan his next move.

“You’re a racer too,” he says, clumsily, too quickly.

“Am I?” Marc tilts his head to the side, widens his eyes until he looks ridiculously coy.

A begrudging amusement tugs inside his guts like a fishhook. He’s being talked in circles, the way Uccio tells him the press likes, politely, inoffensively. If he hadn’t been paying so much attention, he would’ve been swept along, would’ve been happy with it. And Marc finds this whole dance hilarious. Easy.

Or he’s an excellent liar, which Valentino knows he is.

“Yeah, duh,” he huffs, looks down at Marc, at the tanned, broad shape of his back glinting under the sun, flexing. “But are you a good one?”

Marc preens under his gaze, smirks—very well pleased. If he’s going to show off, Valentino is going to stare. “You could say so,” he hums, chin tilted lazily.

Valentino scowls. “What does that even mean? Are you one of those guys who thinks, hey, I got to the 500cc, it’s basically like being a world champion?”

“Are you going to be very disappointed if I am?”

His stomach churns. Yes, sort of. He hadn’t expected Marc to be boring. Had hoped, maybe—that he wouldn’t be a movie star in that gray block of a house who shows up to the track from time to time and expects to be pampered. Or one of those fancy Spanish kids that come around, sons of racers’ sons, just enjoying the ride and fucking around.

“For all I know, you’re a bad rider.” The words slip out before Valentino can stop them, soap-like, oily.

It might make him angry. Might wrangle another laugh out of him. Either way, it’s going to give him an in. He wants to crack Marc open against the ground, see if anything interesting spills out. People don’t usually give him this much trouble. As a rule, any audience is simple—fold or break, charmed or about to be.

Marc’s lashes flutter slowly, casting a shadow over his eyes. It’s a minute flicker—a tiny, tiny shift in his expression. Valentino feels sized up, dissected. Like Marc knows an important secret he doesn’t. There’s a deliberateness in that stare, an inside joke Marc’s forgotten to share.

“You would say that,” Marc mumbles.

He’s smiling, still. Valentino doesn’t trust it one bit.

#rosquez #marc marquez #valentino rossi #motogp #motogp rpf #rpf #chev fics #listen i'm entirely convinced that i don't know how to write anymore #i've been hammering my head against this for weeks #and it isn't even the full piece #but i just desperately needed it to be done #that maybe this thing sunlight would help #anyway baby vale gets to meet 2025 seasoned psycho killer marc #if you want to harass me about time traveling rosquez i'd be thankful i just can't seem to WRITE these past few weeks #btw norick is norifumi abe #anyway sorry for the ramble #everywhen you look

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shizuturnspages · 6 months ago

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hi!! if ur requests are open can be i have a yandere Xiao and kinich or ororon (I'm so indecisive so uhh choose one u think fit most) with a darling who's not from Teyvat? just say they're from another world and doesn't know how Teyvat works! optional but if u want can u make the darling use another name so they just hide their real names like the traveler? tysm!! love ur writings!

Oh, requests for an outsider darling? Hell yes—throwing a clueless darling into Teyvat is like tossing a spark into dry brush. This is such a fascinating idea. Dw about being indecisive. I'll write for all three.

Xiao: The Haunted Protector

Xiao’s attachment starts as reluctant guardianship. You’re so painfully out of place in Teyvat—every move you make screams, “I don’t belong here,” and it tugs at something deep in him. He’s already burdened by his karmic debt, but the thought of leaving you defenseless in a world you barely understand? Unthinkable.

❥ Overwhelming Vigilance: Xiao’s always nearby, even when you don’t know it. You might think you’re safe exploring Liyue, but every Hilichurl you scare off or trap you narrowly avoid? Yeah, that’s Xiao, silently taking out threats before they reach you. And if you wander somewhere truly dangerous? He’ll materialize in front of you, golden eyes blazing with frustration. “What were you thinking? You don’t belong here—it’s not safe.”

❥ Fixation on Your Name: You’ve introduced yourself with a fake name, and Xiao knows it. He doesn’t ask outright, but he obsesses over the mystery of your true identity. Why are you hiding it? Is it shame? Fear? Whenever he’s alone, he finds himself whispering the name you’ve given him, hoping it’ll somehow unravel your secrets.

❥ Territorial Devotion: Xiao can’t stand seeing you bond with others. It’s not jealousy—it’s fear. What if they manipulate your naivety? What if they steal you away from him? He becomes cold and distant whenever you get close to someone, warning you cryptically about trusting others. “People here will lie to you,” he’ll say, his voice sharp but tinged with worry.

How He Snaps: If you ever try to leave Teyvat, Xiao won’t let you go. He’ll argue, beg, and even threaten to bind you to this world with Adeptus magic. “You don’t understand the dangers out there. You’re safer here—with me.” And when he says “with me,” it’s clear he means forever.

Kinich: The Calculating Schemer

Kinich is not the kind of yandere to burst into a room and immediately start causing a scene. He’s a master manipulator who knows how to play the long game. With Ajaw by his side, he’s even more dangerous. His cool, collected demeanor hides a mind that’s always working, always planning.

❥ Patient Manipulation: Kinich’s patience is his greatest weapon. He’ll let you get used to his presence in your life, slowly drawing you in with his charisma and calculated charm. He’s aware that your trust is the key to getting closer to you, so he’ll wait for that moment when you can’t imagine your life without him. “You’re fascinating. I want to know everything about you… all in good time.”

❥ Ajaw’s Influence: Ajaw is not a typical partner for Kinich. Where Kinich is cool-headed and manipulative, Ajaw is impulsive, fiery, and more than willing to be the muscle to back up his companion’s plans. Kinich has carefully cultivated Ajaw’s loyalty, using the power and strength of the Ajaw to keep others in line. Ajaw, for his part, is drawn to Kinich’s vision and power, willingly carrying out orders that Kinich knows will push you closer into his grasp.

❥ The Steady Hand of Control: In terms of the relationship with you, Kinich knows that the best way to control you is to make you believe you have free will. He’ll approach you with an offer, something that seems like it’s your choice to accept. “I’ve been thinking. Perhaps you should stay close to me for a while… we could work together. I can offer you things no one else can.” It’s never truly a question—he’s just making sure you think it is.

How He Snaps: If he feels like he’s losing you—whether to another person or your desire to leave Teyvat—Kinich’s sunny charm darkens. He’ll corner you, his usual smile replaced by a steely intensity. “You think you can just walk away? From me? You’re mine, [Fake Name]. You always have been.”

Ororon: The Brooding Warrior

Ororon’s attachment to you is rooted in a mix of curiosity and protectiveness. You’re so alien to him, so out of place, and yet you’ve managed to survive in Teyvat. It frustrates and fascinates him in equal measure.

❥ Overbearing Protection: Ororon doesn’t trust anyone—not you, not the people around you, and especially not himself. His way of protecting you is blunt and harsh, often scolding you for your ignorance. “How are you still alive?” he’ll growl after pulling you out of yet another dangerous situation. But his rough words betray his concern.

❥ Guard Dog Behavior: Ororon doesn’t care if you’re stronger than him. He still insists on watching your back, even if it means standing in your shadow while you fend off enemies. And if someone so much as looks at you wrong? He’s ready to fight, glaring daggers at anyone who dares approach.

❥ Fixation on Your Mystery: Your otherworldly origins and fake name are a constant source of frustration for him. He doesn’t pry—he’s not the type—but his eyes narrow whenever you dodge his questions. “You’re hiding something,” he’ll say bluntly, his voice low and gruff. “I don’t care what it is, but don’t think you can fool me.”

How He Snaps: Ororon’s breaking point comes when you try to push him away. His voice rises, uncharacteristically emotional. “You think you can survive without me? You barely understand this world. Don’t be stupid—I’m the only one who can keep you safe.” And in his mind, that’s the truth. You need him, whether you realize it or not.

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yaseraphine · 6 months ago

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short-medium mercury observations bcuz I am feeling silly

A little silly astro obs until I am finished with the capricorn rising one. This post is just leo mercury non sense please don't mind me

I feel like a lot of water mercuries, especially scorpio mercuries, don’t talk much. They tend to observe, analyze and stay kind of out of the conversation. They only speak when it’s necessary. The opposite of a yapper basically

They also tend to have deep voices, both for men and women.

Capricorn mercuries can be a bit like this too. Really dry texters (as a leo mercury it gives me anxiety i feel like they hate me when they talk to me.. like if you hate me just tell me ☹️💔😭)

I genuinely don’t understand capricorns, and capricorn energy. Except when it’s in the ascendant or Venus, their energy is unreadable to me. Whenever I interact with a Capricorn, I feel like they hate me and don’t want to be there because they are not really expressive when they speak and are really direct and realists in their talking style. As a Leo mercury, I feel so judged 🫠😟Like if you hate me just say that💔😭😫

I am super expressive when I speak, kind of like a theater kid. Kind of like the voices in cartoons. Overtly excited when saying worldly stuff, like talking about the weather in the most dramatic way. When I speak, my tone goes up and down, it feels like you’re on a roller coaster when you interact with me. I have had people coming to me many times in the streets or the library telling me that I am too loud and that I should lower my voice to be respectful lol💀🤡💩 sorry😀

Aries and Leo mercuries, sometimes sag mercuries : we can’t shut the f up to save our lives lol the number of times i have been kicked out of class with my friends at school for being too loud, and laughing too much i can’t even count help-💀🤪🤠

Mercury in Sagittarius are so funny but at the same time so cringe my mom has it and she always makes corny dad jokes and she’s always the only one laughing at the diner table lmaoo

Mercuries in Gemini are so fucking smart, not in a genius way, but they can pick up on stuff so easily. Like understanding a text, or seeing the main points of a text without reading it in its entirety. They are really good at making connections between things, and connections that make sense. They are generally as logical as virgo mercuries, but they lack the meticulous side. They are pretty much to me a virgo mercury with ADHD on crack lol I'd say instead of being smart, they are more so perceptive, insightful or astute.

Some Mercury in Pisces sometimes speak so cryptically that it gets hard to understand, once they open their mouths, where they are going with what they’re trying to say. Their talking style is kind of surreal and romantic. They tend to create new words, and change up the grammar and verb conjugations. Their sensitivity and capacity to perceive things that cannot be seen by the naked eye is what makes them invent those words, because the already existing vocabulary isn’t enough to express this hyper specific thing or feeling they have.

