#DID I STILL NOT SEE THAT HE HAS GRAY EYELIDS???

[theladyheroine]

🥞 Pancakes 🥞

Movie! Shadow x Platonic! Reader

Genre: Fluff, Cozy, Silly

Word Count: 1,503 words

⚠️ Warning: None, except little embarrassment

Summary: Hi guys! I got excited about my last Shadow fic so I wrote another one! The songs I used are this one & this one btw, but this fic is more casual than the previous one so it’s much shorter too. Inspired by when my Mom recently caught me dancing (lol).

I want to spend my life 

With a girl like you!

Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba,

Faint words filtered through Shadow’s ears as his eyelids fluttered open. It took him a while to fully realize he was awake, but thankfully he didn���t feel too heavy. He rested for a minute before sitting up and scooting over to the bedside. 

It wasn’t very bright, surprisingly. He saw the blinds had been left open and the dark gray sky filtered over the room. Raindrops scattered across glass, making a rhythmic noise, but it felt nice. 

Till that time has come, 

That we might live as one!

Can I dance with you?

Perking up at the cool words, he shuffled his way towards the door and into the hallway. The sound grew louder before Shadow realized it was music playing, and a buttery smell accompanied it. 

Most of the lights were off since it wasn’t exactly dark out, but only one or two yellow lights shone above the kitchen stove. With you moving and swaying there in a very strange manner. Shadow would hardly call it dancing: you were just bobbing up and down, tossing your head and holding a spatula to your face. If he didn’t know you prior he would’ve thought you looked foolish. But you were his friend now, he wasn’t about to judge. 

Girl, why should it be 

That you don't notice me?

“Can I dance with you?— OhmygoshShadow!!"

You yelped loudly as you quickly jolted back, surprised— and embarrassed— to find Shadow standing behind you. Your spatula knocked into a bowl of pancake batter, sending a blob of beige-white goo down to the floor. 

“Ohshoot-sorry! I didn’t see you there bud!” 

“No, I should’ve said something.” 

You rushed to grab a paper towel and swipe the batter off your tiles, but Shadow beat you to it. 

“Nah, it’s all good! I should’ve been paying attention.” You chuckled and grabbed another one, soaking it under the sink then cleaned any excess mush. 

“Is that The Troggs playing?” Shadow asked, tossing the mess into the trash can. 

You quickly lowered the stove temperature and nodded, “Yup! They’re awesome huh! I love their songs.” 

You were about to scoop up some more batter, then paused for a minute. 

“Wait—You know The Troggs?!” You exclaimed, swinging your face back around. 

“Mmhmm,” Shadow nodded. “I’ve heard only one song, until now.”

You gave a mental “huh” before going back to your pancakes. Even hedgehogs had good taste in music. Who knew?

It had been a full month now since Shadow started living with you, and even without teleportation, he still had ways of surprising you.  

You were home all day since it was the weekend, but Shadow had spent most of his time in his room. He usually did; if you weren’t up and about neither was he. In a way, he was like your own little shadow. You never pressed what he did alone, but judging by his expression, he had just woken up from a nap. 

“What are you doing?” Shadow peered over the counter, quills twitching with curiosity.

“Just makin’ some pancakes. They’re a little crispy though.” 

You slid a slightly burnt piece onto a plate. The pretty golden circles stood in a short stack and gave off an amazing smell. You could see Shadow lean closer as his red eyes grew bigger. 

“They’re…pancakes?” He stated his words as if asking a question, but to himself. Which made you curious. 

“Yep! I know it’s weird having breakfast for lunch, but I wanted to make something different this time.” 

“Uh huh.” He drawled. “They smell nice.”

His brows scrunched up and down, spreading more confusion across his face as Shadow watched the pan sizzle. Pancakes seemed like such an alien concept to him, ironically. 

“Shadow?” You asked. “Have you ever had a pancake before?” 

He paused again, but shook his head. “No. Are they any good?”

“Uh–yes!! They’re delicious!” 

To say you were surprised was an understatement: how could he not know about pancakes? 

Until the realization hit you that he probably hasn’t even seen pancakes before. You didn’t know where Shadow came from, and have avoided mentioning it in the past. Even after you became friends. In all that time spent together, you hardly knew a thing about him. And he still seemed reluctant to share. 

Movement shook you from your daze as Shadow picked up your spatula, poking the goo in the bowl like a little kid. His story would have to wait for another day. Your top priority: showing him the best brunch ever. 

Life could be a dream! Life could be a dream!

Do do do do, SH-Boom!

Your phone quickly changed its tune as The Chords started playing. It couldn’t have picked a more perfect song. 

“Why don’t you give this a try Shadow!” You scooted the pan closer to him, turning off the heat and switching it to the other side. 

“Me?” He fumbled with the spatula. 

“Yea, why not! Don’t worry I’ll help you.” You gave a cheeky grin, “Besides, it’ll be fun to learn. Right?”

Shadow opened his mouth to reply, but shut it quickly. You had always made meals for him, or either helped him make them. Even when you were gone there’d always be something from the previous night, or wrapped up in plastic. 

But you had a point, he couldn’t rely on you for everything. Especially now. If he was going to stay, he’d have to start pulling his weight around. 

“Alright,” He tugged back his gloves and set himself behind the stove. “I’m ready.”

You poured a cup of batter into the pan. For such a serious character, he looked so adorable.

You two waited for a few minutes before you set your hand on his arm, helping him flip the pancake to the other side. It shifted a little, making tiny splatters, but the color was perfect. For the second one you let him do it himself, and it looked far better than the first.

Life could be a dream! SH-Boom!

If I could take you to a paradise up above,

SH-Boom! And tell me darling, 

“I’m the only one that you love!” You shimmied back and forth to the music as Shadow continued to pour and flip the batter. 

For a first timer he was doing incredibly well! Fast even; his pancakes came out looking far better than yours! To which Shadow claimed could only come natural to him. You shot a surprised look, but you were happy seeing him loosen up. After a little while, Shadow even joined in your silly dance moves. His shoes tapped along to the beat, and you could see his body bouncing as he mouthed the lyrics. You tried giving him a little bump of encouragement, til he stopped and looked at you strangely. 

“Wow!” You coughed, “You’re really getting the hang of this bud.” 

Shadow rolled his eyes but he kept smiling. “Thanks. This is..easier than I expected.” 

After a short while, you two had a full stack of pancakes. You quickly shut off the stove and tossed the bowl into the sink. Maneuvering the food to the countertop, you pulled out two little plates. You were about to grab the butter, but Shadow beat you once again. 

“Can I do it?” The container looked so small in his big hands. 

You nodded and found a plastic knife in the drawers. Leaving Shadow to butter the pancakes while you looked for the syrup. 

You came back from the pantry with a tall bottle in your hands, and to say Shadow was amazed was a clear understatement. The light in his eyes when the dark syrup trickled down the edible tower was enough to brighten any room. 

You two settled at the table, plates in hand. Meals were typically had together nowadays, but each time it felt different somehow. Shadow had come a long way, going from a worrisome little thing to a happy hedgehog! And you couldn’t be prouder.

“‘Kay bud, dig in!” You pushed your fork into the food and Shadow did the same, cutting it into bite sized pieces. 

Everything seemed normal, until after a few bites Shadow stopped. He just sat there, chewing, but his expression quickly changed. It wasn't confusion, more like—a blank expression? 

“Shadow?” You said through your food. “You doin’ okay there?”

Oh how you hoped he didn’t grab the burnt one.

In an instant, Shadow took a larger piece and shoved it in his mouth. He only half chewed before doing the same thing. He did this three more times and it took him about a minute to finish half the plate. 

Syrup coated his mouth, and he swallowed hard before speaking. “You were right. Pancakes are the superior choice.” 

That was all he said before stuffing his face again. 

“Yea-I-erm—yea! Well, I’m glad you like them!” 

You rushed over to sink and grabbed a cup of water. Thinking next time, you should just make eggs instead.

❣️—THE END—❣️

[lyn31]

Good Morning?

Summary:

What else is better to start your day than a morning blowjobs? Well in this case, giving one instead.

Pairing: Zayne x MC CW: Blowjobs, Somnophilia, Established Relationship (dating)

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

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Your eyes flutter open, the first thing you see is the gray ceiling of your bedroom, When did I get here? You think to yourself.

Yesterday, you had your day off—well, as much of a day off as a Hunter can get, of course—but there was no emergency. The same can't be said for your boyfriend, though.

For the past few weeks, it has been very hard to see each other, even under the same roof. Yesterday was the same—Zayne stayed at the hospital all day, and the only communication between you two was a brief message. He came home late at night, and you ended up waiting for him in the living room.  

Looking to your right, you see his sleeping figure, peacefully lying facing you. His hazel eyes are hidden behind his closed eyelids, his usually neat hair is slightly tousled, and his thin lips are just barely open, releasing soft breaths.  

You think to yourself, How can someone be this gorgeous? You’re fairly sure your current state is nowhere near as neat as Zayne’s. Reaching for his face, you gently touch his cheek—your favorite morning routine. And just like always, Zayne leans into your touch. You never know if he does it in his sleep or if he's awake and just doesn’t say anything.  

Sitting up slowly, you glance at the holographic clock on the bedside table. 4 a.m. No wonder he's still asleep.

Just as you're about to go back to sleep, Zayne stirs, nudging the blanket and making it slip halfway off his body.

You hold back a snort and are just about to fix the blanket when you notice something between his legs—his bulge, visible and definitely ready to burst. You freeze, staring at it, then back at his face. After a few seconds, you bite your lip. Closing your eyes, you think, I mean… wouldn’t that be a good morning? But is it technically non-consensual? Would this be okay?  

Before you can change your mind, you slowly crawl down between Zayne’s legs. Your mouth suddenly feels dry as you carefully reach for his pants, your eyes flickering to his face. So far, so good.  

Moving as slowly as possible, you begin to tug the fabric of his pants down, revealing more of his skin little by little. When they’re finally low enough, you pause, your fingers grazing the waistband of his boxers. Another glance at his face—still asleep.  

You do the same with his boxers, carefully sliding them down until his smooth skin is fully exposed. As you free his shaft, it springs up, standing firm against his lower abdomen. Your fingers unintentionally brush against it, making you swallow hard.  

Still watching his sleeping face, you gently wrap your fingers around the base, trailing them up along his length toward the tip. His breathing shifts—just slightly faster now—and that only excites you more.  

Your fingers tighten around him, moving slowly at first, barely applying pressure. But perhaps that lack of pressure is what sends a shiver through his body, goosebumps rising along his skin. With a subtle motion, you increase the grip, your strokes growing more deliberate. His breathing turns ragged, his chest rising and falling unevenly as your pace quickens, adjusting just the way you know he likes it.  

Slowing down again, you watch his brows furrow, a faint wrinkle forming on his forehead, damp with a light sheen of sweat. You pause for a few seconds, waiting to see if he’ll wake, but his eyes remain closed, even as his hips occasionally stir beneath your touch.  

Glancing down, you notice a glistening bead of his essence pooling at the tip, slowly trailing downward. Without a second thought, you lean in and run your tongue over it, licking it clean.  

Oops. 

Your eyes dart back to his face at the sound of his groan. Frozen mid-lick, you wait, heart pounding, to see if he’s finally waking up.  

But he doesn’t.  

You don’t know why you’re so nervous—if he did wake up, you doubt he’d be mad. Still, the thrill of touching him without his conscious permission sends a little zap of nerves through you, mixed with something even more exhilarating.  

Emboldened by the thought, you drag your tongue along the length of his shaft, from base to tip, deliberately avoiding the most sensitive spot. You always enjoy teasing him like this, loving the way he usually reacts with a heated gaze and that deep voice murmuring, Is this how you’re going to play it? But this time, there’s no teasing remark—only low groans slipping past his parted lips.

His hips shift again, almost as if urging you to take him fully. But you keep your slow, torturous pace, your tongue flicking over his heated skin, hands gripping his thighs to hold him steady. Then, finally, you take him into your mouth.  

“Ugh…”  

His groan is louder now, his body tensing at the sudden warmth.  

You feel him throb, growing even harder inside you, his breath hitching each time you quicken your movements. His body is so responsive—even in sleep. And then, just as you sense the familiar pulse, he spills inside your mouth.  

Swallowing everything, you gradually slow down, still keeping him between your lips for a moment longer. Even as you pull away, you savor the lingering taste of him.  

Glancing up at his face, you see his expression still slack with sleep—lips parted, brows furrowed slightly. But then, something shifts.  

His body tenses again.  

And when you look at his eyes, you meet a heated, hazel gaze staring right back at you.

Sweat glistens on his forehead, his breath still unsteady as a slight curve tugs at his lips.  

“Having fun, darling?”

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[lilasamaaa]

Ignorance is bliss | Max Verstappen x Reader

Genre | Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

Word count | 3K.

Warnings | Brief mentions of sexual activities, panic attack, Max and reader get in a fight.

Summary | Max and you have been dating for several months, and everything is going well. Except when paparazzi start chasing you for no reason. Is your boyfriend hiding something from you?

Author's note | This was requested by @butterflyexe ! Thank you lovely for the great idea! I tweaked it a bit though, so I hope you like it! I loved writing this piece but again, sorry for the crippling angst lmao 🥲 Not proofread as usual, oopsie

The doorbell of your apartment rings, and you leap off your couch, opening the door and throwing yourself into your boyfriend's arms.

"Oh, wow," Max says, pressing a kiss to your head. "Did you know it was me or do you throw yourself into the arms of everyone who rings your doorbell?" he adds, laughing.

"Of course I knew it was you," you reply, laughing too. "I've been waiting for you all week. And I noted that your flight was landing an hour ago, so it lined up," you explain, taking his hand and leading him to the couch, where you both sit down.

Max looks tired, the bags under his eyes casting blue and gray shades on his pale skin. He moves to lie down on the couch, resting his head on your thighs, closing his eyes.

"How was the work trip?" you ask, playing with his hair.

"It was great," he finally replies, opening his eyes and meeting yours. "Quite tiring, but interesting. It was nice to, erm. See my colleagues again," he says.

"I still can't believe your company paid for the trip all the way to Australia," you whisper as Max closes his eyes again under your caresses. "If I had known the automotive industry required you to travel that much, I would have applied for the job."

Max doesn't respond, simply taking one of your hand in his and gently stroking your knee with the other.

