#but did you really expect me to do this *without* them?

[fungateshortcakes]

Tummy ache

Do I have kids? No. Do I want kids? Fuck no. Did I still write this because dad logan makes me feel a certain type of way? HELL YES

Pairing: Worst!Logan x single mom!Reader

Summary: It's late and your little daughter Laura won't stop crying and screaming, no matter what you do. You take her to your best friend Wade, who lives in the same apartment buildung. Will he and Logan be able to help you?

Wordcount: 3.4k

Warning/tags: english is not my first language, fluff, slight missunderstandings, Wade bc he needs a warning, implied sexual themes, friends to lovers, just cuteness, Laura doesn't exists as an adult like in the movie, rushed ending?, leave me alone I finished this at midnight

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Logan was snoring on the couch in Wades apartment when loud, frantic knocks sounded on the door. He grumbled in annoyance as he turned, pulling a pillow over his head.

He heard Wade skip to the door in a pair of white underpants with hearts on them and a loose, grey wolverine fangirl shirt. "Must be the horse dildo I ordered" he spoke happily as if it was the most normal thing to say. Once Wade opened the door, the piercing shrieks of a baby crying echoed through the apartment.

You held your one year and a half old daughter in your arms, her face red as she cried into your shoulder. Wade noted that your hair was a mess and you seemed awfully tired. Well- it was late and on any other day, you and your daughter would already be sleeping. But there was clearly something that bothered her. She had been crying and screeching and in discomfort for an hour without you finding what caused it or how to fix it.

You tried feeding her, but she wouldn't open her mouth for the spoon. You tried reading to her, but she would always push away the books. You changed her diapers in case her sensitive skin was irritated by the dampness, but she hadn't peed. You didn't know why she was so distressed and nothing seemed to distract her from whatever it was that made her cry.

You were desperate. And while your best friend Wade wasn't really...fond of kids, which you couldn't blame him for, you still went to him for help. You never truly wanted kids yourself. But when the condom broke and your ex left you upon finding out you were pregnant, you were stuck with your baby. And now you wouldn't trade her for the world. Except in times where she was screaming with no appearant reason. "Hey Wade, I'm so sorry to bother you guys this late at night, but Laura, she won't stop crying. I've tried everything and I don't know what to do" you croaked, rocking the small child in your arms, shushing her to no avail.

Wade brought you inside so you wouldn't stay outside in the hallway any longer. No need for some neighbors to peek their head out of their doors to see what was going on.

In situations like these, Wade could be oddly serious and actually tried to help. He knew you were insecure because of your baby. You didn't want to be a nuisance or burden to anyone because you knew that your daughter could be a lot. Kids were high maintanance and you didn't want to make people feel like they were obligated to make room and drop everything once you arrived with your child. You couldn't expect from anyone that they were okay with you bringing your kid over. But Wade wanted you to know that even though he didn't like kids, you were his best friend and Laura had been nothing but a sweetheart so far. You were always welcome in his apartment.

Wade kicked Logan from the couch "Get your fat ass off the couch, the Lady needs a place to sit" he loudly said over Lauras crying. Logan groaned. You sat on the sofa and tried to take up as little space as possible. "Im sorry Logan, didn't want to disturb your sleep." you apologized meekly. "I can..I can move to the chair here" you muttered, pointing to an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair that replaced an armchair, which had recently been thrown out of the apartment due to mysterious stains and various rips and cuts in the fabric.

You had met Logan a few times since he lived with Wade and Althea. And you would be a liar if you said he didn't catch your eye. He was tall, broad and very handsome, pretty much right up you alley. But there was no way he was looking for a chaotic single mother that barely had her life together and struggled to raise an unplanned child because her ex left her. Yeah, no. You were miserable. Logan didn't need any of that.

Adding to that, he always seemed to avoid you when Laura was near. You just thought he didn't like kids, which was totally fair. Truthfully, Logan liked kids and had always wanted some of his own, but it just...never happened. With him being the worst wolverine and all.

Then why did he avoid you and your baby?

Simply said, he didn't want to scare her. Most kids looked at him like he was some sort of big, bad monster. Some ran away, some started crying, others hid from him behind their parents when he walked by. He wasn't good with children either because they never let him close enough before getting scared. He was afraid that Laura would react the same way like all children did. He didn't want you to back away once you realised that Laura didn't approve of him.

He couldn't bear only seeing you from afar.

As you were about to stand up from the couch, Logan stopped you. "No, its fine. Stay on the couch. I can move" he replied and you felt another pang as he moved away from you again.

Wade leaned over the couch, looking down at Laura who was still wailing uncontrollably. You sighed deeply, a throbbing ache behind your eyes. "Why won't you stop crying? What's wrong, sweetheart?" you nearly sobbed as well. You were so tired of this, so tired of this sound. You felt so helpless and stupid. "Maybe she wants some food? We have some left-over pizza, I can grind that stuff up into a slurry for her or something" Wade suggested.

You softly shook your head. "She doesn't want to eat, I tried. I also tried to read her a bedtime story, but she just push me away. I also changed her diapers but nothing helped" you rasped, ready to just fall asleep on the spot.

Wade reached down to get your crying daughter out of your arms. "How about you get some sleep while Wolvie and I take care of Laura? Maybe we'll find out what's rubbing her the wrong way." Wade said, cooing to your crying baby. You fell onto the couch, closing your eyes. "I can't just sleep when she is crying" you mumbled, clearly deadly tired.