Mercury in Pisces and Mercury in Virgo were placements that I found in the biggest readers I know. Both love reading and writing, and they have a thing for romance novels or fantasy books from what I've seen. Really delulu people in their own respective ways 🫡 but at the same time really talented 😁😍

the type of fiction virgo and pisces mercuries be writing on AO3 and Quotev instead of being productive members of society :

i just know a pisces mercury was behind this soul crushing poem 😞😔😿🫂

#astrology #astro community #astro notes #astro observations #tumblr memes #astro memes #astrology memes #feeling silly #channeled my 3rd house north node energy for this post #astro obs #astro posts #astronotes #astrology observations

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dksfml · 4 months ago

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misfit - lee chan, jeon wonwoo

pairing: student!lee chan x teacher!reader x coworker!jeon wonwoo genre: delinquency, slight violence, major plot twist, love triangle???, slightly suggestive, dino is hot period word count: 6.5k summary: what would you do if you caught yourself in teaching some delinquents (one of whom refuses to take his eyes off you) because of a job that your good friend slash now coworker has offered you? a/n: got inspired while watching study group. AND because I went to a seventeen con a while ago and dino surely got into my bias list. everyone stay safe!!!! enjoyyyyyyy

The morning air was crisp as you walked through the university gates, the golden hues of the rising sun casting long shadows over the quiet campus. This was your first official day as a professor, the culmination of years of studying, passing the licensure exam, and navigating post-graduation uncertainty. You had spent the last year lingering in your small apartment, jobless and wondering if you had chosen the right path—until Jeon Wonwoo offered you an opportunity.

Wonwoo had been your anchor during that uncertain period. You’d met him during your final year of university, and while he had always been somewhat reserved, his sharp intelligence and dry wit had drawn you in. He had a way of making everything seem a little clearer, a little more manageable. When you’d expressed your frustration with not finding a job after passing the licensure exam, he had listened quietly, like he always did, his gaze thoughtful. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that you had received an email from him, offering you a position as a lecturer at the university where he worked.

You still remembered that moment—how the weight of that email had felt like a lifeline. And how, when you’d thanked him over a coffee that afternoon, he had shrugged, as if it was nothing. “You’re smart. You deserve a shot,” he’d said, his voice so typically matter-of-fact.

Since then, Wonwoo had become not only a colleague but a steady presence in your life. He was someone you could rely on when things went wrong, and someone who always seemed to have everything under control. His reserved nature was still a mystery, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. He had a protective streak that you only began to notice once you started working with him closely—watching him step in when things got too chaotic or when your confidence faltered in front of students.

In those quieter moments, when you shared lunch breaks or brief moments of downtime between classes, he would talk about his own experiences teaching. His insights were always thoughtful, often offering advice without being overbearing. And sometimes, when you were frustrated, he had a way of easing your worries with just a few words. Even when he didn’t directly say it, there was always an underlying sense that he was looking out for you.

You knew that, in a way, Wonwoo had always been a silent mentor—never overtly guiding you, but always there when you needed him. Today, as you stepped into the university grounds, he was still that familiar figure in the background. You might be starting your own journey, but you weren’t doing it alone. Not as long as Wonwoo had your back.

And now, here you were, about to teach your first class.

“You nervous?”

The question came from Wonwoo, who walked beside you, his usual composed and serious expression in place. He was a man of few words, but his presence alone was reassuring.

“A little,” you admitted, adjusting the strap of your bag. “But I’ll be fine.”

Wonwoo hummed, unconvinced. “You’re assigned to 3-C, right?”

“Yes. Why?”

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "You sure you don’t want me to switch with you?"

That made you pause. “Why would I?”

Wonwoo finally looked at you, and for the first time this morning, a flicker of amusement crossed his features. "You’ll see."

You frowned at his cryptic words but brushed it off. “I’ll be fine. Besides, you got me this job. I can’t mess up on my first day.”

Wonwoo didn’t reply, but his silence said enough.

And with that, he walked off to his own classroom, leaving you standing there, confusion brewing in your mind.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and made your way to Room 3-C.

The moment you reached the door, the realization hit you.

Loud laughter, desks scraping against the floor, students yelling across the room—it was absolute chaos. Some were standing on chairs, others were throwing paper balls, and a few were in the middle of what looked like an arm-wrestling match atop a desk. The noise, the reckless energy, felt overwhelming. You could already feel a knot of anxiety forming in your stomach as you stepped into the doorway, taking in the scene before you.

You had expected some rowdiness—every first day was a bit chaotic, right? But this... this was different. It wasn’t just rowdiness; it was pure, unbridled anarchy. The kind of behavior that felt almost designed to test your patience and authority. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. This was your first real day as a professor, and it already felt like you were standing at the edge of a precipice.

You exhaled slowly, forcing your feet to move forward. So this is what Wonwoo had meant when he warned you about the challenges of teaching here. The thought barely crossed your mind before you pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The moment you crossed the threshold, a wave of noise and disarray seemed to crash over you. No one noticed. It felt almost as if your presence was irrelevant, swallowed by the overwhelming disorder in the room. The loud chatter, the sporadic shouts, the sound of chairs scraping on the floor—all of it blurred into a maddening symphony that made it impossible to focus on anything other than the noise itself.

For a moment, you simply stood there, taking in the madness. You had prepared yourself for some degree of disruption; you weren’t naive. But this? This was beyond anything you’d imagined. Students were climbing over desks, yelling across the room, engaging in loud arguments. The space felt thick with a palpable energy, a sense that no one was in control—not you, not anyone.

You weren’t one to raise your voice unnecessarily. It wasn’t your style. You believed that authority should come from presence, from the subtle ways you commanded respect—not from fear or shouting. You were here to teach, to guide—not to battle. But with every passing second, it became harder to ignore the creeping frustration building within you. The idea of just letting it slide seemed impossible.

And then, as if the universe itself had conspired to give you an out, someone else did it for you.

“Oi.”

The word was simple—short, firm, yet carrying a weight that immediately cut through the chaos. It was the kind of command that silenced a room without raising the volume. The laughter died down almost instantly, and the noise slowed to a muffled hush. You felt your body stiffen, your focus narrowing as you turned toward the back of the room.

There, leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed, sat a figure. His messy hair and relaxed posture told you everything you needed to know—he’d clearly just woken up from some kind of nap, and yet, his presence was commanding. The room had fallen silent for him as easily as if he were a force of nature.

Lee Chan.

As he met your gaze, the air between you shifted. His dark eyes gleamed under the dim morning light, unreadable but intense. There was a certain sharpness to him, like a predator sizing up its prey. It was unsettling, but you refused to be intimidated. You weren’t here to be cowed by anyone, least of all a student, no matter how powerful his presence might be.

You didn’t need to be told who he was—you could see it in the way the room moved around him. The students had instantly fallen silent at his command, all of them snapping to attention as if they knew, deep down, that this was a battle they would lose if they defied him.

Chan tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, in a voice that was still calm, but not without authority, he spoke again.

“Sit down. The teacher’s here.”

The effect was immediate and almost eerie. The class scrambled to obey, students shuffling quickly back into their seats. The previously rampant chaos dissolved into nothingness in the span of a few heartbeats. Chairs scraped across the floor in a rush of motion as everyone rushed to restore some semblance of order.

Your grip tightened around the roster in your hands. It was subtle, but the realization settled in: Lee Chan had more authority over these students than you did. In fact, he had more authority over this classroom than anyone, and they all knew it.

Still, you couldn’t let yourself be rattled. You refused to let this one student dictate the rhythm of the room. You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and met Chan’s gaze once more. “Thank you,” you said, your voice calm but firm.

He didn’t respond. Instead, his dark eyes simply continued to study you with a quiet intensity, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingered for a moment before he turned away, clearly losing interest.

Turning your attention back to the roster, you began calling out names, trying to push the lingering tension aside. It would be easy to focus on Chan—his presence was like a weight pressing down on your chest—but you couldn’t let that control the way you conducted the class.

That is, until a voice from the back of the room snapped your attention back into focus.

“She would do better as a camgirl.”

The words came from one of the students—a boy with a cocky grin and an air of entitlement that grated against your calm. The remark hit like a slap, echoing in your mind as the room fell into a tense, suffocating silence.

You paused, fingers tightening around the paper, a slow burn igniting within you. It wasn’t the first time you had encountered disrespect, but something about the casualness of the comment—the way it seemed to roll off his tongue without any regard for your presence—struck a nerve.

You lifted your gaze, voice even but sharp as you locked eyes with the student. “What was that?”

The student—Kang Jaemin, according to your roster—smirked, sinking deeper into his chair. “Just saying,” he drawled. “You’d make more money doing something else. We’d all tune in, wouldn’t we, boys?” He winked, nudging his friends. A couple of them chuckled in response.

It was immature. It was crude. And it was unnecessary. You stood there, breath held, trying to decide whether to ignore it or shut it down immediately. You had faced worse—much worse—in your teaching career. You knew that responding with anger or frustration would only fuel the fire.

But before you could even form a reply, the sound of a chair scraping across the floor shattered the silence.

Without a word, Chan kicked his desk forward with a force that made everyone in the room flinch. The room went completely still, the air thick with tension as all eyes turned to him. His gaze was cold, hard—focused solely on Jaemin, who was still lounging in his chair, clearly oblivious to the danger he was in.

“Apologize,” Chan said, his voice low but filled with unspoken menace.

Jaemin scoffed, rubbing his nose like it was no big deal. “What’s it to you, boss?” He flashed a grin, trying to play it cool, but his eyes flickered nervously as he took in Chan’s stance.

A nervous whisper came from beside him. “Hey, Jaemin, just drop it. Chan’s already in a bad mood this morning,” his seatmate muttered, voice barely above a breath.

Chan didn’t move from his seat, his eyes never leaving Jaemin. His voice was steady, even calm, but there was a weight to it that made every student in the room uneasy. “She’s our teacher,” Chan said quietly. “You respect her, or you leave.”

The command hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. For a moment, the classroom seemed to hold its breath. Students shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging glances as the tension between Jaemin and Chan grew.

Jaemin opened his mouth, clearly about to argue, but Chan’s eyes hardened, and he tilted his head ever so slightly—a subtle but unmistakable warning.

Jaemin hesitated. But only for a moment. Then, the challenge came.

“Or what?” he scoffed, his lip curling in defiance.

Chan exhaled slowly through his nose, his expression unreadable, his eyes locked on Jaemin with a quiet intensity that sent a chill through the room. The silence that followed was suffocating. His voice was calm but held a deadly weight. “Or I’ll make you.”

The tension in the classroom thickened, becoming almost palpable. Students shifted nervously in their seats, their eyes darting back and forth between Chan and Jaemin, sensing that something had shifted—something beyond their control. Some leaned forward, watching the confrontation with bated breath, while others instinctively backed away from the desks nearest the two boys, as though expecting an explosion.

Jaemin scoffed, brushing his fingers through his hair as he leaned back in his chair, trying to exude the same arrogance that had caused the conflict in the first place. “You think you can order me around just ‘cause everyone here’s scared of you?” His voice was mocking, almost too casual for the moment. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Man, you’re pathetic. What, got a little crush on the new teacher?”

The taunt hung in the air like a spark waiting to ignite. That was all it took.