"You must feel so out of it with the jet lag..." you continue, concerned. "It's a good thing they gave you a few days to rest. When are you expected back at work?"

"Not until next week," Max says, playing with the rings on your fingers.

"And you said you're going to Japan after? That's such a weird ass schedule," you say, making him laugh. "I feel like you travel more than most influencers... Or even athletes," you state, making him open an eye.

"Perks of the job," Max says before planting a soft kiss on your lips, and standing up. "Can I borrow your shower?"

"Of course! You know the way," you wink at him, heading towards the kitchen. "I'll fix us something to eat in the meantime."

Sitting at the small table in your kitchen, illuminated by a few candles and the lights of the city outside, Max devours the plate you placed in front of him a few minutes ago. You silently observe him, both fascinated by the man before you and disturbed by a thought that has plagued you in his absence.

"I've been thinking," you start, making your boyfriend look up.

"Yeah? Tell me," he says, covering your hand with his.

"How come I've never been to your place?"

Max stops chewing, his light eyes fixated on yours.

"I didn't know you wanted to?" he replies, brows furrowed.

"Well I've never asked to, but isn't that how it usually works in a relationship? Once at mine, once at yours?"

"I'm sorry," Max replies. "I didn't realize it was important to you."

You suddenly feel guilty and squeeze your boyfriend's hand, giving him a warm smile.

"Forget it, sorry," you say, getting up to rinse your plate. "That was stupid. You're right, we're fine here."

After dinner, you and Max settle on the couch again, watching some show on Netflix. When you notice Max fighting against sleep, his eyelids heavy and his breath short, you grab the remote before turning off the TV. The sudden silence jolts him awake, and you laugh before pulling him by the arm and leading him down to your bedroom. You make a quick stop in the bathroom to remove your makeup and brush your teeth and, when you come back to the room, you find Max fast asleep under the covers. The sight is endearing. You press a kiss on his forehead before settling next to him, your cold body against his already warm one.

The next morning, you wake up alone in a cold bed. A familiar smell tickles your nostrils, and you make your way to the kitchen, your eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Good morning!" Max says, already dressed up, and looking much fresher than yesterday. "I made us breakfast."

"Wow, that's so sweet of you," you say before sitting at the table, taking a hot pancake from the plate in front of you.

"I'm sorry for falling asleep so fast yesterday," your boyfriend starts again. "To make it up to you, I'd like to take you out to lunch."

The offer takes you by surprise, and you stare at your boyfriend, mouth agape. It's been five months since you started seeing each other. Five months since you bumped into him by chance at the Monte Carlo casino while you were out dining with friends. Five months of being inseparable, but also five months of very limited outings. Max travels a lot for work, and you don't necessarily have the means to go out regularly in Monaco. Most of the moments you share therefore take place within the four walls of your apartment, and you're thrilled to get some fresh air with him for once.

"You seem happy," he says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"I am!" you say, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Where are we going?"

"What about Nobu?" Max says.

"What? Max, that's way too expensive," you reply, furrowing your brows.

"It doesn't really matter, given I'll be the one paying."

"No way," you say. "We're splitting the bill. And I'm not paying three grands for some sushis, as delicious as everyone claim they are."

"They really are. So please, let me do this for you. Just this once? I can afford it," your boyfriend says, making you frown.

His words remind you that you don't know what your boyfriend does for a living. He's talked to you about cars, mechanics, but you're having trouble understanding what kind of job in the automotive industry requires so much traveling around the world. A job that apparently pays very well, given the restaurants he frequents. Realizing there's no point in arguing and not wanting to pick a fight with Max, you simply nod, lips pressed together. However, you're counting on one last point to escape the pricey restaurant and hopefully eat elsewhere. Somewhere more affordable.

"Well, if you insist," you finally say, popping a strawberry in your mouth. "I doubt we'll get a table for noon, though," you add. "I heard you have to book months in advance."

"Don't worry about that," Max says, stroking your cheek. "I need to stop by my place real quick before, can we meet there?"

Two hours later, you're sitting at one of the finest tables at Nobu, facing the sea. The fuck just happened, you think, watching your boyfriend immersed in the menu with a raised eyebrow. How? Before you have time to question it further, a waiter brings two champagne flutes and a bottle in a Nobu-stamped ice bucket to your table before hurrying away, thanking you two profusely for coming.

"Did you order this?" you ask Max, making him look up.

"No, I didn't. That's so kind of them."

"What the actual fuck, Max?" you snap, eyes wide. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" your boyfriend asks.

"Did you somehow not notice how everyone's been bending over backward for us since we walked in? I think the waitress behind you hasn't taken her eyes off us for the past thirty minutes. And since when do they bring champagne to people who haven't ordered anything?" you say with a worried look. "Are they confusing us for someone?"

"Why are you so worried?" Max asks, giving you a look that's meant to be reassuring but just looks uncomfortable. "Just enjoy the moment. And the view."

You sit back in your chair, biting the inside of your cheek. Something isn't right. You can feel it. Max adjusts one of his hair strands, and the sleeve of his shirt slips down slightly, revealing a watch you've never seen before. It takes you a few seconds to recognize the model, and when you do, your heart skips a beat.

"Is this a new watch?" you ask, trying to act nonchalant.

"What? Oh, yeah. Bought it in Melbourne."

"You casually bought a Rolex Daytona?" you ask, tilting your head.

"I didn't know you knew about watches," Max says, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

"You don't need to know about watches to know that this model costs almost a hundred thousand euros," you say, eyes boring into his.

The tension at the table has risen a notch, none of you uttering a word. As an anxious waiter places several plates in front of you, you glance around, suddenly realizing something you hadn't noticed before, absorbed in your conversation with your boyfriend.

"There's no one here," you say, still looking around. "It's noon on a Saturday, and the restaurant is empty."

Max sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I know," he finally says, carefully meeting your gaze. "I wanted us to have some peace."

"What? What did you do?"

"I've privatized the restaurant," he says.

"How did you do that?" you ask, unintentionally raising your voice.

"I paid," Max simply says, grabbing a sushi.

"How much?"

"Several thousands!" Max almost shouts, making you wince. "What's up with all your questions?"

You're completely lost. You don't recognize the man you've been seeing for the past five months. The man who comes to your place by foot, usually in sweatpants, who spends evenings watching Netflix with you. Taking baths with you. Passionately making love to you. You have no idea who this new man is, covered in expensive clothes and accessories, on whom all heads turn and who raises whispers as he passes by.

"Who the fuck are you?" you simply ask, feeling your eyes start to water.

"Baby," Max says, finally realizing how uncomfortable and lost you are. "Please, can we just enjoy the meal? I'll answer all your questions at your place. I'll explain everything, but please. Let's not make a scene," he implores.

You swallow hard, staring at the ceiling to dry the tears in the corners of your eyes. For the rest of the meal, Max talks, telling you about his trip, about his life. You politely answer the few questions your boyfriend asks you, remaining silent the rest of the time. You don't even have an appetite anymore, having swallowed three sushi pieces before your stomach threatened to turn.

At the end of the meal, Max slips a credit card into the folder that a waiter has placed on the table, then adds three hundred-dollar bills. Tip, you think. More than what I earn in a day of work. The price of discretion, probably. The waiter leaves with the folder before coming back, and just as he's about to ask for something, Max shots him a look that makes him close his mouth. Your boyfriend thanks the young man before walking around the table, extending a hand that you grasp to rise as well. You thank the still-empty restaurant staff, giving them a genuine smile despite the anxiety twisting your stomach. Max opens the door for you, and you walk out on the street, thanking him.

For a moment, you curse yourself for forgetting your sunglasses at home, as the Monaco sun blinds you instantly. You blink in surprise, but your blindness persists as Max grabs your wrist and pushes you behind him. You try to open your eyes, but flashes keep assaulting you, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that they're coming from huge cameras pointed just inches away from your face.

"Max?"' you ask with a high-pitched voice, starting to panic.

Max turns around, pressing you against him and covering your eyes as he guides you through the screaming crowd. People push you in all directions, pressing against you, touching your arms, your face, crumpling your clothes. Screaming. At first, you can't make sense of what the voices are shouting, with all your senses being overwhelmed. But suddenly, you hear it. Max. They're screaming his name. Max looks up, and a new series of flashes burn your retinas as your boyfriend holds you even tighter against him, one arm around your shoulders.

"I'm so sorry," you hear him say among the voices.

"What's happening?" you ask, panting.

And, then, you feel it. The panic attack. Even though you've never experienced one before, you immediately understand what's happening to you. You recognize the signs. Your legs give way, and you have to cling to Max to keep from falling to your knees. Your heart rate and breath quicken until they're suffocating, while tears stream down your cheeks.

"I can't breathe," you croak, so weakly that you're not even sure if Max heard you.

"Hang on, baby," your boyfriend says, still walking. "We're almost at the car."

The flashes continue, and so do your tears. Max grips you as tightly as he can, shielding your face, lifting you halfway to help you walk. After a few seconds, the longest of your life, you hear a car door open, and Max gently pushes you into his car before closing the door and jumping in. He wastes no time in starting the engine, cutting through the crowd, disappearing into the alleys of Monaco.

You don't say a word. You're unable to speak. Unable to breathe. Still trembling. Crying. You don't realize it, but Max struggles to tear his eyes away from your body, which seems so small, so battered at this moment. He doesn't speak either, biting his lips until it draws blood. He hates himself. He knows he'll regret making you go through this for a long time. But now, all he can do is explain. Lay all the cards on the table. Something he should have done a long time ago.

The journey seems to last an eternity until you catch sight of a gigantic building, and Max drives into an underground parking. He parks the car and rushes out, opening your door, helping you out. You're still in shock, and Max supports you as he guides you to an elevator. A few seconds later, after twist of his keys, you find yourself in a vast penthouse overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. You don't even have the strength to ask questions anymore. To ask where you are. You sit down on the large couch, wiping the tears from your cheeks. Trying to calm your breathing.

Max watches you, standing at the foot of the couch. Bewildered. Not even daring to come close to you. The two of you stand in silence a few moments, until he finally speaks.

"I know it won't fix anything. But I'm truly, sincerely sorry."

You don't reply, head low. playing with the rings on your finger.

"I owe you some explanations."

No reply.

"I'm a Formula 1 driver."

You finally look up, and the mascara streaks on your cheeks squeeze his heart in the worst way.

"I should have told you earlier. I should have warned you, but I couldn't. With you, I discovered normalcy. Anonymity. I discovered what it was live to have an ordinary life, away from the hustle, the stress, the constant judgment."

"So you knew how precious it was," you say, squinting your eyes. "And yet, you chose to expose me to all of those things."

"I hadn't planned for it to happen. I didn't want it to happen. I tried."

"I can't do this," you reply, feeling fresh tears roll down your cheeks.

Seeing you cry again, Max sits on the couch, pulling you close to him as another sob shakes your body.

"Why?" you ask, crying. "Why did you let me fall in love with the person I thought you were?"

Each of your words, each of your sobs break his heart a little more, but he takes it. He knows your anger is justified. Deserved.

"Because I loved you too. And I didn't want this to stop."

"You lied to me," you say between two sobs. "I trusted you. I trusted you so much."

It's too much. Even for him. A tear runs down his cheek. Max wipes it away angrily.

"If you never want to see me again, I understand. I'll come get my things. I'll erase your number. I won't stand in the way of you living a normal life, of finding love with someone normal. You deserve the best, even if it's not with me."

You hate him.

You despise him for having been himself, his most vulnerable self, with you. For charming you with his awkwardness, his foreign accent, his somewhat strict manners. You hate him for being the perfect man for you. You hate him for making your heart beat so strongly. But above all, you hate him for building your love on a lie, on fragile foundations doomed to collapse and sweep you both away in the wreckage.

"I hate you," you sob, making his heart stop. "And I hate myself even more. For not being able to let you go."

"Baby", he says, moving to kneel in front of you. "If you give me this chance, a chance to rebuild everything with you again, I swear that nothing will ever happen to you again. I won't let anyone near you, anyone touch you. Not even a glance. I will rebuild everything around us. We'll be untouchable. Indestructible."

One month later.

"Are you ready, baby?" Max asks, meeting your gaze. "Once I post it, there's no going back."

"I think so," you say, biting on your fingernails. "Let's get this over with," you add, sitting on his knees while the driver presses a kiss to your neck, softly stroking your leg.

"Okay. Let's do this."

[rheanyraaaa]

Water Lilly (Part 1)

Robb Stark x Frey!Reader (F)

Enemies To lovers

Summary: Y/N Frey (reader) is the youngest daughter of Walder Frey, her mother being just another woman who died in childbirth, here she learns about her union with Robb Stark, King of the North, and she’s more then displeased of the sudden arrangement, but when she looks into his eyes for the first time. Now that’s something.

warnings: alcohol consumption, forced marriage

i fear i don’t know what i’m doing ISNT PROOFREAD also switched out from “You/your “ pronouns and “She/Her”

this was all pre written in my notes w my OC’s name and without “Y/N”/ & or You so i apologise if u do see a random girls name that’s not Y/N or You lmao (unless you’re your actual name) x

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Y/N stirred awake, blotches of orange and pink sunlight spilling into the room through the curtains, she fluttered her eyelids as she made sense of her surrounds as always, this was the cold, stone room she called home. The bed was cold and stiff, much like the Twins, but the warmth of morning softened the chill in the air. She lay there for a moment, blinking up at the heavy wooden beams on the ceiling, and sighed deeply. She missed Dorne. The dusty winds and golden sands, the gardens that spilled over with sweet-scented blooms, and the warm laughter that lingered in the air, all of it was so different from the grim and graying walls of her father’s keep.

She was born in the river lands in the Twins to her mother, Lady Frey, who unfortunately passed away from childbirth, another forgotten face who lost their battle on the battlefield of the bed. As a youngling, Walder Frey sent her of to Dorne, where her mother had been born and brought up. Though, technically her mother was of Myrish descent, who just happened to be one of those descendants of immigrants who crossed the narrow sea for work. That’s how Y/N’s mothers side ended up in Dorne with no actual dorneish blood. Y/N was mixed, which was uncommon in Westeros, since Essosi’s and Westerosi’s did not mix all the well, and it was worse when Y/N’s features took favour to her mother, atleast she didn’t look as boring or unappetising as her sisters (though Roslin has always been beautiful.)