Chan’s movement was so fast, it was almost a blur. Before Jaemin could react, Chan was on him, his fist connecting with Jaemin’s jaw in a sharp, brutal crack! The impact echoed across the room, and Jaemin was sent stumbling backward into the desk behind him, his knees buckling as he struggled to regain his balance. The sound of the punch resonated like a thunderclap in the stillness that followed.

Gasps erupted from the students, the force of the blow sending shockwaves through the class. Those nearest to the altercation scrambled to get out of the way, chairs screeching against the floor as they instinctively shifted back, creating space. The tension had finally come to a head—and it was as chaotic as it was terrifying.

Jaemin wiped his lips, his fingers coming away stained with blood. His face twisted into a grotesque mask of rage as he glared at Chan, barely able to contain his fury. “You son of a—!”

Before Jaemin could finish his sentence, he lunged forward, a primal, reckless move driven by anger. His fist swung at Chan, but the other boy was already one step ahead. With a fluid motion, Chan caught Jaemin’s wrist mid-air, twisting it back so sharply that Jaemin let out a grunt of pain. The force of the move sent Jaemin to his knees, his face contorted with both shock and fury as he struggled to free himself from Chan’s iron grip.

The entire classroom was frozen, watching with wide eyes as Chan’s expression remained cold, calm, and terrifyingly controlled. There was no wildness to him—no desperation. His composure made the whole scene even more unnerving.

“You don’t talk to any woman like that,” Chan’s voice was low, dangerous, the words dripping with an almost chilling finality. “That’s not so gentleman of you.”

Jaemin’s face twisted with more rage, his breath coming in harsh pants. “Like I care what you think—” he spat back, but the words were drowned out by the mounting tension in the room.

Just as Jaemin struggled to break free, another loud bang rang out through the room—this time, it wasn’t from the students or the fight. Everyone froze, the noise so sharp it cut through the chaos like a knife.

At the door stood Jeon Wonwoo, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed directly on the fight in front of him. His presence alone was enough to send a wave of unease through the students, like a cold front sweeping in, freezing the energy in the room. The sharp clack of his shoes against the floor was the only sound as he stepped forward, his eyes narrowing in disapproval.

His gaze flicked to the two boys, and then, without hesitation, his voice rang out, cold and authoritative. “Break it up.”

The command was simple, but it carried a weight that no one could ignore. Chan’s eyes flickered toward the other professor for a brief moment, an imperceptible hesitation passing through him, before he released Jaemin. Jaemin stumbled to his feet, still seething, his chest heaving with rage, but there was little he could do. His pride had taken a blow that he couldn’t easily recover from, and the air in the room seemed to settle just slightly as the two boys were forcibly separated.

Before anyone could breathe a sigh of relief, the door burst open again, this time with the arrival of the student council president and another professor. They moved swiftly into the room, their presence immediately commanding the space. Within seconds, both Chan and Jaemin were being pulled away, their bodies being guided toward the door by the authority of the faculty and student leaders. The chaotic energy that had pervaded the room for what felt like an eternity dissipated as quickly as it had come, leaving only the echo of the confrontation hanging in the air.

And just like that, it was over.

The class sat in stunned silence. The atmosphere felt thick, almost suffocating, as if no one knew what to say after witnessing such a volatile moment. Some students exchanged nervous glances, others seemed almost relieved that the tension had been broken, but no one dared to speak out of turn.

You exhaled slowly, rubbing your temples, trying to process everything that had just happened. Your head throbbed with the weight of the moment, the emotional whiplash of what you had just witnessed settling deep in your bones. The chaotic flare of violence, the tension, the unsettling silence—it was enough to leave anyone rattled. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so shaken, but there was no time to dwell on it. You still had a class to run—one that had just seen more than its fair share of drama.

The room remained heavy with silence, save for the occasional rustle of someone shifting uncomfortably in their seat. No one seemed quite ready to move on, the air thick with lingering unease, like a storm that hadn't quite passed.

Wonwoo stood beside you, his presence a quiet anchor amidst the unsettling atmosphere. His sharp gaze flickered over your face, a quick scan as though searching for any hint of lingering distress. It was a habit of his, the subtle way he kept track of everyone around him, always assessing.

“You okay?” His voice was steady, familiar—like a grounding force in the midst of chaos.

You exhaled slowly again, grounding yourself. “I’m fine,” you murmured, adjusting the papers in your hands as if that simple motion could erase the chaotic energy that had flooded the classroom. But the image of Chan, that brief glance he had thrown your way before disappearing down the hallway, lingered in your mind like an echo.

Wonwoo nodded, his gaze briefly flicking to the classroom before turning toward the door. His attention shifted elsewhere, but something in his posture, the small shift in his stance, told you he was still watching you. Observing. “Let’s just get through today, alright?” he said, a quiet suggestion more than a command.

At the far end of the room, just before stepping out, Chan paused. His back was to the door, but his eyes flickered back—just for a second—across the room. The briefest glance, but enough to make your stomach tighten. He wasn’t looking at you, not exactly. But it was as though he had taken note of everything. Of you. The way he looked at the scene, the way he committed it all to memory, was unsettling. Then, just as quickly, he was gone.

You couldn’t help but wonder what’s inside his head.

The faculty room was quieter, but the atmosphere was still charged, the earlier events hanging in the air like a storm cloud, ready to break. You sat at a corner table, trying to concentrate on the papers in front of you, but your mind kept returning to that fight. The way the room had shifted the moment Chan stepped in. The look in his eyes. Something about him felt different. Dangerous. And you had a creeping feeling you hadn’t seen the last of it.

Professor Kim, the head of the disciplinary committee, sighed heavily, adjusting her glasses. “The fight was disruptive and violent. This cannot be ignored. Both of them need to be disciplined appropriately.”

Professor Park, ever quick to share his thoughts, didn’t hesitate. “Jaemin, of course, has a long history of problems. We can’t say we didn’t expect this. But Lee Chan…” He trailed off, his tone shifting as though weighing something in his mind. “He’s not a student we can easily overlook. He’s a troublemaker—just in a different way.”

Your brow furrowed slightly as the name “Lee Chan” reverberated in your mind. From what you had heard, he was intelligent, sharp—his grades were impressive, even top-tier. But the way he carried himself? The silence that followed him, like a lingering shadow? It didn’t add up. Something didn’t feel right.

Professor Choi, usually reserved, leaned forward, adding to the conversation with a rare intensity. “He gets good grades, yes. But that doesn’t mean we should let his actions slide. His reputation alone is enough to make anyone hesitate. He’s not just a student—hell this school is named after his family name. Though no students here knows that fact, his presence still command respect, or fear. He makes people follow him, just by being in the room.”

You listened intently, absorbing every word, every hesitation. You had heard the rumors about Chan even before you came into this school, whispers in the hallways, the unease that followed him like a dark cloud. But until now, you hadn’t fully realized the weight of it all. The way people avoided his gaze, the way others seemed to bend to his will without question. You were amazed by the realness of it all.

Wonwoo spoke up then, his tone calm, but his words carrying an unexpected weight. “Chan might be smart, but he’s trouble. He’s one of those students who uses his reputation to get what he wants. He’s not above intimidation, and that’s something we can’t afford to ignore.”

You glanced at Wonwoo, surprised by his bluntness. He wasn’t someone who typically spoke so openly about students—at least, not those who still managed to keep their grades up despite their behavior. It was almost as if he knew something you didn’t.

Professor Kim raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “And you think his good grades should excuse his actions, professor? Because his grades don’t justify a fight. He’s crossed a line.”

Wonwoo sighed, a fleeting flicker of frustration crossing his features. “I’m not saying we should excuse his behavior. But Chan has a way of manipulating situations. If we come down too hard on him, it could make things worse. He’s the kind of student who doesn’t respond well to authority, and if we push him too far, it could escalate.”

The room fell silent for a moment, as if everyone was processing the implications of his words. The tension between caution and confrontation hummed in the air, unresolved.

Professor Park narrowed his eyes, a sharp edge to his voice. “So, what are you suggesting? That we give him a pass just because he knows how to make people scared of him?”

“No,” Wonwoo replied, his voice steady and certain. “But we need to be careful. We can’t treat Chan like any other student. He has a way of turning things to his advantage, of twisting situations. And this is not just because his family own this school. This is because he built his reputation that way, making other students afraid of him. If we push him too far, we risk triggering something we might not be able to control. He’s not like the rest of them.”

The conversation settled into a heavy silence, each person wrestling with their thoughts.

Finally, Professor Kim let out a long breath, her fingers tapping lightly against the papers in front of her. “We’ll put both students in detention for the time being. Jaemin, no surprise there. But with Chan…” She paused, as if trying to weigh the possible consequences of her next words. “He’s not the type to back down, and we need to keep that in mind moving forward.”

It had been one of those days—busy, slightly chaotic, but nothing out of the ordinary. You found yourself sorting through papers at your desk when a familiar voice broke through the quiet hum of the faculty room.

“Hey, you’re looking pretty focused there. Are you sure you’re not trying to work yourself to the bone?” Wonwoo’s voice had that familiar teasing tone, and you could almost hear the faint smile behind it.

You glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Says the guy who spends half his time pretending to read the reports when he’s just watching the clock,” you retorted, leaning back in your chair.

He chuckled, pushing a strand of hair from his face. “I’m just keeping an eye on you. Don’t want you getting lost in all that paperwork.”

You shook your head, amused. “If I get lost, I’ll just call you for help. But I’m sure you’d rather be napping in the staff lounge, huh?”

His eyes narrowed playfully. “I’m a responsible adult. I don’t nap during work hours.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Well, not all the time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes. “Maybe I should start timing your breaks, see how long you really go without a nap.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “You wouldn’t dare. Besides, I’m more efficient than you think.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “Don’t forget, I’m the one keeping the department running smoothly.”

You leaned forward, matching his teasing tone. “I’m sure the students would beg to differ. They’ve all been talking about you.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his face unreadable for a moment before a grin tugged at his lips. “What about me?”

You leaned back again, crossing your arms with a playful smile. “Oh, nothing. Just that you’ve been the silent hero in the background. Maybe you’ve earned a fan club.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling up at the corners. “A fan club, huh? I like the sound of that. Just make sure you don’t join it.”

You shot him a wink, amused by his overconfidence. “I don’t need to. I already have my own fan club.”

His grin widened, but before he could say anything more, the conversation shifted, and the teasing between the two of you faded into comfortable silence.

A few days later, you were buried under paperwork once again, the weight of the past week pressing down on you. Your phone buzzed with another unrecognized number, and you ignored it, frustrated. But then, almost instinctively, you found yourself dialing a number you’d been trying to reach all day—Chan’s number.

You sighed in frustration, tapping your fingers against the desk as the phone rang. “Come on, pick up already…” you muttered under your breath.

The soft click of the door opening made you freeze, and you quickly turned your phone’s screen away, hoping it wasn’t too obvious.

“Who are you calling?” Wonwoo’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and inquiring.

You froze, trying to play it cool, but the tension in your shoulders betrayed you. “It’s… just someone,” you said quickly, attempting to brush it off.