She sat up, wrapping her arms around herself as a handmaid poked her head through the door. “Good morning, my lady,” the maid greeted with a small bow. “Shall I draw your bath?”

Y/N nodded, her thoughts drifting as the maids bustled around, bringing in buckets of steaming water. The scent of lavender and rosemary filled the air, oh that was her favourite scent in the morning. Two maids helped her undress, and she sank into the tub, sighing as the warm water soothed her.

As one of the maids gently poured water over her shoulders, Irene spoke, almost to herself. “I was happier in Dorne,” she murmured, trailing her fingers through the water. “I want to go back there someday. To see my family again, to be… me again.” She looked down, smiling wistfully. “I was freer there, you know?”

One of the older maids, Meg, nodded with a sympathetic smile as she rinsed your hair. “Aye, my lady. They say Dorne has a way of bringing out the heart in people. But your father has his reasons for wanting you here.”

“He always has his reasons,” You said softly, her voice edged with resignation. She leaned back, letting the maids scrub the last traces of sleep from her limbs.

“You’re still Frey dearie. You’d never stay in Dorne for too long, though it’s built you, made you smarter.” Meg cheerily said, scrubbing and Y/N’s hair, throwing whatever ointments. Y/N hummed to this, she’s still Frey, the reason why she lingered in Dorne until her thirteenth was quite the random decision.

The other handmaiden, Nora, much younger and atleast 17 said to Y/N, “My lady, there’s talks about Lady Stark coming over here, apparently she’s looking for a bride for her son.” She spoke excitedly, washing at your arms.

“Stark? Northerner? he must be a rugged beast with no sense at all, must be another one of those brutes they breed up there.” You replied quickly, to think that a Stark would want to marry a Frey was also unbelievable, who would want to marry a big wolf?

“Your father’s picking between your sisters, then they have to be confirmed by my Lady Catelyn.” Meg continued, as you let them condition your hair and add some extra oils and essences to your bath time.

You nodded, not that you cared… well you thought it was interesting for one of them to ask for a hand in marriage, “What’s the reason for the marriage?” You asked, looking down in the soapy water.

“The crossing or something like that, they need it for the war.” Meg rattled on, scrubbing the last parts of you before preparing a towel for you.

“Of course.” You muttered, still sleepy from the terrible cold, wet night you all suffered from. “What’s the boy’s name?” You asked, less then cheery.

“Robb Stark? something like that. He’s know as the Young wolf, rides a wolf into battle, turns into one in the night. I think it’s a load of rubbish, but I do hear he’s handsome.” Nora spoke, rattling on about this Robb Stark and what good features he has and how much he resembles his Tully mother.

“Perhaps you have a chance though my lady.” Meg said calmly. As she was drying you off and wrapping yourself in a thick robe. “Lady Y/N,” she began, helping with the braid of her damp hair. “Your father could choose you, this rugged beast of a man could be your escape.”

“And leave you all behind? I doubt it.” You rolled your eyes at their failure at convincing you.

“It’s merely a suggesting. Do take it lightly.” Meg replied, trying to please you.

Y/N allowed the maids to dry her off, the steam from the bath still clinging to her skin, making the chill of the Twins feel sharper. She was dressed in a simple gown of dusky blue wool, plain but fitted, with embroidered vines of silver along the cuffs and neckline. Her hair had been braided into a crown, a few tendrils curling loose around her face, softening her expression as she wrapped herself in a fur cloak. She was ready to brave the drafts that snuck through the old stone walls.

As she made her way through the winding halls, Nora fell into step beside her. They walked slowly, their footsteps echoing off the stone, and Y/N’s voice was almost a whisper as they resumed their conversation.

“So, Lady Stark is truly searching for a wife for her son?” Y/N asked, her voice threaded with curiosity and a hint of skepticism. “Does she think it so simple to find one of us willing to move to the North? Nonetheless with this war, any one of us be part of it?”

Nora gave a soft laugh. “It seems your father thinks it’s simple enough,” she replied, glancing at Y/N. “But yes, word has it she wants a match to strengthen the ties between the North and the Riverlands. They say Robb Stark needs someone who’ll bring loyalty and strength to his cause, but also it’s an agreement for the crossing that will help him win the war”

“Loyalty and strength,” You mused, a smirk playing at your lips. “I wonder if Lady Stark knows much of the Freys.”

Nora chuckled at that, shaking her head. “Perhaps she only hears what she wishes. But you might surprise her, my lady. You’ve a spirit that could suit the North well. They say it takes a certain fire to keep warm in those freezing castles.”

You paused by an arched window, looking out over the river winding far below. The day was clear, and the wind swept in with a sharp bite, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and cold water. You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself. “I wonder if he’s anything like her, Robb Stark,” You murmured, almost to yourself. “I’ve heard Lady Stark is as proud and steadfast as the North itself.”

Perhaps,” Nora replied, leaning against the wall beside you. “But I’ve also heard he has some of his father in him. An honorable man, loyal to a fault, like Eddard Stark. A woman could do worse.”

“Could she?” You asked, turning away from the view with a sigh. “The North is distant, Nora. Cold. Unyielding. I’ve only known heat and light, gardens that stretch as far as you can see. Here, it’s all stone, and there, well, it’s ice, isn’t it?”

Nora gave you a sympathetic look, but before she could reply, a loud, impatient voice interrupted them.

“Y/N!”

They turned to see your half-brother, Merrett Frey, striding toward them, his expression bored and slightly sour. Merrett was a portly man with thin hair and a perpetually furrowed brow, looking as though everything he saw annoyed him.

“Y/N” he repeated, glancing from her to Nora, “Father wants to see you. Now.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, though you masked your annoyance quickly. “Did he say why?”

Merrett shrugged, clearly uninterested in details. “Something about a match. Said he wants you in the hall at once.”

Y/N exchanged a glance with Nora, a mix of dread and resignation in her eyes. “So it begins,” she muttered under her breath before she straightened, squaring her shoulders.

“Very well, Merrett,” she replied coolly, giving a final look out the window, as though Dorne lay somewhere beyond, waiting for her. “Lead the way.”

And with that, she followed her brother down the winding corridors, a feeling like ice settling over her heart.

The great hall of the Twins was dark and drafty as Irene entered, her cloak trailing behind her like a shadow. Walder Frey sat at the high table, hunched over with age, his piercing eyes watching her approach. He gave her a thin, sly smile, a glint of satisfaction in his gaze that made her stomach twist. Around him, a few of her siblings and half-siblings lingered, pretending to be occupied with anything other than her arrival.

She stopped before him, lifting her chin defiantly.

“Y/N,” he began without ceremony, his voice as thin and cutting as the river wind. “I’ve struck a deal with Catelyn Stark, and I’ll hear no argument. You’ll be marrying Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, and doing your duty as a Frey. Our alliance with the Starks strengthens us. You should be proud.” He then took a chug out of his red wine.

You felt your throat tighten, her voice sticking as she forced herself to speak. “Father, surely… surely there’s someone else more suited to this—“

Walder’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll be good because I say so. We’ve not been offered a match like this, not in a long time. A wolf from Winterfell, boy or not, could make you a queen if you play it right. But you’re to do as I command,” he said, his tone turning as cold as steel.

You opened your mouth to protest further, but his stare silenced you. Your voice faded, her gaze lowering. You realized then, painfully, that you had no choice.

“Yes, Father,” she murmured, her voice resigned. “As you wish.”

He grunted, satisfied. “Good girl. Go on, then. I expect you’ll be a dutiful wife.”

Days later, Y/N stood in her chamber at the Twins, a quiet stillness surrounding her as she prepared for the wedding. She thought back to Lady Catelyn’s gaze when they first met sharp and cool. Catelyn had looked her over with an assessing eye, her expression revealing nothing as she took in Y/N’s every detail, from her posture to her expression. Y/N could practically feel the weight of Catelyn’s silent judgment, her assessment of whether Y/N would be fit to stand beside her son in both marriage and war. After what seemed an eternity, Lady Stark had finally given a curt nod, deeming her acceptable.

You slipped into your wedding gown, a simple yet beautiful piece the seamstresses had hurriedly prepared. It was made of silken ivory, with long, elegant sleeves that flowed to your wrists, and a fitted bodice embroidered with delicate silver leaves. The gown was free of unnecessary adornment, simple yet striking, with a modest neckline and a trailing skirt that whispered over the stone floor behind you.

Your hair, braided the southern way, with a shimmering veil falling infront of your face and behind you, covering up the meek expression you held.

“You’re shining.” Nora spoke sadly, knowing this was probably the last time they’d see eachother. Her voice soft and filled with acceptance.

Meg, the older maid who had helped raise you, stepped forward as well, her eyes misty with emotion. “Be strong, my dear. You’re braver than you think.” She reached out and gave your hands a squeeze.

“Il miss you both,” A knot in your stomach tightened, this was really it. You bid your goodbyes before making your way down the hall outside, your father taking your arm with that wretched grin he always had on, the doors opening, the Stark flag hoisted alongside your own one, you didn’t dare look up from your feet, the chill air hitting you immediately as you were clutching at your fathers arms before he let you go and you had met with what looks to be Robb Stark.

You couldn’t really see him well with the veil and you’re sure he couldn’t see your face at all. A moment later after the septa spoke, he removed the veil over your face, and his eyes.. something in it softened, they were pools of dark blue, and you swear you felt your heart thump a little faster. He was rugged yet handsome, with the wolf emblem on him, you saw him quickly look at someone else, rather this other young lady before looking back at you, that lady having a rather solemn look on her face. You knew straight away that was his lover, and this would be even more complex then you had anticipated. You said your vows and shared a kiss, your lips much softer against his chapped ones, but perhaps you felt that warmth again. Maybe this could work, or maybe you were doomed to fail.

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tags!!! (Tell me if you want to be tagged in pt2)

@samieree @maysileeewrites

[mrsbarnesblog]

the reader has been begging rafe to watch vampire diaries with her because its her favourite show but its always been a firm no. rafe did something ( it can be anything ) and it upset the reader a bit and rafe asks the reader how he can make it up to her and she asks for girl night with rafe. face masks , making tiktoks , listening to music and of course watching vampire diaries

Vampire Diaries

Word count: 0.8k

Warnings: none

A/N: thank you for the request <3 Rafe would've definitely pretended to be annoyed but secretly enjoyed it lol

“I'm sorry, baby, okay? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.” Rafe kneeled in front of you, as you were currently sitting on the couch, endlessly scrolling tiktok and paying literally no attention to your boyfriend. 

You two just had a small argument, and with Rafe’s short temper, it quickly went downhill. Even though there was nothing too serious and you knew that Rafe didn’t want to upset you, it still hurt you a little bit, so you wanted to teach him a lesson. 

“Please? Look at me, pretty girl. I’m really sorry.” He rubbed his hands up and down your thighs, leaving a few soft kisses. “How can I make it up to you, huh? Do you want to go shopping? Spend all of my money? Go on a date to your favorite place? Kick me? Just tell me and I’ll give it to you.” 

You were trying so hard to keep back a smile forming on your lips. Because who would’ve thought that Rafe, the big, scary and moody guy, would beg for your forgiveness, literally standing on his knees? You finally put your phone down, looking at your boyfriend and studying him for a few seconds. 

“Have a girls night with me.” You smirked, seeing how his brows slowly furrowed. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Girls night. Masks, snacks, music and vampire diaries are included.” His eyelids lowered, looking at you suspiciously. 

“Were you planning on pulling me into that shit? ‘Cuz I ain’t doin’ that. Told that a million times already, babe.” 

You just rolled your eyes, going back to your phone and acting like you didn't notice the way Rafe was burning holes into you with his stare.

“Are you really gonna ignore me again? I said, I’m sorry.” 

“And you also said that you'd do anything that I asked for. That’s what I’m asking for. Just one night, Rafe. No one’s going to see you being soft and cute except for me, you grumpy ass.” You held eye contact for a few seconds, already seeing how Rafe was hesitating between giving in and continuing to act like a child.

“Fine. But only one time, got it? And you can’t tell anyone about it.”

***

“Did you just take a photo?” Rafe’s head snapped towards you and you innocently bit your lip, locking your phone and putting it away. 

“Maybe… But you look really cute, just wanted to have it for myself.” You smiled at him, moving closer on your bed and fixing a few strands of hair that fell out of Rafe’s white bunny headband. He did look cute, laying and watching your favorite series only in his gray sweats, with no shirt, and most importantly, with a Hello Kitty sheet mask on his face. 

Before that, you had already cleaned and exfoliated Rafe’s face while sitting on top of him, which was the only reason why he didn’t complain every second, and then you brought all the possible snacks from the kitchen and took your favorite masks with you. It took quite some time to convince him to put it on, but a few kisses worked just perfectly. 

As the twenty minutes on your timer went off, you took both of your masks off with Rafe mumbling “finally” under his breath, and with another bag of chips, you snuggled into your boyfriend’s side. “Vampire Diaries” that you convinced him to turn on were currently only on the third episode, and you looked up from Rafe’s shoulder, noticing that he was actually looking at the screen. 

“I told you that it’s good.” You giggled, shoving chips into your mouth and then giving a few to Rafe. His hand wrapped tighter around your body, bringing you even closer. 

“It’s not.” 

“Then why are you watching it?” You arched your brow when he looked down at you.

“Because you told me too. You know that I hate this type of stuff, right, babe? This girl shit is not for me.” 

“Whatever you say, Rafey.” Your hand stroked his bunny ears, which were still holding his hair, then cupped his face to place a kiss on the lips. You knew that Rafe was just being stubborn and that he actually was enjoying your evening together; it was obvious by the way his body was in the most relaxed state possible, there was no usual annoyance, and he had that look in his eyes. The one that you always saw whenever you two were alone, when you were wrapped up in each other’s arms, when you made him happy and safe. “Thank you for this. It means a lot to me.” 

“ Anything for you, baby.” Rafe softened, lips curling in a lazy smile, as he caught your lips in another kiss. “Now watch your goddamn show, or I’m gona turn it off.” Rafe pulled away, playfully rolling his eyes at you, yet still looking back at the screen, now also too hooked on to miss any second. 

[heliads]

we both know what happened to you - newt

Ben is exiled. The Glade doesn't take it well.

masterlist

It’s easy to be quiet in the mornings when it doesn’t matter. Simple days are for simple words, fading phrases, and long spells of silence. On days like today, though, after nights like last night, silence feels like the only option. No one can meet each other’s gaze. And no one wants to talk when they can still hear the echoes of Ben’s last desperate scream echoing in their mind. 

You feel a certain kind of restlessness when you’ve killed your friend. It gnaws at you like mad. Like how Ben was mad until you shoved him in the Maze and let him die. You can’t stop thinking about it, turning over that awful moment in your head again and again, unable to let the wound close in peace. He’d begged you to let him live, all of you, again and again until he was already half inside the Doors and knew it was over. You’ve known him for months. Many knew him longer still, yet all of you are complicit.

This is the Maze, after all. This is where you’re all born again with no memories and hardly even a name, and this is where half of you die. Stephen, cut in half after trying to climb down the Box Hole. Nick, his grave just barely green over with moss. And now Ben, hair like corn silk, who ran too far too fast, dead before he got to twenty. You’ll be there soon, maybe. You and Newt and everyone you’ve ever cared about. The Maze is where scientists kill the kids they raised. Birds kicked from the nest. Someone’s smoothing out your feathers now and readying you for the plunge, but all you can do is stare at the empty place among the straw and twigs where one of you had been just seconds before.

You’re staring at the walls of the Maze, lying flat on your stomach in the grass. There’s a stone jutting uncomfortably into your left elbow, but your chin’s resting on top of your laced fingertips and you’re not sure you have the strength to keep yourself from falling into the dirt while you push the smooth rock away. You wonder if Ben ever kicked that stone, if he ever tripped over it on his jog into the Maze and out again. You wonder if he stayed by the Doors when he died, or if he tried to run his old routes one last time, operating on instinct alone.

A shadow passes in front of you, darkening the pear green knives into something like the needles of the pine trees. A boy comes with the shadow, free of charge, and he slumps down next to you, pausing briefly to slide the stone away from your left elbow before lying down on his back. You turn your head, placing your right cheek on your interlaced fingers to stare at him.

Newt has always been beautiful in the sunlight. Even now, in this uncertain gray somewhere between overcast and clear skies, his eyes catch the faint bars of sunshine and turn from brown to gold. With a pang of agony deep between your ribs, it reminds you of the blond crown of Ben’s hair. You wonder if his eyes will ever shatter scarlet like Ben’s temples did too, at the end, when he hurt himself so badly he never came back, and your eyelids flinch shut to stop yourself from seeing it.

When you manage to open your eyes again, a cloud has passed over the sun, coaxing Newt’s eyes back to a woody brown, and it’s okay to look at him again. He’s looking at you too now, the lines on his face deepening with regret. You’re mirrors, the two of you, perfect pictures of guilt and misery reflecting back again and again until you’re certain you’re going to dissolve into each other for good.

“It’s not your fault,” Newt whispers. His throat is dry, and his voice cracks on most words.

“It’s not your fault either,” you murmur back. “Not Minho’s, not Alby’s. These things happen.”

Newt’s lips press together, and you know he’s going through the same swoops of grief as he remembers every Glader you’ve lost over the past few years.

“You know, I remember when he just started out as a Runner,” Newt says quietly. “Stupid shank. He was terrible at directions but he tried so damn hard that he actually fixed his own shuck memory. You should have seen him smile the first time he got a route right without one of us having to correct him. Could have powered the sun.”

He sighs, a sob trapped in the sound. To distract him, you ask, “Why’d you let him stay on as a Runner if he kept getting lost? Wouldn’t it be dangerous?”

Newt looks up at the sky, remembering. “We didn’t have many Runners in the early days. We had to take what we could get. Besides, Nick was dead set that it was better for morale if people weren’t letting the Runners quit so soon. He was early in his days as first-in-command, so we wanted to believe him. Ben got better anyway. Soon he was just as good as any of us.”

Newt’s voice trails off a little, and you know him well enough to guess what he’s thinking– if they had switched Ben out anyway, maybe he wouldn’t have been in the Maze, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten Stung, and maybe he wouldn’t have tried to kill Thomas. Maybe he wouldn’t have been Exiled. Maybe he’d still be here, and you wouldn’t be lying here trying to suppress this invisible wound bleeding out both of you without spilling a single drop of blood.

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat.

“It’s no one’s fault,” Newt says listlessly. “That’s official protocol for when someone gets exiled, you know. Nick made that klunk up too. Said people knew the rules, so if they broke ‘em, it was on their shoulders, not ours.”

“Doesn’t explain why I feel like I should have saved him, though,” you mutter.

Newt nods in agreement, expression tired. “We’re going to get through this,” he says dully. “Same way we got through every other friend we lost. We’re going to pick ourselves up and we’re going to move on. We’ll stop thinking about him.”

“No, we won’t,” you say, and continue before Newt can interrupt. “We’re never going to forget Ben, and it would be awful not to. We’re just going to stop feeling guilty, that’s all. We’ll think about Ben as Ben, not how he was after he got stung.”

“Is that fair to Ben?” Newt asks. “If we ignore what happened to him? I’d be mad, I think. Feels like we’re cheating.”

You let out a long breath. “When you think about Ben, what comes to mind? Your gut instinct, I mean. Not the first awful thing about the Doors shutting on him, but what Ben really is to you. Is it the thing we had to strap to the bed in the Med-Jack hut when he was so strung out that he was hardly human at all? Or is it the shuck kid who kept making too many left turns and followed you and Minho everywhere?”

Newt closes his eyes, half in agony, like he’s begging for strength from someone who isn’t listening. “Runner Ben. Not him when he was sick. That’s Ben to me.”

“Exactly,” you say. “That’s our Ben. That’s what matters. He wasn’t Ben at the end. Ben would never hurt us.”

And Ben would never beg for you to save him. He would never look at the Maze like a bad dog, terrified, and he would never stand there for so long once he was past the Doors, as if he had forgotten the way again.

Newt reaches out and takes your hand, gripping your fingers almost painfully, his eyes still squeezed shut. “Promise me, Y/N. If something happens, if I get stung or if I– if I– again– Tell me you’ll do the same for me. You’ll remember me as me.”

You choke back a sob. “Nothing’s going to happen, Newt.”

He squeezes your hand again, insistent. “You heard Ben. He was saying all kinds of stuff, saying the world out there was terrible. If it does, you have to promise– you have to promise–”

He’s manic and terrified in a way that shocks you. Newt is the calm one, always has been, except that one time that terrified you just as bad as this. If he isn’t in control, then you’ll have be that for him.

“I promise,” you say as calmly as you can. “You’ll always be my Newt. Always.”

He relaxes suddenly in your grasp, still as death. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat.

He pulls you close to him, your head tucked against his collarbone, heart to heart and rib to rib. The sun warms you both, dappling skin and hair and clothes. It’s going to be a while until you stop hearing Ben’s last scream when you’re locked in sleep. It’s going to be a while before you remember how to go about living like usual again. If there’s one comfort in all of this, at least, it’s that you won’t be alone. With Newt, you never will be.

maze runner tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @bonesnplywood, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

all tags list: @wordsarelife, @supervoldejaygent

[huffelpuff210]

Only mine Part 2 Dark Professor Steve Rogers x Innocent reader

Only Mine Dark Professor Steve Rogers x Innocent Reader

Steve looked everywhere at this party, but found you no where, He decided to give up his search coming home disappointed and empty handed, The next day was spring break everyone leaving for home, or going on some sort of vacation, Steve was walking toward the coffee shop you frequented when he seen your room mate leaving the dorm, listening to the conversation. 

“You sure y/n? I feel bad leaving you when you are battling a terrible cold.” She says holding the phone to her ear as she opens her car door throwing some of her stuff in the back of the car, 

“Fine but if you get any worse see a doctor I would hate for you to die on me while I’m on vacation.” She chuckles getting in the car and starting it, 

Steve grew concerned He looks at the dorm, He knew which dorm room was yours following you home a few nights ago, He knew this was his chance, tonight was when everyone was gone, and you were alone, He decided he would come back then, He already had the key to your dorm, All he had to do was take it from the office, He smirked knowing tonight was when he was going to get his girl. 

You sat on the couch covered in a blanket, a tissue box on the nearby end table, you were too tired to even make yourself any sort of food, You were pretty sure you had the flu, You barley had any energy to even go to the bathroom, Your cough hurt extremely bad, You thought you were dying too tired to even move off the couch, the show you were watching you were barely paying attention, 

You take some of the medicine to help you can feel yourself getting tired as your heavy eyelids slowly flutter shut, 

The sound of your door shutting echoed in your ears but you could not bring yourself to open your eyes you just assumed that it was just Jessica coming back for something, but soon you felt someone stroke your cheek. 

Steve slowly made his way through your dorm room finding you fast asleep on the couch, he rampaged through your dresser grabbing some of your clothes putting them in a bag, He walked over to you stroking your cheek with his knuckles, 

“Don’t worry doll, I’ll take care of you..” He whispered 

Scooping you up in his arms. carrying you out of your dorm, 

Your heavy eyelids slowly flutter open, and You notice you are no longer on the couch in your dorm, You slowly sit up and notice the room was massive, the bed was huge, the room looked modern with gray walls, the sheets and bedding were white, the bed frame was a thick wood with bed posts, 

The door opens revealing Professor Rogers with a tray of soup and a glass of orange juice. you were extremely confused.

“Professor?” Your voice comes out raspy 

“Please doll, call me Steve since we’re going to be spending some time together.” He says 

He sets the tray on the top of a dresser, that looks like it was carved from a tree, 

He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling your forehead, his hand cold to the touch, 

“Still have a fever, I guess that’s what happens when you have no one to take care of you,” He says with a smile tucking some of your hair behind your ear. 

You were confused, 

“How did I get here?” You asked trying to get out of bed but he pushed you down 

“I brought you here and you need to stay in bed.” He says 

“Professor I need to get back home.” You say trying to get out of bed again But he quickly pushes you down again. But this time anger fills his eyes and he has you pinned down by your throat, 

“You are going to listen to me doll or there are going to be consequences.” He says 

You look up at him in horror, he is your professor, he was said to be a good guy retired hero, why was he doing this to you what had you done to be treated this way you didn’t understand it, 

“Do you understand?’ He asked glaring down at you 

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod slowly, 

He smiled liking your answer 

“That’s my good girl.” He says 

You knew you couldn’t over power him, He was far stronger and bigger than you, 

You were a petite thing, your dad and brothers always teased you for it, but you never really cared about it until now, he grabs the bowl of soup feeding you the soup, you ate most of it until you told him you were full, He handed you the Orange juice, you drank half a glass, until you started feeling drowsy your vision blurry, 

“Get some rest doll, once you are better we will go over a few rules.” He says smiling down at you, you could barley lift your limbs, Steve lifted your legs putting them under the blankets, Kissing your forehead your heavy eyelids slowly fluttering shut, 

Steve watched as you tried fighting sleep, but eventually gave in, He smiled at the thought of having you all to himself, all he had to do was rough you up a bit and you submitted to him, He knew you would be perfect for him, 

He also knew you didn’t need to go to school anymore, He was going to take care of you, but being a few months shy of graduating he figured he would humor your family, knowing how a military family worked, he was going to have to humor them and let you at least graduate, that way he wouldn’t run into any problems, but after that, you were going to be his perfect wife weather you wanted that or not, and sure he was a bit older than you, but he didn’t care, you were perfect, it was hard to find a girl like you in this day and age and he sure as hell wasn’t about to let you go.

[ariseur]

hey again 👀 soooo you said i should send another ask if i had an idea and diva you said that to the wrong person. i have too many lmao

im stressing that u should write this at your own time! no rush :)

but yeah im actually writing a longform seph/reader fic where the reader is from a southern/appalachian coded town near gongaga. my idea id love to have your spin on is a scene where sephiroth (someone raised on protein powder and spinach probably) gets to try some real southern comfort food that the reader makes for him :). im talking biscuits, fried chicken, some kind of creamy noodle dish, just all the unhealthy savory goodness

he deserves it 🥺

ty for the last request again btw✨💕

“ spread kisses like honey. ”

sephiroth (ffvii) x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

omg this has been sitting in my drafts sooo long!! this was really cute and i loved writing it, it reminded me of lucy gray and coriolanus snow from hg hence why i put the title as a lyric from her ballad 💕 always look forward to your requests!! thank you againnn!!

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

you and seph being sickly sweet towards each other, sephiroth being utterly in love with you in his inner monologue, kind of not canon because there are moments where i mention how sephiroth talks to genesis and angeal despite knowing zack and interacting with zack ( which like clashes with the entire point of cc .. but shhh i wanted domesticity ), intended lowercase, lmk if i missed anything!! 💕

┊ ˚➶ word count ｡˚ 🎼

1088 words, 5905 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

“you’ve never had this?” you gasped dramatically, your shocked face only to be met with sephiroth’s stoic one. he hesitantly nodded— was that.. a bad thing? did he somehow offend you in some way? the steam that had emitted from the plates below you set on the

“don’t you like pasta?” you asked, still utterly baffled.

he nodded slowly, “is something wrong?” he didn’t understand the confusion. there were a lot of foods he hasn’t tried, isn’t that normal for everyone? you blinked owlishly, lifting up the fork with the pasta noodles stabbed against the metal, the creamy sauce departing from the food in small, slow drips.