Wonwoo stepped closer, leaning against the edge of your desk. His eyes flickered to your phone before meeting your gaze, and there was a knowing look in his eyes. “Is that the fifth time today? They still aren’t answering?”

Your stomach twisted. Wonwoo was always perceptive, but this time, it felt like he could read you like an open book. You cleared your throat, trying to keep your tone steady. “It’s not a big deal,” you muttered. “Just trying to get in touch with a student. He’s been… absent.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, not missing the way your fingers tightened around the phone. His voice softened, his teasing tone slipping into something more serious. “It’s Lee Chan, isn’t it?”

Your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t just guessing. He knew. You hesitated for a moment, before nodding slightly, feeling the weight of the conversation settling in.

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “He hasn’t been showing up to class, and he missed his detention after the fight last week. He was supposed to work in the library after class, but… I haven’t heard from him.”

Wonwoo’s gaze didn’t leave you as he processed the information. “He’s been avoiding you?” His tone held a quiet concern, though there was still that ever-present edge of curiosity in his voice. “Isn’t that a bit… unusual for him? I thought he usually showed up when he needed something.”

You sighed, feeling a mix of frustration and unease wash over you. “Yeah, I thought so too. But it’s been days now. I’m not sure what’s going on. He’s always been hard to reach, but he’s never just ignored things like this.” You paused, your mind racing with the possibilities. “I’m worried something’s happened.”

Wonwoo gave you a long look, as if trying to gauge the situation. “Chan’s the type to do things his own way,” he said softly. “Maybe he’s just making a point. Or maybe he’s not ready to deal with the consequences yet.”

Your fingers tightened on the phone again, the thought of Chan slipping further away from your reach gnawing at you. “I just don’t want to let it slide. He has to face the consequences, but I don’t know how to make him show up.”

Wonwoo’s expression softened, just slightly, as he straightened up. “He won’t make it easy for you. But if you want him to show up, you’ll have to push a little harder.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “But that’s what you do, right? You get the students to listen.”

There was a certain understanding in his words that made you pause. Wonwoo didn’t say it outright, but he knew how hard you’d been trying to reach Chan, and how important it was that you got through to him.

You gave a short, tight smile, grateful for the insight. “Yeah, I guess I’ll just have to find a way to get through to him.”

Wonwoo nodded and gave you a small, knowing smile. “Let me know if you need help with that.” His tone had returned to its usual teasing edge, but there was something in his eyes that made you feel like he wasn’t just offering help on a whim.

“Thanks,” you said, though your mind was already elsewhere, focusing on what you could do next. After a brief moment, Wonwoo left, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You stared at your phone for a moment, the unanswered calls piling up in your call log. Chan wasn’t just skipping school—is he avoiding you? That would made everything feel far more complicated. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of game he was playing this time.

You made your way back to your apartment, your mind still racing with the events of the day. The walk had done little to clear your head. The sky had darkened by the time you reached the familiar building, and the usual hum of city life seemed distant, almost muffled, as if the world around you was out of focus. The weight of everything, your new role, the chaos in your classroom, and the unresolved tension settled in your chest.

As you approached your apartment door, you realized something was off. The hallway light flickered overhead, casting strange shadows along the walls, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. It was the door itself. The door to your apartment, which you were sure you had locked this morning, was ajar. Just slightly, but enough to make your stomach twist with unease.

You froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. Your instincts told you to back away, to go back downstairs and find someone, anyone, but you remained rooted in place. You had been living here for months without issue, and yet now, in the quiet of the night, the very thought that someone could have been inside your space felt foreign and terrifying.

You stepped forward cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest. Every step felt heavier than the last, and you felt a shiver creep down your spine. The door creaked softly as you pushed it open a little further, and you glanced inside. The apartment was dark, but nothing seemed out of place. The silence was unsettling, too perfect, like it was waiting for you to make the next move.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stood just inside the doorway, your hand still on the handle. Every part of you screamed to leave, to turn and run back down the stairs, but you couldn’t. You had to know. Had you forgotten to lock the door? Was this a mistake? Or was someone else in there?

The moment you stepped into your apartment, something felt off.

A slow, uneasy breath left your lips as you carefully pushed the door open, stepping inside with cautious, measured steps. The dim lighting from the street outside spilled through the window, casting long shadows against the walls.

Then—

“Oh, you’re back already?”

That familiar voice sent a sharp jolt through your body, but not from fear. From pure, unfiltered frustration.

Your head snapped toward the couch, where he sat so casually, one arm resting over the backrest, his legs sprawled out like he owned the place. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips as his dark eyes drank in your stunned expression.

Lee Chan.

You exhaled sharply, tension flooding your body as you stormed toward him. Without hesitation, you smacked his broad shoulder—hard.

“You—!” Your voice wavered, caught between anger and relief. “Why are you not answering my calls?”

Chan barely flinched, only tilting his head slightly as he watched you with that irritatingly amused expression. Then, in one swift motion, he stood, his arms wrapping around you before you could escape.

“Now, why is my pretty teacher crying?” His voice was soft, teasing, but there was something in the way he pulled you against his chest, how his hands instinctively found your waist, that made your stomach flip.

You clenched your jaw, your hands gripping his hoodie. “Do you have any idea how worried I was about you?”

Chan let out a short exhale, like your concern was misplaced.

“Worried about me?”

“Yes, worried about you, you idiot!” You pushed at his chest just enough to glare up at him. “You didn’t show up for detention. You haven’t been at school. You disappeared, Chan. I kept calling, but you never picked up. What was I supposed to think?”

His gaze flickered across your face, unreadable. Then, his lips curled into something almost smug.

“Do every teacher worry about their students like this?”

Your stomach twisted at his words, heat creeping up your neck.

You smacked his chest. “You know what I mean.”

He groaned dramatically, tilting his head back. “Ugh, I hate this.”

“Hate what?” You narrowed your eyes, suddenly remembering exactly why you were so furious with him in the first place.

“Sitting in that classroom, watching you teach, pretending you’re just another professor, when I know I could grab you anytime and kiss you so hard you forget your own name.”

His voice was low, raw with frustration, and the way he looked at you made your breath catch in your throat.

Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, he scoffed under his breath.

“This is exactly why I told you not to accept Wonwoo’s offer.”

Your brows furrowed, irritation flaring inside you. “We’re not doing this again.”

Chan’s grip on you tightened slightly, his jaw clenching. “Yes, we are. You knew what would happen if you started working there. You knew there was a chance you’d be assigned to my class, and you still took the job.”

Your hands curled into fists against his hoodie. “What was I supposed to do, Chan? Turn down a stable job just because you don’t like it?”

“Yes.” His answer came without hesitation, sharp and unyielding.

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady yourself. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“No, I’m being realistic.” His voice dropped, something darker lacing his words. “Do you know how much I hate seeing you there? How much it pisses me off when I have to sit through a lesson and pretend I don’t want to pull you out of that classroom and keep you all to myself?”

You swallowed hard, your heartbeat pounding against your ribs.

“I told you it would be difficult,” he continued, his fingers pressing lightly into your waist. “I told you I wouldn’t handle it well, and now look. I can’t even focus in that damn classroom, because all I can think about is how wrong it feels for you to be standing there, acting like I’m just another student.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him he was being selfish, but deep down, you knew—he wasn’t lying.

It had been hard.

Harder than you expected.

Keeping your relationship hidden, pretending there was nothing between you when the weight of his gaze alone was enough to unravel you. And when he stopped showing up to class, when he ignored your calls—it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

Your shoulders sagged slightly. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Chan.”

He studied you for a long moment before sighing. “I don’t want you to do anything. I just…” His fingers brushed against your cheek, his voice softer now. “I hate this. I hate not being able to have you the way I want.”

Something inside you cracked at his words.

You reached up, your fingers threading through his hair as you exhaled shakily. “I hate it too.”

Chan smirked, but there was no teasing behind it this time—only something knowing, something bittersweet.

His arms tightened around you, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Then let’s stop pretending,” he murmured.

It was as if the air between you shifted—thick with tension, unspoken words, and the heat that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

Chan’s fingers brushed over your shoulders as he slid your coat off, letting it fall to the side without a second thought. His touch lingered, slow and deliberate, as he guided you toward the kitchen table.

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

“Chan…” you started, voice barely above a whisper.

But he was already behind you, his presence overwhelming, his hands warm as they rested on your waist. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Now,” his voice was low, filled with something dangerous, something utterly possessive.

“Bend for me, my love.”

129 notes · View notes

littlest-w01f · 2 months ago

Text

Devine

Batboys x Kiana

RHYSAND MASTERLIST

CASSIAN MASTERLIST

AZRIEL MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Rhysand is getting older, and he, along with his general and spymaster, needs to claim an Omega before his Alpha instincts take control of him completely and he is rendered unfit to be a High Lord, lucky or unluckily for him, Kier has an idea.

Cw: Kiana's family is... kinda fucked.

part one - part two - part three

The omega stood in her new room, wearing slightly oversized clothes, in her new home, in Velaris. There was a knock on the door, and Kiana looked up, wondering who it was. A dread in the pit of her stomach that it was her alpha

The knocking at the door echoed through the quiet room, causing Kiana's heart to race with dread. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves as she made her way over to the entrance. With trembling hands, she slowly opened the door, revealing none other than her alpha standing there.

Rhysand's piercing violet eyes locked onto Kiana's, his tall, muscular frame filling the doorway. He wore his usual attire, fitted black pants and a crisp black tunic, the top buttons undone to reveal a tantalising glimpse of his tanned chest. His dark hair was styled messily, a few strands falling across his forehead.

"Kiana," He greeted, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. "I see you've settled into your new quarters. We should talk before dinner. May I come in?"

Kiana was surprised he was asking, and a part of her wondered if she should shut the door in his face. She nodded wordlessly, opening the door for him further.

Rhysand stepped into the room, his presence immediately making it feel smaller and more intimate. He glanced around, taking in the simple furnishings, a large bed draped in silky sheets, an ornate wardrobe, and a writing desk strewn with parchment and quills. His gaze lingered on Kiana, drinking in every detail of her appearance.

"You look... Comfortable," He remarked, a hint of amusement in his tone as he noticed her oversized clothing. He moved further into the room, each step purposeful and graceful. "I trust everything is to your liking so far? If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask."

He turned to face her fully, arms crossed over his broad chest. In the soft glow of the room's lighting, his skin seemed to shimmer, highlighting the lean muscles beneath. "I wish to ask you a question... Answer me truthfully."

Kiana felt Rhysand's intense gaze bore into her very soul as he awaited her response. Her mind raced, trying to decipher the meaning behind his cryptic words. What kind of question could possibly warrant such gravity. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. "Of course, Alpha," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. "Ask me whatever you need to know."

"Call me Rhys. Do you wish this bond, under terms of courtship and eventual mating? You will be mine and mine alone. But you will not have to worry about your family. Is that acceptable?" His voice was sharp, and she couldn't tell how serious he was being.

"Will... Will you hurt me...?" She asked, her voice small, looking anywhere but at him, trying to hide how frightened she was.

Rhysand's expression immediately softened, and he let out a breath. He seemed slightly ashamed of himself for scaring her, part of him screaming that he fix it and put a smile on her face. "No, I want you, but I will never hurt you. I will protect you. You come under my protection. But I cannot promise that this will be easy. I am a male used to being alone with my brothers, I wasn't looking to choose an Omgea for a long time. You will have to learn how to get used to my presence and nature. And I will have to learn to do the same for you. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes..." She said with a little confidence. A tingle ran down her spine when he smiled at her, pleased she was able to please him

Rhysand pauses for a moment. He lets out a breath. "Do you wish to ask anything? You have any questions?" He looked at her, gentle, hoping she'd open up.

Kiana's heart fluttered at Rhysand's gentle demeanour, a change from how he was in Hewn City, a warmth spreading through her chest at his reassurance. She felt a glimmer of hope that perhaps this arrangement wouldn't be as dreadful as she initially feared.

Still, many uncertainties were swirling in her mind, and she knew she needed answers to ease her doubts. "Az... Azriel said I'd have a different room than you, is that true? Aren't we... Meant to... Sleep together."

"Would you like to?" He asked, leaning against a wall in her room. "Sleep with me?"

Kiana blushed deeply at the suggestion, her heart pounding in her chest. The idea of sharing a bed with Rhysand, feeling his body heat against hers, sent shivers down her spine, nauseatingly. She bit her lip, trying to gather her thoughts.

"I... I don't know," She admitted, her voice barely audible. "But if you want me to... If that's what you expect from our bond..." Her voice trailed off, leaving the decision open-ended. She glanced up at him through her lashes, gauging his reaction, the omega in her hoping for guidance.

Rhysand's eyes gleamed with intrigue as he watched Kiana struggle with her emotions, her uncertainty palpable in the air between them. He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them until they were mere inches apart. His warm breath caressed her skin as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"If sleeping beside me makes you uncomfortable, then we won't," He whispered, his voice low and soothing. "This bond is meant to bring us pleasure, not pain. I want you to feel safe and cherished with me." His fingers brushed against her cheek, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "Are you scared of me, Kiana?"

"Yes... No..." She corrected herself, fumbling with her words, her heart raced, "I..."

Rhysand sighed, rubbing his temple, "We can't go forward if you aren't honest with me about how I make you feel, little omega."

Kiana flinched at Rhysand's words, feeling a pang of guilt for not being entirely truthful. She knew she had to be brave, to confront her fears head-on if their bond was to stand a chance. "I want to trust you, but I'm also scared of your power over me... You can make me do... Anything, and I'd have to do it."

Rhysand's expression hardened at Kiana's words, his jaw clenched in frustration. He understood her fear, but he refused to let it dictate their interactions. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax, not wanting to intimidate her further. "I understand your concerns, Kiana. My abilities can be overwhelming, especially for someone new to a bond. But I swear to you, I would never use my powers to manipulate you into doing something you truly dislike or find distasteful. Our bond is built on mutual respect and trust, not coercion."

He reached out, gently cupping her chin in his hand. "If there's ever a situation where you're unsure or uncomfortable, all you have to do is speak up. I'll listen and work with you to find a solution that makes both of us happy, I will never order you into something you do not with it."

When he still noted sighs of unease in his omega, he sighed, "If it makes you feel better, make a bargain with me. You'll be honest with me about things you feel I would yell at you for, and I won't be mad at you. How does that sound?"

Kiana's eyes widened at Rhysand's proposal, a spark of relief igniting within her. Having a safeguard in place, a promise that he would remain calm even in the face of her mistakes or hesitations, brought a measure of comfort. She nodded eagerly, her heart swelling with gratitude.

"That sounds nice, thank you," She breathed, a small smile playing on her lips. "I'll do my best to be honest with you, no matter how difficult it may be."

With that, a swirl of ink formed on her right wrist, circling it like a bracelet. She looked at Rhysand's hand and found a matching tattoo. Marking their bargain.

"Can I ask you one more question, darling?" He asked, reaching out to grab her wrist, his hand tracing the bargain tattoo.

Kiana knew he wanted to test out their bargain, but it spoke for her first, "No. I feel like you'll put me in a tough situation."

Rhysand raised his brow at her words, an amused chuckle leaving his lips, "Oh I see," Kiana held her breath, at both what she said and how her alpha would react, "At least the bargain is working." He smiled endearingly.

He tilted his head, studying her intently. "Tell me, little omega, what exactly did you think might put you in a tough spot? I'm curious to understand your perspective."

His tone was gentle, inviting, yet there was a hint of genuine interest beneath the surface. He genuinely wanted to hear her thoughts, to understand her point of view, even if it meant delving into potentially sensitive topics. This willingness to listen and learn was a refreshing change from the typical alpha dynamics she was accustomed to, where they would take, take and take.

"All I know of Alphas is that they want to take from me, that they'll use me to satisfy their desire and then throw me away. That... That's how my father was... That's what he taught me, alphas were better of the three. That's how he treated my mother." Kiana whispered, rubbing her arm consciously, knowing Rhysand would judge how she had grown up, "I'm supposed to do whatever you want. I don't like someone having that power over me. It makes me... Uneasy."

Rhysand's expression softened at Kiana's confession, his grip on her wrist gentling. He listened attentively, absorbing every word, every nuance of emotion that passed across her delicate features. When she finished speaking, he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace. She hesitated, but melted into her touch.

"I'm sorry, Kiana, for the pain your past has caused you. No child deserves to grow up with such a distorted view of love and relationships." He murmured, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head. "I want you to know that I'm nothing like your father. I would never treat you with such disrespect or cruelty."

He pulled back slightly, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. "My power over you is not meant to control or dominate, but rather to protect and provide for you."

"But... But how can I trust that?" She asked softly, her brows furrowed in scepticism. "How can I believe that you won't use me like everyone else in my life?" That was even a little too much honesty for her, but it was like everything inside her had bottled, and only now exploding, "My parents wanted to sell me away. How do I know you won't tire of me just like that?"

A flicker of hurt crossed Rhysand's face at her question, but he quickly masked it with a reassuring smile. "Trust takes time to build, I understand that. And I won't expect you to blindly follow me without questioning. In fact, I encourage you to keep your wits about you and speak your mind."

"However, I do hope you can begin to trust me, little omega. Trust that I have your best interests at heart, and that my intentions towards you are pure." He said, his voice filled with sincerity. "Give me a chance to prove myself to you, to show you that I value and cherish you, not just as my mate, but as a person worthy of love and respect."

Rhysand's eyes searched hers, pleading for understanding and acceptance. "In return, I ask that you give me the same opportunity to win your trust and affection. Let's take things slow, get to know each other beyond the formalities of our bond. There's no rush, and I promise, I'll be patient with you."

Kiana's heart swelled at Rhysand's heartfelt words, the sincerity in his voice, and the earnestness in his eyes touched a chord deep within her. For the first time, she felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, this bond could be different from the idea of them she had.

She nodded slowly, a small, tentative smile gracing her lips. "Okay… I'll try. I want to believe you, Rhys. I really do." Her voice was barely a whisper, but the vulnerability in it spoke volumes.

Rhysand's face lit up with a radiant smile at Kiana's agreement, at his name on her lips, his eyes sparkling with delight. He reached out, gently stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb, his touch feather-light and soothing.

"I'm glad, little omega. Truly, I am." He murmured, his voice warm with affection. "Now, shall we join Az and Cass for dinner? They can be a bit too much."

Kiana smiled up at him, "I would like to have dinner with them. I think I'll enjoy it."

Upon entering the dining room, Kiana was immediately struck by the size and elegance of the space. Long wooden tables lined either side of the room, each adorned with an assortment of fine china and silverware. At one end of the room, a roaring fire crackled in a stone hearth, providing a warm glow that illuminated the entire space.

Cassian and Azriel were already seated at the table, engaged in lively conversation. Their voices faded into the background as Kiana's attention was on the furniture, only snapping out when Rhysand nudged her, "They said something."

Her eyes snapped to the two alphas looking expectantly at her, "Hi, Kia." Cassian repeated with a wide smile.

Kiana froze a little at his gentle tone. "Hi..." She offered, adjusting her, Mor's, clothes.

Rhysand moved closer to her, his movements unhurried, deliberate. He reached out, commanding. "Come. Sit down." His touch was light, barely there, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through her, as did the gentle command that washed over her.

Kiana smiled, taking a seat where Rhysand had led her, pulling out a chair for her. As Kiana sat down, Rhysand slid into the chair beside her, his thigh lightly brushing against hers under the table. The casual contact sent a thrill through her, and she found herself leaning into him instinctively.

Rhysand waved his hand and Kiana's eyes widened as the table suddenly filled with an array of delicious-looking dishes. The aroma of freshly baked bread, meats, and fragrant vegetables wafted through the air, making her mouth water despite her earlier unease. "Oh my," she breathed, her gaze darting from one dish to another.

Rhysand chuckled softly at her reaction, squeezing her hand gently. "I hope you're hungry, love. We have quite the feast prepared tonight." He gestured to the spread with his free hand. "Please, help yourself to whatever catches your fancy."

Kiana nodded, her stomach growling audibly at the sight and smell of the food and the alphas smiled. She hesitantly reached for a piece of bread, breaking off a small piece and popping it into her mouth. The taste exploded on her tongue, warm, soft, and absolutely divine.

"I really thought I would be doing the cooking..." Kiana whispered softly, as was tradition. Cooking for your alpha was an important step after a claiming between an omega and their alpha, and the idea of Kiana cooking for him, celebrating their bond, was enticing for Rhysand. But for now, he was content just watching her enjoy the meal.

Rhysand's eyes softened at Kiana's whispered words, a hint of sadness flickering in their depths. "I know, sweetheart. But every claiming is... Different. Though Don't worry, love," he murmured, leaning closer to her, smiling. "We can certainly arrange for you to prepare meals whenever you desire, if you really want to."

Kiana blushed deeply at Rhysand's words, her heart pounding in her chest. The thought of preparing meals for him, of creating something that he would enjoy, was oddly appealing.

Rhysand watched her intently as she nibbled on the bread, noticing how every bite seemed to make her glow just a bit brighter. He felt a surge of possessive pride swell within him, he puffed out his chest, knowing that this was his omega, enjoying her meal in his home.

"I must say, seeing you eat is quite... Satisfying," He confessed, his voice dropping to a low, husky timbre. But at the same time, he felt upset that she only had a piece of bread on her plate with a glass of water she kept sipping from.

He let a command slip, "Here, would you like to try some roasted meat? Or some vegetables?" his hand already reaching for the serving spoons.