“what have you been eating if you’ve never had something as delicious as this?” you muttered, your lips reverting back into a tight ‘o’ as you blew on the fork— before finally slipping it into your mouth. “i’m shocked.” words muffled as you still chewed on your food, at least covering your mouth while you spoke.

sephiroth chuckled amusedly, “we’ve grown up in deeply contrasting places.” he crossed his arms against his chest, watching as you slurped up the pasta with stars in your eyes— occasionally opening your mouth to let the heat escape, soft steam pouring out from the small gap you’ve left while chewing. “still,” said you, “‘s so good.” he could barely make out your voice from how full your mouth was but he still shook his head as he leaned further back in his chair.

closing his eyes, he tilted his head down while he let the strands of snowy hair fell and covered bits of his face, blocking the bright sun even to the darkness beneath his eyelids. sephiroth didn’t pay much mind to the fact that your loud chewing of garlic bread and slurping of buttered food had come to a halt until he felt a strong aroma slip in from under his nostrils, it was only then did he open his eyes to see you holding the fork to his lips.

you held an expectant gaze and he quirked a brow before ultimately leaning forward while he let his eyes rake over the food. it looked a little messy, the sauce dripping over the place as you had ripped a piece of garlic bread off along with it and placed a chunk on the metal twinges of the utensil. he looked up again at you, waiting as you nodded your head and tried to keep your excitement contained. he blew on the fork a little bit before opening his mouth and letting it settle upon the steel. what could one bite do, he asked himself.

but once he had finally tried it, he could’ve dropped dead right then and there. the combination of the salty and savory flavors was perfect, and the way the bread had soaked some of it up too was incredible. sephiroth closed his eyes, letting his jaw work as he let his taste buds be blessed with what was known as your cooking. he had always seen you working your way through the kitchen, using various pots and pans and oils while you zipped around — and when sephiroth had offered help, you simply put a hand up and looked up at him for a split second, trying to simultaneously get the perfect roast as you smiled at him sweetly. that was enough for him.

despite watching you cook a lot ( and the only times he did get to help, he ended up being ordered by you to stand in the corner or measure occasional ingredients ), he had never actually savored something as good as this. being a first class prevented him from doing any good when it came to dinner time, either the timing being too late and you had already gone to bed or you were too tired and he decided not to bother you and he ate something small.

but this, he thought, this was perfection. when it came to you, sephiroth never let his appreciation go silent as he would always thank you or give you sayings of endearment and encouragement. he didn’t have words for this dish, he had never tried anything like it. so in awe, he merely said, “you’ve truly outdone yourself,” as he handed you back the fork. you didn’t mind the simple compliment. it never sounded generic to you when sephiroth would express his gratitude, even when they were mumbled in passing with dragged feet when he had come home from an exasperatingly tiring job, he always made sure to tell you how much he was grateful for you and what you do when he’s away.

he couldn’t wait until he was back at hq to boast to genesis and angeal about how delectable your cooking was. maybe zack, too — although sepiroth had a feeling that the energetic SOLDIER might just end up begging you for food even more. not that you minded, though. you were always so kind, sephiroth didn’t know how you were always able to do it.

“thanks.” you chimed, your voice ever so warm that it made his heart flutter. sephiroth wasn’t exactly what you’d call — expressive. he always held a smooth, cool tone of voice and occasionally threw a sassy remark towards you or genesis, or even that kid zack fair he introduced you to. but you understood his inflection of which he spoke in, you could tell his emotion even when he had entered a room ( and vice versa ). you were one of the most cherished things in sephiroth’s life and it could not go unnoticed.

with his tongue peeking out from between his bottom lip to gather some of the residual flavor that was left behind, his eyes roamed across the table further to more so further treasure your sacrifices ( of both time and food ).

“what’s that over there?” he lifted a finger, almost perfectly manicured despite using his hands excessively in battle, to point over at a small white dish filled with elbow macaroni and a homemade cheese sauce. you turned your head and grinned, reaching over the wooden dining table to grab it and lower the bowl on its side to reveal the contents. “mac ‘n’ cheese,” you replied, “want some?” your eyes seemed to glimmer with more amusement. sephiroth had now developed a new interest in your food and he couldn’t wait to indulge in it.

with the smile and those eyes of yours, how could he say no to one more bite?

𐙚 taglist ; @snoopicle

𐙚 requests are closed — june tenth, 2024

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 6.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

a bit of a slower chapter. there should be about 2 more after this & we are at the end (':

word count: 2.7k

please follow & turn on notifs for @huramuna-fics for my fic postings

content: smut, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity, child loss, vomiting

cloudbursting - kate bush • playdate - melanie martinez

Alicent had thought she saw the last of death for a while. She had seen her grandson killed before her very eyes, seen her daughter’s skewered body upon the ground, a grisly tale of her son skewered through his eye, her other son burnt and suffocated. 

She had seen enough death for a lifetime and then some. 

When she had been awoken in the wee hours of the morn, it was still dark outside. Her handmaiden roused her from sleep with a panicked plea— the queen was in her labors. 

Labors? Lyanna wasn’t pregnant, was she? Surely Alicent would’ve noticed, as they spent every morning together since the girl’s arrival over half a year ago. 

She slipped on a housecoat and was escorted to the maester’s offices, where the robed man swept her aside immediately. 

“What is going on? Her grace cannot be pregnant, surely?” Alicent questioned, eyes narrowed. She didn’t dare look over at the pale figure in the cot, knowing it to be Lyanna. She wasn’t ready yet to see such pain once more. 

“The Queen is… was… roughly five moons along,” he explained softly, “Her chamber maids found her semi-conscious in a pool of her own blood, the room a mess— she… is fighting, surely. But the babe won’t be viable.” 

Alicent blinked profusely, searching the healer’s face for any sign of a farce. “You say she was pregnant?” 

“A matter of speaking, your grace. She is… laboring as we speak. The babe is stuck, however— at an odd angle.” 

“… what does that mean for Lyanna?” she asked, leaning forward. Alicent knew what it meant, of course— death was in the room with them, waiting. 

The maester gave the queen mother a hard look and shook his head. “Keep her in your prayers. The King… should be notified.” 

— 

Alicent sat by Lyanna’s bed, hand in bloody hand with her. The poor girl’s beautiful face was so pale, the blue veins in her half-drawn eyelids were visible. 

The labors weren’t much of a ruckus as they usually would be— Lyanna was severely numbed by milk of the poppy, and the maesters pulled out the babe. Alicent caught sight of it— its skin was gray and scaly, with a ridged tail and little budding horns, as well as a pair of perfectly miniature wings. It didn’t breathe, nor cry. 

“A son, your grace,” the maester announced solemnly.

The sight made Alicent want to vomit, but she swallowed it back, focusing on Lyanna. “You did so well, my love,” she cooed, dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth, “You did so well.” 

“See… may I… see the… the babe?” Lyanna asked, her voice so quiet that only Alicent could hear. 

Alicent’s heart clenched, brow furrowed. “Not yet, sweetling. They’re wiping him off now. Do you have a name in mind for him?” 

“Aeron,” Lyanna breathed, “For… Aemond… and Daeron…” 

A tear rolled down Alicent’s face as she leaned close to Lyanna, pressing their foreheads together. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she whispered, “My sweet, sweet girl. You’re the purest of us all, my love.” she cried fully now, eyes closed. She cared so deeply for the Queen, as if she were her own, or mayhaps more, and seeing the girl in pain agonized Alicent. 

Alicent Hightower wept for Lyanna, Aemond, Daeron, and Aeron. 

— 

Aegon did not arrive until hours later, after he’d been found. He bursted into the room like an ignited dragon. “Where’s my wife? My son?” he demanded. Otto followed behind him. 

Alicent stood up, her white nightgown stained in a bit of blood. She stared at her son, eyes narrowed with a fury she hadn’t felt in so long. “Out, Aegon— she’s asleep, finally, out, out!” she hissed, turning the King around and shoving him out of the chamber, closing the door behind them. 

SMACK.

Alicent laid a firm slap across Aegon’s face. “What took you so long?! Your wife was bleeding out, laboring your babe into the world much too early! And I saw the marks on her— she isn’t one of your whores, Aegon! What in the Gods’ names are you doing to her?” 

Aegon’s eyes immediately watered and he was the very image of a pathetic little puppy. He sniffed. “I didn’t— ‘twas part of our game, mother, I swear!” he simpered. “I never meant it… in a bad way.”

“Your game? Your game? Marriage isn’t a game, Aegon. Sex isn’t a game. You’re the only one she’s ever laid with and that is how you treat her?” Alicent was beyond fuming, not only for her good-daughter, but something within herself that has been long locked away. “Like some toy? She doesn’t know that it’s supposed to be gentle and loving— she must think that it’s normal to be treated in such a way.” 

The king shifted uneasily back and forth, looking down at his feet. 

“You never learn, do you? You’re just like your father.” she finally spat, eye to eye with her son. Her brown eyes were eclipsed with rage, lip curled before she descended back into the room to sit by Lyanna once more. 

Aegon didn’t follow— but he didn’t leave the Keep, either. Later that eve, the outside of his chambers was littered with discarded wine bottles, broken glass strewn about. 

— 

It was a week before Lyanna finally came back to herself— she was mostly coherent, eyes flitting about the room. A chair, now empty, was set next to her cot. 

There was another chair on the other side of the bed, which was filled. A tiny blonde head bobbed up and down behind a book. 

Jaehaera. 

She was reading, outloud, from a children’s book, legs kicking softly as she read. “It’s said that beyond the wall… there are dragons made of ice. They do not breathe fire, but blow frost from their gullets. Giants with feet as large as…” she paused, squinting, “wheelhouses, are said to ride the ice dragons to battle.” 

“Do you believe that, princess?” Lyanna murmured, her voice hoarse from disuse. “Ice dragons and giants?” 

Jaehaera blinked, her eyes going wide as she realized that her audience was awake. She ducked behind the book, crossing and uncrossing her legs. 

Lyanna hadn’t spent much time with Jaehaera, to be truthful. She didn’t wish to force herself upon the melancholic girl and wished for her to take her time to open up. The young princess had attended breakfast with Lyanna and Alicent a number of times, but usually didn’t speak, unless whispering something to Alicent. 

Jaehaera peeked over the book, her violet eyes looking at Lyanna cautiously. “… yes. I believe in ice dragons. Grandmother says…” she giggled softly, pulling the book down further to reveal a small smile, “that they aren’t real n’ the book is made up. But I know the truth.” 

“And what is the truth? You must tell,” Lyanna hummed, shifting herself in the cot so she was facing Jaehaera, giving the young girl her full attention. “I must know.” 

“They’re real n’ just sleeping beneath the snow, and they lay their eggs in the giant wall in the North. But… they take two… hundred years to hatch!” 

“Two hundred years? That’s quite a long time to wait for a baby dragon.” 

“Yup. I’m patient, though. Grandmother says it's my best… quar-lity.” 

“Quality, sweetling.” 

“Qual-ity.” Jaehaera repeated. 

Lyanna gave a reassuring smile. “You look quite deep into the book— how long have you been reading for?” 

“I came with grandmother… five days ago n’ started reading this to you… four days ago. I thought it might be nice to listen, even if you were sleeping…” she nods to herself, slowly coming out of her shell. “Sometimes, when I sleep, I hear stuff around me and it enters my dreams.” 

“Thank you for reading to me, sweet girl. I thought I recalled hearing about ice dragons in my dreams,” Lyanna chuckled. “Will you keep reading to me? Even if I’m not asleep?” 

Jaehaera looked down at the book, swinging her legs again. Her cheeks puffed slightly and she looked a bit bashful. “Uhmmm… maybe. Did… you still want to hear it?” she peered at the queen, head tilted. “… I don’t get to do much with friends anymore… they’ve all gone. Grandmother likes my reading but… sometimes she starts crying n’ I have to stop. Father is… too busy.” 

The queen felt her heart clench. Out of all of the victims of the Dance— Jaehaera, in her mind, had suffered the most. She lost nearly everyone. “Of course, I’d love to hear you read more. I’m quite interested in what else is beyond the wall, and I simply won’t believe what anyone else has to say about it, it must be you, dear princess.” 

The little princess gave a little giggle before she continued to read. 

—

The queen and the princess were inseparable for the next moon– as they had found some sort of comfort in one another. Lyanna would stop to Jaehaera’s chambers and escort the young girl to Alicent where all three of them broke their fast together.

It was certainly an odd feeling for Lyanna, as she never had been really good with children, so to speak. But after Aeron, she felt something was lost from within her. She only remembered glimpses of her son before they took him away. The sight of him, so tiny and riddled with golden and red scales like a little lizard, with a tail and leathery wings. The sight of him had sickened a few of the attending maids, causing them to vomit and clutch their proverbial pearls. 

She thought him a beautiful little boy and wished to know if he had his father’s violet eyes, or her brown. 

In her dreams, he had a curly mop of white blonde hair and brown eyes with flecks of violet, like wisteria petals upon a pond, shaded by a tree. He would speak to her in hushed tones, holding and tugging on her hand, babbling all sorts of nonsense like children do. She never saw beyond the confines of the small garden they would be in, the outskirts of her vision creeping in lilting black and hazy purple. 

But, nevertheless, it was an oasis, bright and sprightly like the first warmth of spring’s sun, warming their skin as Lyanna held Aeron to her hip, peppering him with kisses and love, while they watched ducks swim around in the petal speckled water. Dipping their toes into the chilled pool, a figure would approach. Another crop of blonde hair, somehow so familiar to Lyanna. The shape and gait of the shadow would liken itself to Aegon, but Lyanna could never see his face. He was dressed in black and green, with the crown of the Conqueror upon his brow, the indent of a smile perked upon his silhouette as he sat beside them. 

Aeron would be between them, speaking a language that Lyanna didn’t understand, but it sounded similar to High Valyrian. Aegon’s shadow would converse back, but his voice sounded so far away and disjointed, like a distant memory. The specter of the king would take off his crown, and hang it upon Aeron’s curled mop, flashing a toothy white smile and singing praises. A smile Lyanna longed to see. 

But it wasn’t real.

None of it was.

Aeron would never grow to be that sprightly little boy, and Aegon… the version that she’d concocted in her head of him didn’t exist. 

It likely never would.

These dreams, ever repeating ever since she lost Aeron, would make her wake in a cold sweat, already crying, her nightgown clinging to her like a second skin, sticky and itching. She would get up and pace, trying her best not to wake Jaehaera, who had snuck into her rooms more than once when she had a nightmare, a frequent plague for the young princess.

Some might consider Lyanna’s dreams something of joy– but they seemed like a nightmare to her, an illusion that made her feel like she was going mad. It felt so real, that when she awoke, she could feel her fingers grazing through Aeron’s curls, the soft smell of him was alive and well in her room. Until a gust of wind would dissipate it. 

And she would be alone with her thoughts, her longings and her dreams once again. She would crawl back into bed and wrap her arms around Jaehaera.

One eve, late into the night, Lyanna felt the indent of weight upon her bed. She didn’t open her eyes, as she was still flitting between consciousness and sleep– but her hand wandered over, expecting to feel Jaehaera. “... bad dreams, Haera?” she mumbled, her hand searching for the little princess’ own.

“... ‘tis not Jaehaera.” a voice murmured. Aegon.

Lyanna’s eyes snapped open, turning towards her husband, whom she hadn’t spoken to or really seen since Aeron’s passing. “Aegon?”

“... yes.” he whispered. He sounded small, like his vocal chords were stuck in a shell, echoing and far-flung from his usual cocksure smugness. 

“Are you… alright?” she asked then. She should be angry, she really should– but she had just had her dream again, where he had been so alive, so lovely and right that she couldn’t be mad at him in the moment. Her mind was still swimming with the illusion she’d created of him.

“No,” he breathed, shifting closer to her slightly. “Something is wrong with me.”

“Are you ill? Shall… I get up and call a maester?”

“No–” he pressed, his hand reaching out to grasp Lyanna’s wrist. It wasn’t harsh or forceful, but urgent, like a plea. “Stay. I… I need to explain myself.”

Her muscles tensed for a moment as she felt his hand upon her. It was warm and slightly calloused, but familiar nonetheless. “... okay.”

“I haven’t… picked up a bottle in near a moon, nor… touched a whore. I-I’ve been good,” Aegon whimpered. “I’m so sorry, Lyanna. For everything– Gods, I’m a fucking monster. I-I don’t know why I’ve done the things I did or said. It’s eating me from the inside like a sickness,” he took a shaky breath, sniffling all the while. He was crying. “I-I… I wanted to push you away. The moment I saw you with your… big brown eyes, so close to tears– I felt sorry for you, to be paired with me. You were good and pure and innocent– you didn’t deserve any of this– if I hadn’t been such a fucking coward, you… might still be carrying our son.” 

Lyanna didn’t say anything, but her breath hitched slightly at his words. They were clear and concise– tear laden and full of sorrow but it was the most sober she’d ever seen him, the most lucid.

“I can’t feel that it's my fault. Because I was too weak to say no to them, to put my foot down and refuse. I basically killed them all,” he continued. “I’m just a Godsdamned coward and I should be put down like a dog for what I’ve done, for what I allowed to happen– my entire family save for three people who don’t see me as anything more than a disappointment are all dead, Lyanna– I could’ve… I should’ve… I should’ve kicked and fought against it, told them to fucking stick the crown where the sun doesn’t shine. What kind of brother usurps his sister’s throne? What… why did I let that happen?” his hand was shaking against her wrist now, his voice breaking into small blubbers. “I’m a fucking Kinslayer, Lyanna.”

She didn’t know what to say, truly. But the sheer ache she felt in the depth of her chest caused her to reach out her free hand and thread her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to her as he cried, his entire body violently wracked with his sorrow. 

It all suddenly made sense to her– the drinking, the whoring, the violence, the barbed words. He was punishing himself, his damnation pushing away everything that may even be a little good in his life. He was sentencing himself to a life of ruination until it consumed him completely, leaving nothing left behind but a husk; all because he thought he deserved it. Because he thought he killed everyone he’d ever loved.

It made sense. 

Lyanna held him close to her chest, hushing and soothing his sobs. He had let go of her wrist to wrap his arms around her in turn. “I know,” she breathed, holding him like she had wished to in her dreams, tightly as so he wouldn’t disappear. “You only tried to… please… them– didn’t you?”

He nodded slowly.

“You just wanted to be loved.”

[kykyonthemoon]

Could I have an Xavier x Reader fluff? Like they make him wear bunny ears and Xavier makes them wear wolf ears? I wanna see smth soft and fluffy for my man…If you can’t totally ok! You’re lovely!

Fluffy Trapped

In this game of two, Xavier is definitely not the rabbit.

Thank you for requesting. 🌻 Xavier x Reader Masterlist

Request something?

“Why do you have that funny headband on your head?” The strange boy asked, one hand pointing at the top of Xavier's head.

He raised his hand and touched the two long, soft rabbit ears attached to his head. He was sitting in a corner of the arcade when this kid came from nowhere and began to laugh at what he was wearing.

“It's a bet.” Xavier replied with a sigh.

“A bet?”

“Yeah. I lost a bet with someone in a claw machine game.”

The child kept giggling while covering his mouth, showing absolutely no manners. Then, to his surprise, a little girl of a similar age called in this way.

“Oh no! That girl has found me!” His face became pale in an instant. He pushed something into Xavier's palm with haste and said, "Keep this. You can make your friend wear it if they lose to you at the kitty cards game. That girl over there made me do that too!”

The boy threw his little friend a glance that left it unclear whether he hated or loved her. He then sprinted in her direction, and the two of them walked away while holding hands. Xavier turned to face the object he was holding. It was a hair piece almost identical to his, but instead of pink and white rabbit ears, it was dark gray wolf ears.

“Kitty cards, hmm…” Xavier whispered to himself. His eyes found you in the crowd, happily ordering drinks for both of you. A very dangerous smile appeared on his lips for a moment, then disappeared when you turned your head to find him. He appeared to be an obedient rabbit waiting for his "master". That made you even less suspicious of the trap he had just set for you.

That afternoon, Xavier invited you to play kitty cards.

“The loser will have to wear bunny ears for another twenty-four hours!” You grinned. Claw machine or kitty cards were both your best games.

Xavier let you go first, and as usual, he lost miserably to you in the first round. He claimed to have picked up a few new skills but was only able to win one round. By the third round, he seemed rather sleepy.

Xavier put one arm on the table to support his head. The heavy eyelids slowly closed. You called softly: “Xavier? Xavier?” But he still did not open his eyes. You glanced at the cats on the table. There were only two more cups left and the game would end. But your cards were not that great. You were about to lose to Xavier!

You looked up at the rabbit ears that Xavier had on his head, bobbing slightly with each nod. Anytime, anywhere, he could fall asleep, even while he was playing cards. You reminisced about the days when you were both on missions and he could fall asleep while still upright! Xavier had dozed off for real. The opportunity had come to you.

This was the decisive round. You could not lose to Xavier, because you still wanted to see him wearing those bunny ears for a long time. Those bunny ears affixed to his head was your trophy. You used to cheat while he fell asleep before, and you knew a trick of swapping cats in the cup so your opponent got points deducted. The important thing was to be skillful and quick. To double verify, you attempted to wave a hand in front of Xavier's face. When you saw that he did not react, you lifted up the red cat in the cup that he had received double points on.

"Good kitty…"

You hushed the cat so it did not cry out loud. Then you picked up the green cat next to it and prepared to drop it into the cup. Little did you know that all your actions were being observed by Xavier with a half-open eye. Immediately, he grabbed your wrist, causing both cats to fall.

“Ughhh!”

You screamed because you were startled. Xavier firmly grasped his hand, preventing you from backing away. The corners of his lips curled up into a perfect and cunning line.

“Got you!”

“Xavier!… You…”

You could not deny it, not when the two cats which you had just dropped were leaping around the table and meowing loudly. More than the fact that you were discovered cheating, the reason your face felt heated was because Xavier's hand was holding your wrist.

“How clumsy you are, Miss Hunter.” He smiled, his eyes filled with mischief, making you feel like you were put in danger. A bewildered and sleepy Xavier in an instant became a trap setter. He had been waiting for this opportunity since the beginning, even pretending to be drowsy to catch you red handed. Was he really asleep the other times or did he do it on purpose so you could win?

It was your turn to feel extremely naive. Kitty cards were originally your game, but with Xavier scheming like that, it was intolerable.

“This round doesn't count. Let's play another one!”

"That's fine. But first,” Xavier replied. He took out the pair of wolf ears he had hidden earlier. “Those who cheat ought to face their punishment.”

His voice was so soft, but you were left with shivers. Your arms and legs became weak, your face was burning again. Xavier loosened his grip but did not let go completely. He stood up to move closer to you.

"Please no! Oh! Where did those wolf ears come from anyway?

“Stay still.”

He said while you kept shaking your head, refusing to cooperate. At last, he had to lean down so close that his breath caught your cheek and you could not avoid his gaze anymore. Then he put the wolf ears on your head.

"Good girl."

He patted your head. His index finger gently pressed the tip of your nose and he smiled with satisfaction. You were not sure who was the rabbit and who was the real wolf anymore.

[extra-v1rgin]

This work contains descriptions of scars and wounds that could be a little gross to some (though I don’t think it’s particularly goru) Please enjoy!

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

Though Giyuu had plenty scars of his own the man felt unable to comprehend the gnarled beast in Kyojuro’s abdomen. Even after it was healed it remained an area his hands avoided. He was uncertain if pressure would build up until it split again, or if it’d dig into Kyojuro’s mind instead.

Tomioka knew better than to stare so he didn’t. Even if they were in baths together or training shirtless he was careful to keep his eyes above a certain point (and away from the man’s bad eye).

There was one exception. When it was so early the sky was still a deep gray Giyuu found himself awake. Nothing specific had roused him but slowly he was raised into consciousness. Rengoku was still asleep. With his body working like a furnace the sheets had mostly been shoved away from his side of the futon.

First Giyuu dipped down to admire the blonde’s face. His thick brows furled slightly in his sleep, mouth barely open. Framing his features was a mess of fiery hair. It curled around his cheeks, one piece clung to the edge of his lips. Tomioka was careful to not let his breath hit the tanned skin too harshly. If he was caught in a position like this… well likely nothing would happen but he kept his breathing light anyways.

For a second he did stare at Kyojuro’s missing eye. The eyelid didn’t shut fully leaving a small peak at the glass eye. It usually stayed hidden beneath a patch during the day. Rengoku found the poor imitation of his golden eye unnerving and distracting. Tomioka made sure not to look for too long.

Pushing his curiosity back the man raised a bit to admire the rest of his lovers body. Born from hours in the sun freckles decorated his shoulders in place of his cape. They scattered over his chest until slowly disappearing.

Even as the former slayer continued to train (almost daily still) nothing could replicate the brutal routine of slaying demons nightly. Kyojuro had lost some of his muscle definition. The sharp lines had softened into an even mix of fat. Giyuu liked the softness that had crept into his arms and chest. He had to stop himself from sinking his hands into the area.

Instead his gaze lowered still. Right before a trail of hair could begin lied the crater of his injury. The evidence of it was still painfully clear. Beyond scars the marks had burned into the structure of his body, leaving behind valleys and bumps. Some scars disappeared into nothing while others raised into mountains of keloids. The lines that ran particularly far interrupted the thicker gatherings of his hair.

For a moment Giyuu let his hand ghost over the area. The center of the impact felt stiff and taut. When his hand passed over the edges they transformed back into the soft flesh of his stomach.

Before his hands or eyes could roam any lower the man let out his breath and relaxed into the futon again. He could still admire Kyojuro’s face from the relaxed position beside him.

—-

Giyuu could understand the feeling better now. With his arm twisting off into a stump and several new scars painting his body he had to rely on Kyojuro for care. The fresh scarring is delicate to the touch. On his own Tomioka has already reopened them several times. Even simple actions like getting dressed could tear the gentle flesh.

“It’s difficult isn’t it?” Rengoku seemed to get some morbid pleasure from seeing Giyuu in pain. Perhaps it was payback for the first few months after the battle with Akaza when Tomioka was too guilt ridden to visit the man.

He grunted in vague acknowledgement and continued to struggle with the buttons of his shirt. Kyojuro was also the one who insisted that Tomioka looked presentable for once. In the month following his dismissal from the Butterfly Estate he had simply stayed at home, enjoying the weekly visits from Rengoku. Now his already meager groceries had been depleted and Kyojuro had announced that they both should make a proper trip into town.

The blonde had already offered his assistance in dressing twice and finally on the third try his help is accepted. Tomioka is breathing rather heavily after the grapple with his shirt. Kyojuro- who has full use of both hands -only takes a moment to fix the top. He takes extra care to fold up the empty sleeve until it sits just below the remnant of Giyuu’s arm.

“You look very nice!” Rengoku finishes the sentence by patting his lover’s clothed chest. His hands hover for an extra moment before he takes a light breath and steps back. Tomioka is not unaware of the exchange and as much as he wants to drag Kyojuto back to bed his stomach pushes him out the door.

As they exit Kanzaburo leaps from the rooftop and lands clumsily on Tomioka’s shoulder. “Mission today?”

“Of sorts,” Giyuu hums. Though purchasing rice and meat hardly counts the old bird will still find excitement from it.

Kanzaburo notices their companion. After taking a moment to bite at the fiery hair recognition sets in. “Rengoku-san, mission today!” The announcement is met with a warm laugh. They pause for a moment so he can scratch the grey feathers growing on the crow’s head.

—-

The visit to town was mostly successful. Tomioka was content to let Kyojuro lead the way even if it resulted in the pair buying much more food than originally intended. They had wandered around until dusk before stopping to get dinner. Giyuu enjoyed a small bowl of Udon while the blond ate half a dozen.

Walking back under the stars was odd. Every few minutes Tomioka had to remind himself that there was no danger nearby. Once that feeling passes the next weight that comes down is the evening chill. The wind is pleasant only for a few moments. Despite the thick shirt he’d donned the wind stings where it touches his scars. By the time they’re halfway home the skin is practically burning.

Giyuu does a good job hiding his pain. On the pathways he can focus on the rhythmic steps. Occasionally the stray pebble makes him stutter but the cobblestones are meticulously clean.

As the stone transitions to packed dirt interrupted by fallen branches and thick roots there is no pattern to follow anymore. Somehow the nudges turn into pain shooting all the way up to his arm. It only takes a few yards until sweat is rolling down his forehead. Giyuu isn’t even carrying their groceries but it feels like the weight has rested on his shoulders.

Kyojuro doesn’t say anything, most likely out of politeness, until Giyuu trips and wobbles like he might fall. Only then does he gently grip the man’s good arm and root him in place. “Are you alright?” He sounds like a different person, devoid of the cheer and laughter present just moments ago.

Tomioka feels embarrassed. A walk shouldn’t make him feel this weak. He lacks any clear answer for Kyojuro and instead chooses to stare firmly at a fallen leaf.

After a moment Giyuu offered a curt, “yes.” Continuing onwards he took slow and measured breaths as he navigated up the neglected trail to his home. Kyojuro didn’t push him again but Tomioka could feel the gaze burning into his back. It stung more than his scars.

When the Water Estate finally comes into view Tomioka feels the happiest he ever has to see his home. Walking up the steps he’s sure at least one wound has been torn back open. He nearly collapses against the door frame.

Rengoku tries his best, but subtlety is not his strong suit. “Why don’t you get a bath ready while I put things away!” It’s a feeble offering to keep Giyuu away from any more labor. Too tired to complain the man bites his tongue and nods quietly.