"Yes, please, Rhys." Kiana smiled, her cheeks still flushed from his earlier confession. She held out her plate, allowing Rhysand to serve her a generous portion of roasted meats, steaming vegetables, and crusty bread. Her eyes were wide at how much food she now had in front of her, "I... I don't know if I can eat all of this..."

A playful smirk tugged at the corner of Rhysand's lips. "Eat however much you can stomach, sweetheart. Just take your time, stuffing yourself can cause you as much trouble as starving." His fingers brushed against hers lightly as he served her, sending a tingling sensation through her skin.

He picked up his fork, cutting into the tender meat on his plate. "Eat up, Kiana. It's good for you," he added. "Don't be afraid to ask for anything, alright?"

Cassian and Azriel watched the exchange with keen interest, both males familiar with the dynamics between an alpha and their omega, but they had never seen it right in front of them. They exchanged knowing glances, their expressions a mix of amusement and understanding.

Cassian leaned back in his chair, a relaxed smile playing on his lips as he observed the scene before him. Azriel, on the other hand, appeared more subdued, his piercing hazel eyes fixed intently on Kiana as she tentatively took her first bites.

Rhysand noticed their attention and shot them a warning glance, though it lacked any real heat. "Enough gawking, boys," He said mildly, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. "Let our guest enjoy her meal without feeling like a show."

Cassian snorted, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "As if we could resist the gorgeous omega in our home," he quipped, earning a chuckle from Azriel. "I might just steal her from you, Rhysie."

Kiana choked on her vegetables at the alpha's words, and the growl that echoed through Rhysand's throat, nearly shaking the mountain the House of Winds sat on.

Cassian threw his head back and laughed heartily at the fierce growl that rumbled through Rhysand's chest, his alpha instincts crazed at the thought of someone else trying to claim his omega. "Alright, alright! I'm just teasing!" He held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. "Wouldn't dream of poaching another male's omega, especially not yours."

Azriel shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You're incorrigible, Cassian," He remarked, his melodic voice carrying a note of fond exasperation, his shadows curling around his neck. "Leave the poor female alone. Can't you see she's overwhelmed enough as it is?"

Kiana swallowed hard, her eyes wide as she glanced between the three powerful males. The tension in the room was palpable, and she couldn't help but feel nervous about being the centre of attention to three alphas.

Rhysand's hand found its way to hers, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Ignore them, sweetheart," he said soothingly. "They're just being... Typical alphas."

"Oh, it's ok..." Kiana gave a small smile, a blush high on her cheeks, "I've just... Never been at the attention of many alphas."

Cassian raised a brow at the omega's words, his smoky grey eyes sparkling with mischief. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his intense gaze never leaving Kiana's face. "Never? That seems unlikely, beautiful," he drawled, a devilish smirk playing on his lips. "But if it is true, then consider yourself very lucky."

He winked at her, his charm oozing from every word. "It's not often we get to meet such delightful omegas. Most of them are either scared of us or fawning over us. Not that I mind either of those reactions," he added quickly, flashing a toothy grin.

A soft chuckle escaped Rhysand's lips as he watched Cassian flirt with Kiana. He knew his brother was just being himself, but it did little to ease the protective instinct that surged within him at the sight of his omega smiling so brightly at his friend and not at him.

"Be careful, Cassian," He warned, his tone mild but firm. "You might scare her off with your... Unique charms."

Rhysand's fingers traced lazy circles on Kiana's hand, offering her silent reassurance. "Omegas are rare and precious to us, there are many alphas who cherish them, unlike the ones you might've met around your family's circle," he explained, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "So, it's natural for us to want to get to know them better."

The corners of Azriel's mouth lifted slightly in a gentle smile, not wanting to scare the omega, his hazel eyes warm and inviting. He shifted in his seat, leaning towards Kiana, his shadows swirling around him like an ethereal cloak. "What do you think of the food, Kiana?" he asked, his voice smooth and melodious.

Kiana nodded, taking another bite of the roasted meats before responding. "It's delicious," she said, her voice muffled slightly by the food in her mouth. She chewed slowly, savouring the flavours before swallowing and answering properly. "It's so much better than what I'm used to."

"Here, try this, It's my favourite!" Cassian called from where he was seated across from her, his hand near her face, rice mixed with a meat dish she didn't know between his fingers.

Kiana hesitated, glancing uncertainly at Rhysand before leaning forward and accepting the food offered by Cassian's fingers. As she parted her lips, Cassian's digits brushed against her tongue, sending a shiver down her spine at the intimate contact.

Rhysand tensed beside her, his grip on her hand tightening almost imperceptibly as he watched the interaction unfold. The air seemed to thicken with tension, the clinking of cutlery against porcelain suddenly deafening in the charged silence.

Just as Cassian was about to pull away, his fingers lingering perhaps a moment longer than necessary, Rhysand cleared his throat pointedly. "That's enough, Cassian," he said, his voice low and controlled despite the possessive glint in his eyes. "Let the girl eat in peace."

Kiana swallowed and giggled at Rhysand's reaction, "I... I didn't mind. It tastes delicious."

Cassian looked at his fingers, licking up the stray pieces of rice from them. Rhysand's jaw clenched momentarily at the sight of Cassian's bold move, but he pushed aside his alpha instincts and focused on putting Kiana at ease. "I'm glad you're enjoying the food," He turned his attention back to Kiana, his hand finding hers again beneath the table. "There's always plenty to go around, so don't hesitate to ask for seconds if you'd like," Rhysand offered, his touch reassuring and protective.

As the evening wore on, the group continued to chat and laugh together, the atmosphere gradually shifting from tense to convivial. The four shared laughter and warmth around the dining table. With each passing moment, Kiana felt herself relax further, the initial tension melting away under the combined charm of the High Lord and his close friends.

{General Taglist- @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-angst @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tele86 @thelov3lybookworm @romanticatheartt}

{Rhysand Taglist- @yeonalie}

{Cassian Taglist- @yeonalie}

{Azriel Taglist- @fxckmiup @annamariereads16 @saltedcoffeescotch @satorusemepls @fieldofdaisiies}

{Devine Taglist- @k-homosapien @booksbypisces}

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rebelliousstories · 4 months ago

Text

The One That Got Away

Relationship: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of a Crime Scene, Blood, and Firearms, Vague Mentions of a Serial Killer

Word Count: 1,698

Main Masterlist: Here

Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here

Summary: After leaving Interpol after an operation gone wrong, Emily thought that she would never see her ex-girlfriend again. That is until the case resurfaces, but on US soil.

Part Two: Would You Go With Me?

Consider Donating: Here

“The past is a very determined ghost, haunting every chance it gets.” Laura Miller

March 7th, 2005

In the back of an ambulance, a woman was staring straight ahead. She was unable to respond to the EMTs surrounding her. All she could replay in her head was the massacre that had just unfolded inside their safe house. A safe house that was now comprised.

She could barely comprehend that her girlfriend was in front of her, calling her name. Screams echoed in her head. Blood was actively drying on her face, hands, clothing, really just.. everywhere. There was a ringing ever present in her ears. Vaguely, she registered that she was being loaded into the ambulance, with other people climbing in with her.

Her girlfriend was holding her hand, trying to stay out of the way for the medics to work on the lady on the gurney. Everything was jut a blur. No sound loud enough, but not quite quiet enough. No image stood out to her. What the woman did not realize, was that this singular event would forever change her life.

Present Day…

“What have we got?” Emily asked, strutting in with Morgan and Rossi right next to her.

Aaron stood around the round table with JJ to his left. Garcia had shuffled in from the other entrance to the room with Reid close behind her. The unit chief held a harsh look on his face, harsher than he usually did. And he was looking straight at Emily.

“What,” came her hesitant ask, eyeing Hotch equally as hard.

“We’ve gotten a request to help with an Interpol case.” He stated.

“Okay, what’s so different about it? We’ve been asked to assist other teams before.” The rest of the team followed after Prentiss, also confused as to how cryptic this whole thing was.

“Imitirovat.”

“The Mimic?” While everyone remained confused, Emily felt like a cold rush of water came over her.

“‘The Mimic?’ Who’s that?” Garcia piped up, not liking the silence.

Before Hotchner could speak, the dark haired woman did so first. “He was an old case. A cold case back from my days with Interpol. Why are we being brought in?”

“It seems that he’s made his way to American soil, and he’s killing again. Agent Liam Shelby has asked us to join the FBI joint task force with the Salt Lake City police.” He continued, passing her a file.

“Shelby? He’s on this still?” Flipping through the pages, she scanned them to refresh herself on all the information.

“He is. And there is an additional agent that we need to find.” A highlighted name pointed her out, but that only made her groan.

“Jesus Christ.” A hand scrubbed over Emily’s face to try rub her bias away.

“I’m aware. Wheels up in twenty.”

On the plane, the conversation was not much better. While her teammates wanted to talk about the original case, Emily wanted to not be in this situation. If certain information got out, personal information, about this case, there could be repercussions both personally and professionally. But if Shelby was specifically calling the team that she was on to help now that this man had come back.

“So, what can you tell us about this guy, Emily?” Rossi asked, toying with the file in front of him.

Sucking in a depth breath, she readjusted in her seat, feeling the weight of everyone’s stares on her. “Um…well, no one knows The Mimic’s real name. But we do know that he comes from Russia, hence the name “Imitirovat”. It means “imitate” or “simulate.” White male, at the time he was approximately late twenties to early thirties. Sandy blonde hair, brown eyes, attractive-”

“Attractive?” JJ’s brows scrunched as she tilted her head.

“Yeah, he’s always been able to charm victims into going with him before he kills them.” Prentiss continued, “and when I was with Interpol, I chased him around Europe as he went on killing. We almost had him in London.”

“Were there any suspects?” Morgan quipped.

“We had some persons of interest, but nothing panned out.” Prentiss shook her head.

“When we land, Morgan and Reid, go to the latest crime scene. The rest of us will set up in the station.” Aaron ordered.

Soon after, everyone dived into their own thing. Pretty much everyone else was jumping into the information in the folders. Meanwhile, Emily was staring out of her window. What was she going to do if they found her? She had not seen the woman in almost a decade.

Making it to the Salt Lake City field office, Prentiss began to pick at her fingernails as they went further into the office.

“Emily!” A smooth, French-accented voice called out amongst the cacophony of the office.

“Liam, bonjour.” She replied, hugging him close.

“Bonjour. I hate to have called you here, but we need help.” Liam had jumped to near frantic as he introduced himself briefly to the rest of the team.

“I know. The Mimic is back. We’re gonna try to catch him but we need-”

Shaking his head and hands, Liam cut her off. “No, no, no, no, no. I need your help specifically.”

“Anything.” He passed her a piece of paper.

“We haven’t been able to get into contact with her. It is possible that this is why he came here. She lives in the city.”

A gasp tore from her throat. “She’s here?”

Liam just nodded. Scanning the paper she was given, Prentiss committed her address and number to heart. ”I’ll see what I can do.”