The journey upstairs is slow and painful even as the warm house breathes life back into him. He considers giving up and going to bed but there’ll be hell to pay in the morning if his scars aren’t properly cared for.

Giyuu is glad the bathtub had a wide edge for him to rest on. As he lets the bath fill the man closes his eyes and enjoys the warmth brought to him by the rising steam. For a moment it makes his scars sting until they get used to the temperature

Without waiting for his partner Tomioka begins to strip. Even after his clothes have been casted off the man must begin the long process of unwinding his bandages. The heat flushes his skin and makes the scars even more visible. First he begins with the small cuts sprinkled over his arms and torso. Many of these have scabbed over, almost healed. It’s only the large cut through his back that is still raw, wet between the tight stitches. His arm is in an even worse state. Where the skin is twisted and sealed together has begin to mold itself together but it’s grown purpled and swollen. Giyuu doesn’t try to unwrap the area now. That’s what Kyojuro is here for.

Careful to keep his wound above the water Giyuu lets the rest of his body sink into the steaming bath. The subtle scent of something floral fills the air, leftovers from whatever perfumes they used last.

Kyojuro enters quietly but grows in volume as he undresses. “Are you sure the water isn’t too warm?” It’s a pointed jab at Tomioka’s pink skin, which only grows redder as he sinks deeper into the steaming water. He stays silent even as the man climbs in next to him.

“Let me see it.” Rengoku’s hands hover around what’s left of his arm. They pause for just a moment before beginning to reveal the wound. It’s slightly less unsightly than the week before, though not by much. Giyuu pulls a face before looking away.

Gently Kyojuro dips his fingers into the water and barely hovers them over the swollen flesh. He brushes off scabs of old blood and plasma. Even with his feather-light touch Tomioka can’t help but groan. Just brushing up against the skin is enough to send shooting pain up until it reaches his chest.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Rengoku keeps his enthusiastic tone even as his partner tries to hold back the sounds of his pain.

Tired from the days events Tomioka has been rendered mostly speechless. He does soften slightly as Kyojuro pulls him close. “You shouldn’t forget that I know how this feels.” His fingers intertwine with Giyuu’s and pull the man’s hand towards his scarred stomach. Though that’s where the bulk of Rengoku’s scars lie there’s plenty scattered around the both of their bodies.

Tomioka has looked, dusted his fingers over the wounds, but never truly felt them. The scarring is stiff in the center, but around the edges is hardly indistinguishable from the rest of his skin. When his nails clip a keloid Kyojuro sucks in a sharp breath. Before Tomioka can offer an apology the man rushes in. “It’s fine!”

Giyuu’s mouth opens and closes and opens again. “Then it’s fine too… for you to help out.” Until now he’s been accepting everything with regret. Leaning forward he rests his head on Kyojuro’s shoulder. It’s met with a gentle kiss.

[rjthirsty]

Bound Forever

Gilbert/Reader Roderic/Reader

Words: 2k

CW: Major Character Death. Angst. Tragedy. Grief. Smut. Route Spoilers.

A/N: @scummy-writes did a piece on Gilbert dying called Normalcy Bias that inspired this piece. We've spoken at length about our Gil headcanons, and I admire her as a writer, so I wanted to give myself a chance to mimic the depth of emotion I read in her works. I'm honestly hoping to cause some tears with this.

Gilbert had disappeared again.

It was always terrifying when he vanished, because you knew the only reason he had for leaving without saying a word - he was unwell. Like a wounded or sick animal, Gil removed himself from the palace to find a place he could rest until either he felt better or he perished. Thankfully he had always returned, but you still hated every time he left, feeling helpless and worried sick that you might not see him again.

Walter knew before you did. He always knew when Gil left, but he wasn't allowed to say anything. That, in itself, was a giveaway on why you couldn't find your husband. Just looking at Walter these days answered the question for you since you had danced this routine enough times to know when Gil had told him to keep things from you. Today, Walter refused to make eye contact with you when you visited his office in the medical ward, pretending like he didn't see you enter. You didn't even need to ask. That was enough.

Roderic knew, though he didn't know where Gil ran off to, or even if it was the same location each time. Walter was likely the only one who truly knew where Gil was. Roderic was painfully aware whenever Gilbert disappeared, scared that his master - his friend - would never return. Since you became a part of their lives, Roderic would stay with you on those long days that Gil vanished and the two of you would hold hands and try to keep each other's minds off the possibility. Neither of you wanted to voice that possibility.

As night fell, the black castle felt darker and more hollow without Gilbert's presence. Alone in your shared room, you restlessly waited for your husband's return. Some absences would span a few days, some only a few hours. Today turned to tomorrow, and a sleepless night passed you by with still no word from him.

Another day with Roderic for company. Another attempt to keep your thoughts from spiraling to the worst case. Perhaps baking would help. Gil could return to an abundance of sweets and maybe, just maybe he'll understand how hard it is for you when he goes off like this.

Another dusk leaving you alone with your fears for company in your shared room. Another sleepless night. Another morning that looks more gray than the previous. Three days was the longest he had ever spent away. It had only been two. There was still hope he would return, though that hope was a candle in the fury of a storm right now, barely keeping lit.

“You need to sleep.” Walter scolded.

“I want to see him as soon as he comes home.” It was a silly reason to keep yourself from sleeping, but even if you attempted to rest, you'd be haunted by the thought of him dying somewhere alone. He was alone right now. Alone and sick.

“I'll wake you when he gets back.” Roderic offered.

You're tired. A short rest would be good for you, but… “I'm scared.”

The tears start falling as you hug yourself. Walter looks away, cursing Gilbert for putting you through this. Roderic watches you, unable to offer any assurances. He's scared, too.

Laying on the large bed you share with your husband, it feels so cold and empty. The sunshine doesn't touch here even with the curtains opened. Your pillow is wet from your tears. You can't seem to quell them.

“I'll be right outside,” Roderic promises.

What good would that do? You're still alone in this large room. Exhaustion weighs your eyelids down until you fall into darkness.

You wake into darkness. The large windows are filled with the night sky. The room has no candles nor lamps lit. A shadow stands near the bed, far enough that his presence is hidden but the dull, midnight light from the sky beyond the windows outlines his form. His black hair shines like obsidian and you draw in a sharp breath.

“Gil?” You whisper his name, fearful that the slightest noise would wake you from this dream and he would fade away like an apparition.

He doesn't answer. He's not really there. Again tears well in your eyes and stream down your cheeks.

“Don't cry, Little Rabbit.” He steps towards the bed, out of the shadows. “Did you miss me that much?”

His red eye gleams from the starlight. His smile is perfectly placed. Now that he's closer you can see the layers he's wearing, still in his cloak, he must have just arrived. You glance towards the door, wondering why Roderic didn't wake you. The closed door gives no answers, though it is clearly late so perhaps he went to bed.

Throwing the blankets off, you jump out of bed and run to your love. You throw your arms around him and nuzzle into his chest and the tears come faster. “Yes, I missed you that much!”

Shakily drawing in breaths between your outpouring of feelings and the sobs you try to swallow down, you continue as you cling to him. “Everytime you leave like that I don't know if I'm ever going to see you again! It's been three days! I thought the worst and I couldn't sleep and you can't keep doing this to me!”

Slowly, Gil's arms wrap and you. Gently, he rubs circles on your back to soothe you. He leans down to softly drop a warm kiss to your forehead. He has no words to comfort you. He makes no promises. He never does.

“That was the last time.”

Except, this time he does.

He's warm in your arms.

You draw back as the horrible realization hits you. Looking up into his single red eye that holds more emotions than Gil ever expressed, you take a step backwards. Shaking your head as if it would do any good to convince yourself this wasn't happening, you back up another step.

“No no no. No. Please. No!” A third step has you stumbling into the bed, falling onto it. You can't even feel your legs anymore.

The man posing as Gilbert slowly came closer. The man who hadn't woke you on your husband's return, because he had never returned. Roderic delicately cups your jaw. Warm hands. He wipes your tears, even as new ones fall. Warm fingers. He speaks in such a sweet voice. A voice you love. “It's alright, Little Rabbit. You won't have to miss me ever again.”

Grief so deep you never thought possible drowns your heart and sobs wrack you. Warm lips kiss your eyes as your pain pours out.

Somehow he was on the bed next to you and you fall against his shoulder. Warm arms hold you close.

He murmurs words of affection and hushes soothing encouragement. And when your sobs finally die down to hiccups and gasps and shuddering breaths, you find a handkerchief already in hand to help clean your face. He guides you through the movements you are too numb to manage on your own.

His lips touch the corner of your mouth. Dazed, you turn towards him and your husband's face looks so forlorn. Fingers touch below your chin, lifting it for lips once again to touch yours. So soft. A slow blink from you and you find your voice.

“Roderic–”

“Gil.” He corrects, and the offer is so tempting.

You knew this was always the plan. You hoped it would be a long time from now, and you had pushed it from your mind. But the time has come and now… it would be so easy to close your eyes and pretend it was all a bad dream.

“Gil.” You repeat, your eyelids falling close.

“That's right, Little Rabbit.”

It's his voice that gusts across your lips. 

A nibble on your bottom lip and a longing sigh rises from your throat. It's his teeth that catches you, so familiar in pain and pleasure.

His tongue touches yours and you can almost believe that he's still there with you. Your mouths move together, chasing the memory of the man you love through clumsy movements that aren't quite right.

It hurts so much. Your chest aches and head throbs and you just want to forget. 

Fingers find clasps, and pull ties, and brush clothing from both of your bodies. Were they yours or his? Does it matter?

Teeth sink into flesh and tongue soothes the pain and your body responds to the training you've endured to appreciate the way his love feels on you. Marks blossom on your skin from his mouth that burns too hot.

Your eyes burn, tears forming between eyelids squeezed tight.

Your chest burns, bleeding out from the inside.

Your groin burns, desire whispering sweetly that if you just let go it'll be alright.

Think of him.

Think of him.

It hurts so, so much.

Your fingers tangle in his hair. His fingers push inside of you. You cry out his name as he rubs along your inner walls, exploring you for the first time, finding the places that cause you to buck into his hand and whimper and moan.

He learns quickly. He has always known.

New overlaps with old as your husband touches on memories from times before. Building that sweet ache in the pit of your belly. Causing your cunt to throb and drip making lewd sounds that your lusty moans overshadow.

You're on your back and he's over you. When did you lie down? He pulls his fingers out of you and you whimper in frustration. You were so close to covering the hurt in your heart with the pleasure of climax and he snatched it away.

He's gone.

A single sob breaks between your gasping breaths. Tears brim again between your closed eyelids. They fall hot, so hot down the sides of your face. You're empty. Alone.

His cock touches your wet folds and you crack your eyes to see your lover with damp lashes. He looks away and buries his face in your neck as he buries his cock inside of you. Your back arches and thighs cling to his hips, as he clings to you with strong arms and roaming hands.

He pumps into you and you can't help but rock with him to squeeze and drag and churn his dick inside of you. Fingers digging into his back. Nails biting skin. He gasps and whimpers and moans near your ear. You love to hear him. His teeth dig into you. It hurts so good.

You're not alone. Your voice grows louder. He's relentless. Pounding your sex and knocking every moan out of you. Biting you again, and again, and again. Your cunt clenching tight as the pressure in your pelvis reaches a tipping point.

His thrusts turn too eager. His rhythm lopes out of pace. But you're so, so close! Please! Just– “Ah! Gil!” His hot hands grip your hips and he slams into you finding his rhythm again and he moans and heat and orgasm and shivers and spasms snap through you.

Your thoughts go blank, flooded with relief from the throbbing from before. Euphoria washes over you, wave after wave as your cunt continues to clench sending another crashing over you, then another. Gil slowed down his pumping to ride out the squeezing milking his cock. And just as you finally thought you were coming to the end of your climax, Gil thrusts deeper, his pelvis flush against yours, trying to push further still as he spills his seed into you.

You gasp. He breathes heavily on top of you. You hold him pressed against you– too hot. So hot. He's stifling. He clings to you. He needs you to smother his own pain. Pain you understand because the both of you share it. Pain neither of you can ever talk about.

He's gone. The two of you are together but his absence in this room you share with your husband is felt, as if there was a void that could never be filled. You hold each other, your hearts bleeding for the same person. Silent tears will be shed and it hurts. So. So. Much.

[lou-struck]

Snow Day

Tetsuro Kuroo x reader

WC: 1k

~ It's a dark and gloomy Monday morning. The kind that would be wonderful to spend in bed. But unfortunately, you have to get up and go to work, or do you?

Winter mornings are quite strange; your cozy bedroom is still flooded with darkness as your phone alarm pulls you from your slumber. It takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust to this different kind of darkness. Instead of the blackness of the night sky, your world is tinted dark gray from the clouds that cover the fading stars and rising sun, whose light would usually peak in through your frost-covered window. 

Your sheets are warm and far too comfy to abandon, especially when you are curled up in a tender pile of limbs with your boyfriend, Tetsuro Kuroo. 

The raven-haired man snores softly next to you. His face buried in the crook of your neck he sleeps. It's so nice; your eyelids feel heavy as you sink deeper into your pillow, and your mind feels like it's reaching out to the hazy cloud of sleep that looms above you tauntingly. You feel as if you are almost able to grab a corner of it and pull your weary consciousness back into dreamland. 

Until the harsh blaring sound of not just one but two alarm clocks sends you back to reality, your body jolts awake, and you reach blindly over to your nightstand to grab your phone and silence the damn beeping noise.

Sleep would've been wonderful, but you forgot something very important this dark, sleepy morning. It's Monday, which means you both have to get up and go to work.

"Tetsu," you croak. Your first words of the day come out far choppier than you would have liked as you reach over your sleeping boyfriend to shut off his alarm. "We gotta get up."

"Nah, Come on, baby," a sleep-laced voice tickles the shell of your ear as his pale limbs pull you back into the comfort of his chest. "Don't you want to stay here and be cozy all day?"

You consider his words for a moment, but you pull yourself away from his tempting pile of cuddles with a sleepy sigh. "Can't." Your feet find the carpet and your lips turn upwards in a smile when you see the look of disappointment on the man's face. "We gotta go be adults."

"That's miserable." he groans as you slip away. Without your warmth, the bed feels less comfortable than it did a moment ago and he reluctantly slides out of bed just the same as you. 

You guys slip into your morning routine easily, standing on either side of your bed as you make it. Folding and smoothing each layer of your still-warm sheets. 

He notices that one of your pillows has been launched across the room, "Hmm, it looks like someone was angry at the pillows again." he teases, pointing to the little round decorative pillow that serves no use to either of you. 

"I was not," you say defensively. "It was probably just trying to escape since we don't use it." When he raises a brow at you, you cease with your anti-throw pillow tirade and walk over to the frosty windowed area to get the little guy and place him back on your bed. 

When you reach down, you are able to see a bit of the outside from a clear spot on the otherwise frost-covered window. The world around you is covered in white. Joy and nostalgia fill your heart as you see the thick blanket of snow that covers everything in sight. It encases your cars and decorates the treetops, and you turn to Tetsuro in excitement. 

"Tetsu! Look outside." you gasp, flicking your wrist and tossing the small pillow back onto the bed. 

"What's got you all riled up?" He walks over and sees the winter wonderland awaiting you outside and smiles. "Oh, Where did all this come from? I checked the paper yesterday and didn't see any snow in the forecast."

"Maybe you should look elsewhere for weather updates." you tease. Tetsuro has always been a bit of an old soul when it came to things like reading the paper or prepping his coffee black, even though he hates the taste. 

If he heard your jest, he doesn't reply. Instead of using his long legs to stride across, he uses his long legs to stride across the bedroom over to his nightstand, where his phone sits, lit up with a new notification. 

You notice from your bedside table your device lights up just the same. There is a skip in your step as you pad across the carpet to see who could possibly be texting you at this hour.

Due to last night's heavy snowfall, management has decided that the roads are too perilous for our valued employees to go into the office today. Any meetings or presentations are to happen over Zoom. -Thanks, Management

The short and sweet message from your higher-ups brings a gleeful smile to your face because you are one of the lucky few who have absolutely no meetings planned for today. Letting out a happy squeal, you set your phone back onto your nightstand and power it off. 

You won't be needing it anyway…

Slender arms wrap around your midsection as your boyfriend's warm breath tickles the shell of your ear. "Let me guess, you have a Snow day?"

"Mmmhmm," you nod excitedly, "And what about you?"

You feel his grin against your neck. "Snow day." he purrs. "What should we do first, my Love?" 

A new day wiped free of commitments doesn't always land at your feet like this; with so many possibilities, a part of you wonders how you can choose just one thing. 

But there is another part of you that knows exactly how you should start the day. Your body moves on its own accord as you flop back down on the bed, toss the stupid little throw pillow to its spot across the room, and wiggle under the blankets, effectively undoing the first productive thing you had done this morning. 

"I'm going back to bed." you declare, earning a hyena-like cackle from your boyfriend. 

"Good answer," he smirks. His long arms stretch out to close the curtains and darken the room so the pair of you can enjoy the rest of your day off snuggled up in each other's arms.

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network

[bored-storyteller]

Warning: none

Twisted Wonderland, Jamil Viper x Reader

Brekfast

“It's not dawn yet, what are you doing here?”

His voice sounds like a gust of wind in the desert, powerful and sweet, warm and elusive at the same time. And look at you, busy holding back the yawns from sleep deprivation.

Yet today you weren't able to get there before him. Indeed, it would seem that Jamil was waiting for you, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded across his chest.

You feel like a trapped mouse as you hold the still warm bag in your hands.

“Good morning…” you manage to stammer. You haven't done anything wrong, yet being caught in the act agitates you, embarrasses you and maybe even scares you a little.

"Good morning." He's cordial, but you feel the pressure of things to do already pressing into his voice.

While he's already talking to you, he moves around the kitchen, taking ingredients and utensils to prepare the breakfast of his precious housewarden.

It's the fifth time you've sneaked out in the wee hours of the morning to leave that little bag in the kitchens knowing full well that the busy deputy would show up early, but up until now you've timed it beautifully and your identity has remained a mystery. At least that's what you hoped.

“It's very kind of you.” His voice is soft and formal as he cuts fruit into wedges, and his lack of attention to you kind of irritates and surprises you at the same time.

“Very kind…” he resumes “I'm sure Kalim would surely like it if you gave it to him in person.”

You're looking at his back, his face is hidden from you, yet you suddenly feel watched.

You blink in confusion, unsure of what's really going on between you and him in that room.

“It's not for Kalim.” You say, but you're not entirely sure it was necessary, or perhaps it isn't for the reasons he wants you to believe.

His cutting stops: "Oh no?"

He is smiling. You can swear. Or maybe not?

“It's for you, Jamil.” It doesn't matter if he's faking it or really ignoring your feelings, you know he wants to hear it.

Finally he looks at you, there's a slight smile on his lips, he's amused and maybe deep down there's a veil of poisonous sweetness, but it's not mean.

“What an extremely generous thought, and to think you've gone to such great lengths for someone like me-”

“Jamil.” You stop it. You have enough confidence to do it, because now you know he's acting. You don't know what face he's hiding, but the humble, compliant servant is a mask you're not willing to accept, and he knows it.

A grin rumbles in his chest: "forgive me, but it's the reality of the facts."

For a moment his eyes return to his work, time to fill a bowl with fruit and topping it with ingredients he knows, but now again her attention is completely and patently all yours.

“I did well then.”

“To do what?”

The fruit salad he has prepared is suddenly in front of you, waiting to be taken from his hands. You grab the cup with a wonder you don't know you have.

“Not to give it to him...” he replies to you, while he retrieves the bag that you brought. By unrolling the upper part, he peeks at its contents.

You're not sure what it is, but there's something different than usual in his gaze: maybe it's just a light, or a nuance, or the way his eyebrows fold differently.

“And…this is for me…?” You ask, still unsure what to do with that little treat you're holding.

He looks at you, an amused snort escapes his lips but his voice is as formal as ever: “This is just a small attempt to repay your extreme kindness towards me.”

The way he looks at you is as impenetrable as that small smile he gives you, and you wonder if you're just a little mouse drawn into the snake's coils.

“You're looking for trouble yourself, you know that?” There is laughter hidden in the folds of his voice as he responds to your thoughts.

He is close to you now, you can see up close his cold gray irises set in the feline cut of the eyelids. They have the color of cooled coal, yet heaven only knows how much those eyes burn with forbidden feelings.

“You got lost?” He asks you with an awareness that he doesn't even pretend to hide.

“No…” you murmur, but as you do he moves closer to you again, until his hand brushes your cheek.

The kiss he gives you is delicate, but too unconventional to be innocent. His lips remain resting just below your ear, in a barely perceptible, yet prolonged contact.

You never thought snakes could bite so sweetly.

When you can finally see him again there's a not-so-tacit satisfaction in his gaze.

“Can we eat together?” Jamil asks you sliding his slender fingers along your arm, until they gently encircle his wrist. You nod, because you can't give up.

Who knows how the dark asp will poison you. Do you really care, deep down?

Even if he pretends to swipe the way your hands end up squeezing together makes you think that maybe yes, you really are in its dangerous coils, but maybe they don't wrap you around to hurt you.

[rainswept]

hihi @kaeyas-beloved !! this was for the secret santa — i’m so sorry it was so late, i had some complications with my health that made it so i was unable to write. i hope you had a great christmas and new years!

blood. childe.

1k words. cw. mentions of drowning/death/violence (in the past)

“One day, I’ll take you to my homeland for winter.”

Nestled in the stomach of the gray patterned bowl Childe holds is a steaming soup, tentacles and crab legs still simmering in a blood red sea.

Beneath the chilling blanket of the abyss he lies, frail and wounded and young. He scrambles to find himself — he hides his throat and bares his teeth — he gains a scar and is sure he’s killed hundreds. With desperation, he lashes out at anything that moves, whether he can see it or not. Sometimes he lands a hit. Sometimes he gets hurt. Sometimes he stumbles in the dark and awaits a blow that never comes.

Garnish and pools of oil bubble up beside it like a delectable hot spring, savory delights wrapped up in little pockets of half-translucent dew.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight. While he can still breathe, blood fills the gaps in remaining senses he has — a metallic taste on his tongue and a sticky thing under his fingernails.

“It snows a lot more than this.”

He cannot feel nor hear a way up, so he goes down.

The darkness settles around him until he no longer has any use for his eyes, and it seeps into mouth and drips down his throat until he can no longer draw breath. Drowning. The sting of his cuts gnaws at his skin and he wraps his fingers tight around the bleeding. Drowning. Drowning. Still drowning.

He sits down on the couch beside you, wood in the fireplace crackling and snapping as he settles. His fingers are bare, free of the gloves that separate him and the blood he spills, and they slip out from beneath the bowl so carefully it barely makes a noise as it settles down onto the wooden coffee table.

He brandishes his sword, spear, claymore, bow. He swings and shoots with a feral vengeance, and he blocks with desperation to protect. One day, he is afraid it will not be enough.

Teucer, Tonia, Anthon — his siblings flash before his eyes. Then you. You, your sweet words and your comforting embrace and your gentle touch as you wash the blood away from his skin. It is washed down the pristine porcelain sink without a second thought, and if a wound is revealed in the process, you bandage it wordlessly. What did he do to deserve that? This he often wonders, though he has never dared to voice it.

Your fingers wrap around his torso, and you place your head against the crook of his neck. His eyelids grow heavy.

People may look at Childe and think, above all else, he is a fighter.

He wouldn’t say they are wrong.

Like melting chocolate wedged between a graham cracker and molten-hot marshmallow — he did always like to make those — he sinks down into your embrace as if it’s the last time he will ever get the chance to.

To be an older sibling, a Harbinger, a lover, is to be a protector. And to protect, most often, you must fight.

He is a fighter — he always has been — that doesn’t change when he dons the codename Childe, or the title Tartaglia, and especially not when he thinks of his family calling out the name “Ajax”. Especially not.

He casts a nostalgic look out of the window. It glitters like forlorn stars scattered about the night sky, hazy memories and long-forgotten childhood dreams that are now realized to never have had a chance to come true.

Drowning.

You pick at your bowl, and he thinks you are humoring him. “Does it, now?”

He laughs. It’s a warm sound, not like the one he makes before a fight, no. It’s genuine, scattered stars in every crack in his voice like that of the ever-burning fireplace in the living room.

“Of course.”

Drowning.

Childe’s grip on his spoon tightens, and his eyes flick to the blooming bouquet, a proud centerpiece on the wooden dining table. He reaches out to adjust one of them that had risen out of the water.

...

Beneath the quelled sky when it’s cold is a myriad of memories, old and new, past, present, and future tangled into a flowering embrace despite the unchanging blanket of snow.

Seeds of hope of all kinds will bud or die, sprout up through the ice as it melts, prove that they are strong. They are steadfast, loyal, and resilient. Like him. Like the Tsaritsa, he hopes. Like his siblings. Like you.

Over and over again, the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger had coaxed blood to spill by his hand. He had stolen it from warm bodies and watched as they grew cold.

He holds you closer as he takes a sip of the soup. Here, he is reminded everything he stands for — why he is still here in the first place. The warmth of your hand, the forgiveness of your touch, the light in his siblings eyes that he is making sure does not get stolen from them like it did his.

Blood, pouring from a wound until eyes grow dim and hazy; blood, the family he had and would spill his to protect; blood, carefully encapsulated in safe veins, blushing cheeks, flushed skin. Love. The warmth in his home, the hull of the ship, the blade of the knife, the seed of the flower. The reason why he survived the abyss, and the reason why he survives now. You cleaning his wounds and him making sure you don’t suffer any.

Love is a tender night like this, sipping on specialty soups, curled up in front of a fireplace as a storm rages outside; limbs tangled beneath soft blankets, fleeting kisses filled with affection. He sinks into your embrace and wraps his arms around you, head resting on your shoulder as you run your fingers through his hair.

Childe was always devoted to his life, his family, you. Everything he did was to protect something he held dear.

He didn’t regret a thing, for that meant you were safe, and he was too. Here, right now, taking breaths of fresh air one by one. Breathing. For once in his life, his head was above the water, and he wasn’t fighting with every ounce of energy to stay there.

i’m sorry this is quite short, but i hope you liked it regardless! i’m not entirely sure how to write for childe, but i’ve wanted to for a while so i figured this was a good time to seize the opportunity.

[sailorsally]

Oh come on. Misha didn't get that eyelid surgery to "see better". He could see just fine. He got the surgery because his eyes were saggy and he's a vain recently-divorced middle-aged actor. If people online start talking about how his teeth look gross and fucked up with all those old metal fillings he'll probably get them fixed too. Just like he doesn't work out like a maniac "for his health." He works out as much as he does because he was briefly chubby as a kid and is self-conscious about becoming fat as an adult (Jensen's "like an angel plushie" comment at that first con after lockdown obviously hit a nerve.) No hate. But come on. It's vanity. He lost a whole tooth last year and quickly got it replaced. Not because he "needed" to, but because it was noticeable and fucked up looking to be missing a tooth. He uses tanning beds even though they are super bad for your health. Vanity. He's maybe not as vain as Jensen or Jared, but he's still very aware of his looks.

Why are you so bitter lmao 🤣 Vanity is definitely a part of his profession and sadly the world is built in that way that unless you are hot you won't get much of work as an actor. However, I still believe the eyelid surgery was very much about seeing better because my mother also has sagging skin on eyes much like Misha and is looking to schedule an appointment. As for exercise, Misha was always working out, even before the Jensen comments, I think y'all are giving Jensen too much of a credit. People ARE supposed to take care of their bodies, you are making it sound like it's an evil thing. However, if he was exercising just for vainity reasons he wouldn't have worn out both of his hips! He has said it before that exercise keeps him grounded and helps with anxiety so yes, I believe he did start training harder after divorce because he needed it, mentally as well as physically, there is no shame in that.

If Misha was as vain as you insist he is, he wouldn't post a selfie where you could see his old fillings in the first place! Or he wouldn't post photos of him where his hair is graying, or photos of him where his eyes are barely visible because of so many wrinkles! As for missing a tooth, it's customary to replace the missing tooth, even if you aren't a fucking Hollywood actor!

As for going to a tanning salon, it's his choice what he does with his body but I think evening out his jogging tan is by no means the peak of vanity.

I think I have covered every point in your ask. I guess calling a dude who has been wearing the same $20 shirt for 5 consecutive years and has admitted to getting a pedicure for the first time only last year vain really hit a nerve with me.