She decided on bringing Rossi with her to track down the final piece of the puzzle. Partially because there was no way Emily was going to play twenty questions with JJ, nor deal with the curious stare of Hotch. No, she brought David because he was a constant, fatherly anchor; that was what she needed. Anxiety was already rearing its ugly head at her, and she needed someone that could remain objective.

The place she now lived was far different than what she had in London. A run down apartment building that looked like it had not been updated since the 80’s. This was where she lived? When she stepped out, Prentiss smoothed her shirt and slacks, before rounding the SUV to cross the street to get to the door. However, when she went to knock on the door, it flew open with ease.

Immediately, the two agents drew their weapons, trigger discipline in place, and then they breached the ground level apartment. The first objective was to clear the apartment, make sure that no one, dead or alive, was in there. Prentiss took the west side, while Rossi took the east. She was traversing over broken glass, destroyed furniture. There were swipes of blood on the walls, dents, and bullet holes. All in all, it looked horrible.

“Clear.” Emily called, walking back into the living room.

“Clear,” came Rossi’s reply, also joining her in the living room. They holstered their weapons, and took in the damage. But as she looked around, a pool of something dark caught her eyes.

“Rossi…” she hesitantly drew his attention. Stepping quietly over to it, Emily’s stomach dropped. It was a pool of blood. One that had already begun to dry. There was an outline of a body in the middle of it, and bloody drags around the edges.

Rushing out the front door, Emily needed fresh air before she threw up. Shaking breathes sucked it in, but the thought alone was near enough to cripple her. Vaguely, Prentiss heard the front door open and close as Rossi came outside with her.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Her words were rushed, not wanting him to even ask the question to begin with.

“Sure you are, kid.” Dave chuckled at her glare. “I’m gonna call this in. You go back to the station.”

“Rossi, I’m fi-”

“That wasn’t a request. Go.” Chucking the keys at her, he already had his phone pressed against his ear as he alerted the SLC police to their crime scene. Reluctantly, Emily drove all the way back, and her thoughts were racing the speedometer.

It did not even fully process to her that she had returned until Liam stepped outside to her window. “Emily? Emily, mon ami, are you alright?”

On shaking legs, and an even unsteadier heart, Prentiss tried to speak, but nothing came out. When she said nothing, the Frenchman ushered her inside, brought her to their little section of the office, and sat her down. While Liam went to get her a cup of coffee, Hotch and JJ came over. But their voices were not able to penetrate her ears. She could not follow their questions.

“She’s dead.” Emily finally muttered, still staring at the table ahead of her.

“What do you mean?”

“Who’s dead?”

“That can’t be.”

Overlapping voices, overlapping questions, each with the same answer. “She’s dead, Liam. There was no body, but you know what The Mimic does to his victims.”

There was a new fury in her dark brown eyes as she stared at her former partner.

“There was no way she could have survived from that much blood loss. And her place… it was destroyed. If you had seen what I did. I just- we’re going to find her body in a day or two.” Emily went on with her explanation.

Everyone was silent. While her new team had no idea what the women meant to each other, Liam did. And he knew that if he had found his past lover in that state, even without a body, he would be distraught.

“Thought you had more faith in me, Emmy. You should know me better than that.”

The new voice made the agent freeze. But as soon as that was gone, she shot from her chair like lightning to whip around to face the voice. She looked just as beautiful as she did all those years ago, just with a new line or two on her face, and a long natural blonde wig on. Emily knew her well enough to know that she would never actually dye her hair to that color.

“Ya amar…”

#rebelliousstories #writing #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss is a lesbian #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss #david rossi #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #derek morgan

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

Dirty Minds 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson

Summary: You start a new job after being fired as a programmer and it’s more than you could have anticipated. (maid AU)

Note: I should stop.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your second day at the House Odinson, as you call it in your mind, brings you little optimism. You spent the night trying to bleach the images from your mind. Almost literally but the internet says Clorox is no good for your eyes. You’re no prude, you admire a nice physique, but this is strictly professional.

Just like the day before, you ring the bell, however, there is no answer. You figure that Thor would be busy. He is sort of important and well beyond this planet. As for his brother, he’ll probably want to distract himself from being stuck in the place he once tried to oppress to his will. That was a rather shady episode...

You let yourself in with the door code on the app. The house isn’t as bad as it was. Mostly, because it hasn’t been long since your last visit.

The deja vu continues to haunt you. You leave your shoes at the door and unpack your kit and folding vacuum. It should be quick work this time. You put in your earbuds and tap play on the podcast you downloaded last night. You don’t know much about Norse history but you figure you should learn some given the circumstances.

You start in the living room. It’s not too bad when you’re alone. When you have reign of the place without worrying about a nip slip or the like. Oh, what is that?

You bend to pull free the belt from under the chair and let out a screech as it moves. You throw yourself back in horror as the green snake slithers away with a flick of its tongue. A snake! Just lying on the carpet?! What in the hell? Or is it Hel?

You fix your earbuds as they move around loosely from your tumble. You catch your breath and get up. Maybe you should keep a bit of caution.

You run the vacuum through the front room and move on to the kitchen. It's a bit messier. More take out boxes, some wine glasses, and several unsealed food goods. It’s like being back with your brothers. Oh yes, the favourites.

You put it all away, on your toes as you search for the right place to put the muesli. As you reach up, the lights flicker and a tickle runs down both your sides. You squeal and drop the box, spinning to face your accoster.

Loki stands close, crowding you as he smirks down at your wide gape. You snap your mouth shut as you brace the counter behind you. You clear your dry throat and press on your earbud to pause the podcast.

“Oh, hi, I didn’t know--”

“Maid,” he proclaims as he smirks at you. “There is a mess I require assistance with.”

“Uh, okay,” you grab the cloth from the counter top. “Where?”

“My bed chamber,” he says with a tilt of his brow. You don’t like the way his eyes glimmer.

“Mhm, right, do I need a broom or mop--”

“You would be the professional. Let me show you,” he slithers.

You blink. Are you stupid or is he being cryptic? You shrug, “sure.”

He turns and struts away. You follow and twist the cloth in your hands. You watch his lithe figure as he seems to walk on air.

You stop at the threshold of his room as he passes through the door. It’s tidy despite the state you of the rest of the house when you arrived the day before. You hesitate to enter as he lingers by the door frame. According to the myths, he’s a bit of a trickster. Still, those have to have been distorted by centuries of mortal storytelling.

You look around as you inch inside, “can you show me where?”

“Certainly, just on the other side of the bed. It would likely be easier if you crawl across and have a look underneath,” he points with a careless flick. He doesn’t seem very concerned. Alright.

You do as he says and get on the bed. You move on hands and knees and bend over the far edge. You don’t see anything. Just the green and black pattern of the rug beneath.

Something winds around your ankles and you’re pulled onto your stomach. You exclaim and roll onto your back, twisting your legs as you flail and look up at Loki as he tries to constrain you. Oh Jesus, or Odin, whoever! He’s naked again.

“What’re you doing?” You squeal.

“Hm? Just a bit of fun, maid.”

“Huh? Fun?! No, I’m here to clean--”

“Yes, yes, it’ll get done but I’d prefer a bit of your other services,” he drags you across the bed as he untangles your ankles and pulls them apart.

“Other services?” You cling to the blankets as they bunch beneath you. “I’m not... not a prostitute.”

“No, I didn’t take you as one, but in Asgard, a maid is often a good candidate for a concubine--”

“Concubine!” You cry out shrilly. “This-- this isn’t Asgard, Lo—uh, sir?!”

“Don’t remind me,” he pouts and puts his knee on the bed as he pushes your legs around him.

“Don’t, er—no, I’m not done cleaning,” you protest.

He sighs as he catches your swatting hands and pushes them to the mattress. He bends over you as you focus on his face. Don’t look down. It’s just bobbing there, right at the edge of your sight.

“Please--”

“Yes, go on and beg, the maidens all do,” he purrs with a grin.

“No-- no! That’s not—I don’t--” You writhe desperately. “You can’t do this.”

He hums and tilts his head coyly, holding himself over you as his chest and shoulders flex. You gulp as you feel his... snake. You push your lip out and shudder.

“Please, stop.”

“Mm, since when do the peasantry rule the princes,” he lowers himself little by little. “You should be thanking you for prizing you with such an honour.”

#thor #loki #dark thor #dark loki #dark!thor #thor x reader #loki x reader #drabble #maid au #series #mcu #marvel #avengers #dirty minds

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stygiansun-totaleclipse · 2 months ago

Note

Might be a bit cliche, but how would the RO's react to being accused of having (romantic) feelings for MC? :3 (assuming crushing stage)

Sorry it took a little while to get to this one! I answered assuming it is some third party making the accusation and mc isn’t present. :3

Kieran: While they’ll likely be in denial with themselves for a while longer, it is a frankly stupid accusation to leverage at them; unless they and mc reputedly loathe each other, the exact nature of their current relationship is of no one’s business, and, furthermore—what a notion! To accuse them of something so asinine as being romantically involved with their very betrothed. They cannot be bothered to answer and instead give the accuser a rather dry and scathing stare until they are sufficiently chastised or uncomfortable and leave of their own accord.

Nihm: They don’t like lying—it makes them uneasy. They’re a terrible liar even if they tried anyway. And it’s not that they’d prefer to deny it but they don’t want to cause issues for Kieran or mc. Instead, they probably start getting kinda nervous and think about what L or Aurynn might do about something they don’t want to answer which is be evasive. Okay cool so um let’s start reciting every bug fact we know and why we like them until they leave. And if that doesn’t work then we are DOUBLING DOWN on our more gruesome bug facts (like describing the reproductive cycle of a jewel wasp in excruciating detail), which, regardless of their intention, increasingly starts to come off more like a threat.

Lilith/Lucien: (Internally: *gasp* Accuse? Me?? No. Fucking. Shit. HONEY. Thanks, Eagle Eyes! What made it obvious? Huh?? The unequivocal pining? The fucking yearning stares?? Huh??? A fucking DOG. In HEAT. Would be less obvious. Tell me something I don’t know. *scoff* Gimme a fucking break.) Externally, they aren’t really going to bother with much of an answer bc they don’t care for their opinion BUT they’re not going to make things difficult for mc or Kieran and so they’d probably only give a very catty/bitchy and cryptic reply.

Samira: Internally, she’s now very guarded and worried bc has she really made it that obvious??? She didn’t think so, but if an outsider could see it then who else has noticed? She doesn’t want to cause any problems for mc considering their current situation and she knows mc wouldn’t be able to marry her anyway considering her status. Externally, she isn’t giving them any reaction and will very placidly and stoically deny anything of the sort and will spin it into making the accuser feel like both an idiot for thinking so and like an asshole for wasting her time. All through a very dignified and polite guise :) so they look even more like the douche here.

Aurynn: Simply pretends to misunderstand the accuser’s intent about romantic feelings, like “Yeah? My liege and I get along just fine—as we should. (What a stupid question.)” Then he’d just casually redirect their attention to something else. Internally, he is probably having trouble even recognizing his own feelings but having some outsider point this out has set him on guard and now he’s troubled and more hyper-aware of every interaction with mc.

#stygian sun total eclipse #stygian sun: total eclipse #sste asks #anon ask #sste: aurynn #sste: lilith #sste: lucien #sste: samira #sste: nihm #sste: mc #sste: kieran

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iliveformanyfictionalcharacters · 6 months ago

Text

The One Who Believes Chapter 3

Bernard (The Santa Clause) x Reader

Summary: [Reader] stopped believing in soulmates a long time ago - around the same time she stopped believing in Santa. What happens when she's finally given a reason to believe in both.

When I awoke the next morning, Mrs. Dorothy’s words still rang in my ears. But after a few minutes of lying in bed, I realized I had too much to do to just stay there and wonder what she meant. Still, her words—His favorite color is burgundy—kept echoing in my mind. No matter how hard I tried to push it aside, it lingered like a puzzle piece that refused to fit. Ever since I’d gotten home from the bookstore, I couldn’t shake the odd sense that something was happening—something I didn’t fully understand. But I had no time to dwell on that right now. I dragged myself out of bed with a grunt and got ready for the day. I brushed my teeth, showered, and got dressed. As I finished getting ready, I grabbed my To-Do List and skimmed over it to make sure everything was written down.

Pick up groceries Pick up dry cleaning Bring new books to store Visit antique store

I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled over me since Mrs. Dorothy's cryptic comment. Today was busy enough to distract me, I hoped. The list in front of me was fairly straightforward. I grabbed my coat, my purse, and headed out the door, feeling the cold air bite at my cheeks as I stepped outside. My first stop was the grocery store, which, thankfully, wasn’t too far. I made my way through the aisles, mentally ticking off items as I placed them in my cart: eggs, milk, some fresh vegetables, and, of course, ingredients for holiday cookies. I lingered in the baking aisle, debating between chocolate chips and peppermint extract, when a flash of burgundy caught my eye. It was a deep red ribbon, sitting right there on the shelf, nestled among a row of other holiday decorations. I paused, staring at it for a moment, feeling an odd pull toward it. I shook my head. It's just a color, I told myself. I’m being ridiculous. I grabbed the ribbon and tossed it into the cart, then continued with my shopping, but Mrs. Dorothy's words returned to haunt me. His favorite color is burgundy. After checking out, I made my way to the dry cleaner’s. I was surprised when I walked in to find the place nearly empty. The owner, an older gentleman named Mr. Thompson, smiled warmly as I handed him my bag of clothes. “Got some special occasion plans, eh?” he asked, noticing my Christmas sweater. I chuckled. “Nothing too special. Just getting ready for the holidays.” I glanced around the store, and once again, something caught my attention. In the corner of the room, there was an antique-looking chair with a burgundy cushion. It was simple, yet elegant, with fine detailing on the wood. I had never noticed it before, and I certainly hadn’t expected to see anything so striking in a dry cleaner’s. “That's a new addition, isn’t it?” I asked, trying to push down the strange feeling in my chest. Mr. Thompson nodded, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah, it just came in. I thought it’d make the place feel a little more festive.” I smiled, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe was trying to tell me something. Burgundy. Again. It was starting to feel less like a coincidence and more like a sign. After picking up my dry cleaning, I decided to follow through with my list and head to the bookstore. As I stepped inside, the familiar smell of old paper and fresh coffee wrapped around me like a warm hug. Mr. Lou was behind the counter, sorting through a pile of new stock. He looked up and smiled when he saw me. “Ah, [Reader], just in time! Mrs. Dorothy said you were coming by with some new books today.” I placed the stack of books down on the counter, then glanced around. The bookstore was cozy, with its little nooks and crannies. But something felt different today—like I was on the cusp of something, as if I were standing just outside of a door that was about to open. “I brought the latest Christmas novels. The holiday rush should keep us busy this week,” I said, trying to focus on the task at hand. As I turned to arrange the books on a nearby shelf, I froze. On the table next to the window, there was an old, leather-bound book—its cover a deep, rich burgundy. I couldn’t help myself. I reached for it, brushing my fingers across the smooth surface, and I immediately felt a strange warmth spread through me. My heart skipped a beat.

"What's this?" I muttered to myself, as I opened the book. The pages inside were filled with handwritten notes and sketches, like some kind of journal or diary. The title was in faded gold lettering, but I couldn't make it out. Just then, I heard Mrs. Dorothy’s voice, soft but clear, in the back of my mind: His favorite color is burgundy. A shiver ran down my spine, and I quickly closed the book. What was going on? “Is something wrong, dear?” Mr. Lou asked, noticing the way I hesitated with the book in my hand. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just… thought I recognized something,” I said, placing the book back down gently. I felt unsettled, but I brushed it off, deciding to focus on the rest of the day. I finished stocking the books and made my way out of the store, my mind still whirling with the strange events of the day. Next, I went to the antique store—my final stop. The little shop was filled with dusty treasures, and the faint scent of lavender and old wood lingered in the air. I roamed through the aisles, eyeing vintage trinkets and furniture. And then, tucked away in the back corner of the store, I saw it. I wandered deeper into the antique store, my senses overwhelmed by the scent of aged wood and lavender that seemed to seep from the very walls. The soft creak of the floorboards under my feet only added to the atmosphere of timelessness. My mind was still spinning from the strange series of events, but I pushed it aside, focusing instead on the little treasures scattered throughout the shop. The rows of shelves were filled with vintage trinkets, old paintings, and delicate china. I paused at a display of antique clocks, their tick-tocking filling the air with a steady rhythm, before my gaze shifted to something more familiar. At the far end of the store, tucked away on a high shelf, I spotted a small glass ornament. I stopped in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat. There, in the dim light, hanging delicately on a gold string, was a small ornament. It was made of glass, shaped like a delicate ball, and it was painted in a deep, velvety burgundy. A faint swirl of gold and silver leaf traced over its surface, giving it an ethereal glow.

I slowly walked over, my fingers trembling as I reached up to gently pull the ornament from its place on the shelf. It felt almost warm to the touch, as if it had been waiting for me to find it. Holding it in my hands, I marveled at the intricate details of the glasswork. The gold and silver swirls seemed to shimmer in the low light, and I felt an overwhelming sense of recognition, like this ornament had been a part of my life for far longer than I could remember. "Ah, you've found it," came a voice from behind me. I jumped, startled, and turned to find the shopkeeper standing just a few feet away, her silver hair glinting in the soft light. "How did you…?" I began, but she simply smiled, her eyes twinkling with an almost knowing glint. "That ornament has been here for a long time. But I knew it would find its way to the right person eventually." Her voice was soft but laden with meaning. "Some things are meant to be passed on. Some things are meant to be found." I stood there, clutching the ornament, unsure of what to say. Mrs. Dorothy's words echoed in my mind, and a strange feeling of destiny began to settle in the pit of my stomach. The shopkeeper continued, her voice gentle. "There’s more to that ornament than just its color. It’s part of a set. A set that’s been separated for many years." I blinked, confused. "A set? What do you mean?" "The set has a story," the shopkeeper said, her voice now carrying a hint of mystery. "But it’s not just about the ornaments. It's about something more. Someone who has been waiting for you." I felt the ground shift beneath me, as if the room itself was tilting toward an unknown truth. I looked down at the two ornaments in my hands, now reunited. Burgundy. The color. The message. It was no longer just a coincidence. This was a sign—a puzzle, finally coming together. "Do you know who this is for?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The shopkeeper smiled knowingly. "You will know when the time is right. Just hold onto the ornaments. When the moment comes, you’ll understand." I felt the weight of her words, as if they were a key to something much larger, something I had yet to discover. But one thing was certain: these ornaments, and the color burgundy, were no longer just a simple detail—they were the beginning of something much bigger.

I carefully placed the second ornament in my bag and paid the shopkeeper, my hands still shaking with the overwhelming sense that I was on the brink of uncovering something important.

As I walked out of the store, the cold winter air hit me, but it didn’t matter. I was no longer just going through the motions of a normal day. The universe was speaking to me, and it was up to me to listen. As I stepped outside the antique shop, the cold air felt sharper than before, biting at my cheeks and nose. My mind raced, the strange pull of destiny still lingering in the back of my thoughts. What was all of this leading to? I glanced down into my bag and something caught my eye. A small book. I took it out. It was The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. I must have accidentally taken it with me instead of leaving it at the bookstore. I sighed. I glanced at my watch. It was getting late. My next stop was the bookstore, and then I could finally head home for a much-needed rest. When I arrived, the soft jingle of the doorbell echoed in the quiet space as I entered. The bookstore smelled like coffee and old pages, a familiar comfort. Mr. Lou was behind the counter, his face lighting up when he saw me. "Ah, [Reader], what are you doing back already? How's your day been?" "It's been… interesting." I set the book down next to the others. My eyes caught the little journal from earlier again. “That book,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “It’s been waiting for the right person. Sometimes, the right books find you when you need them most.” “You know, that's not the first time I've heard that today.” “I’ve never seen it before,” I said, looking up at Mr. Lou. “Is it new stock?” He shook his head, a twinkle in his eye. “No, it’s been here for a while. You just haven’t noticed it yet.” I hesitated, still feeling the pull of the book. "It… feels familiar somehow." Mr. Lou’s smile grew a little wider. “Books often have a way of doing that, don’t they?” I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I could feel my curiosity growing. “I—” Before I could finish, Mr. Lou leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “You know, there’s a man who might be able to help you understand all this. He’s been around for a long time, helping people just like you.” “Who?” I asked, almost breathlessly. Mr. Lou's eyes flickered toward the window, where a figure in a long coat was walking past. The man’s face was obscured by the dark evening light, but there was something unmistakably familiar about his presence. “His name is Scott Calvin,” Mr. Lou said, his tone serious. “He’s someone who can help you make sense of the things you’re starting to notice. I’d suggest you seek him out. He’s accessible in town right now, visiting family. You know the Millers?” I did; I used to babysit Charlie. I blinked, startled by the sudden turn in the conversation. “Scott Calvin?” The name echoed in my mind, but I had no idea how they could help me. Mr. Lou nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Trust me. If you’re meant to meet him, you will. And when you do, you’ll understand everything. The color, the ornaments, the book… they’re all connected.” I didn’t know what to say. I stared at Mr. Lou for a moment, then at the book in my hands. Something inside me told me that this wasn’t just some bizarre coincidence. With a shaky breath, I nodded and left the bookstore. The chill of the night air hit me once more, but this time, I didn’t feel as lost. I felt… guided. It was as if something—someone—was leading me toward a deeper understanding.

#x reader #fem reader #the santa clause #bernard the elf #bernard the elf x reader #multiple chapters #series #the santa clause 2 #x fem reader

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