"We'll take care of her. You go sleep" Logan drawled and his deep voice soothed you even more, made you even more sleepy. It was so easy to let your body betray your mind and you hated it. "Okay..." you whispered, too tired to argue. And before you could snuggle into the couch cushions, you felt two strong arms slip under your body and lifting you up as if you weighted nothing. You were so tired, you couldn't even gasp or protest as Logan brought you into Wades room, your senses enveloped with his scent.

He carefully lowered you down onto the matress, covering you up with a blanket. "Sleep tight, love. We'll take great care of your little one, so you don't have to worry about a thing" he drawled softly and only after closing the door behind him did he hope that you hadn't catched his slip-up, that he had called you love.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

In had been another two hours of constant crying and screaming. The kid must be exhausted from all the crying, but she still didn't stop. If you asked Logan, it became even worse.

"God, can you shut up for a minute? I am trying everything here!" Wade stressed, bouncing Laura in his arms and patting her back. "Don't tell your mom I said that" he whispered right after. Laura wailed and pushed herself away from Wade with her tiny hands, which were surprisingly really strong. She squirmed in his grasp, desperate to be set down.

"This is how you thank me? I've worked my ass off the past hour to get everything to your liking and now you push me away?" he grumbled, but set her down with a loud 'ouch!' after she started to scratch him.

Her tiny feet waddled against the livingroom floor as fat tears rolled down her chubby cheeks. She had a tummy ache, but she couldn't communicate that with anyone. There were a few words she knew and could say- cat, dog, mama. But she didn't have the words to say that something was hurting.

Logan sat on the couch and watched her as she stood a few feet away from him with her red face, screaming together the whole neighborhood. He sighed deeply, the sound making his ears ring. Then, out of nowhere, she waddled over to him.

"No, no, bub. Not a good idea. Get back to uncle Wade" he told her, scooting up the couch a bit more. He could have just stood up and walk away- why didn’t he? Laura stood between his legs now, demanding uppies from him as she cried. Logan shook his head, ready to call Wade from the kitchen, when Laura began screetching, stretching herself to Logan, standing on her small tip toes.

With a huff, he picked her up, his big and warm hands eveloping her small body. He leaned back against the couch with her on his lap. To his surpise, she quieted down. "You okay now, bub?" he asked her, jumping as she snuggled herself against his chest. Due to his mutation, Logan was always very warm. His whole body was like a heater and that warmth soothed Lauras tummy ache, unbeknownst to him.

The apartment was quiet now, only a few hiccups and sighs coming from Laura as she let her stomach ache be washed away by Logans cozy warm body. He didn't know what to do! One minute he was tortured by her screams and now she was napping on him. On him! Out of all people, she chose to rest on him.

"Is she dead!?" It was now Wades turn to yell as he came stumbling into the kitchen because it suddenly went all quiet. Logan didn't answer him nor did he move a muscle, too scared to wake your baby up.

"What the fuck" Wade blurted out upon seeing something he had never thought he would ever witness in his entire life. Logan shushed him, making Wade frown. He came closer, his face next to Lauras sleeping one "You little cheating slut" he sharply whispered, earning himself a shove from Logan. "Seriously, did you knock her out? Why is she sleeping all of a sudden?" Wade asked with crossed arms.

"I don't know. She wanted me to pick her up, so I did. Then she stopped crying and fell asleep" Logan explained, a warm feeling spreading in his chest as he watched the slow rise and fall of Lauras breath, her tiny hand tightly holding onto his shirt.

"Wow" Wade said. "You're the baby whisperer" Logan shot him a glare.

Wade went on a rant about how everything would have been easier if Logan took Laura from the start before finally falling asleep draped over the chair, leaving Logan alone with his thoughts. For a moment, Logan thought about bringing Laura to you so she could sleep with her mom. But as he tried to peel her off of him, she started fuzzing and whimpering until she was laying back on his chest.

He sighed deeply. Well, gotta make the best of the situation, huh? With a grunt, he made himself comfortable on the couch and fell asleep with a broad hand securily holding Laura on top of him.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

You woke up well rested. Weird. You haven't slept this good since Laura had been born.

Laura!

You jumped awake, stumbling over some stuff in Wades room before you reached the door. It was quiet as you opened it and you were met with the sight of Logan, the fucking Wolverine, sound asleep with your daughter cuddled up on him as if he was some kind of big teddy.

Your heart soared in your chest, your stomach did flips and summer saults. And your pussy throbbed. Couldn't help it, seeing him with your baby did something to your ovaries. It was...so cute. You wanted nothing more than to snuggle up with them, trace patterns onto his pecks while Laura would squeak out an adorable smile-

"Mama" Laura squealed suddenly, flashing you a smile with her few teeth. "Hey there, baby" you cooed to her, kneeling down next to the couch to be eye-level with her. She smiled brightly, whatever it was that had bothered her yesterday completely forgotten. "You seem happy using uncle Logan as a pillow" you said to her, kissing her chubby cheek.

Logan started waking up, only registering Laura at first. "You slept well, bub?" he muttered with a deep sleep laced voice, gently rubbing Lauras small head with his large hand that easily fitted around the back of her head.

"Yes, I did. Thank you for asking" you giggled softly, amused by the way Logan nearly jumped out of his skin upon noticing that you were there too, witnessing how he went soft for your daughter. An embarrassed blush krept onto his face and he cleared his throat, sitting up and avoiding your gaze. "Sorry, she...she only stopped crying when she sat on my lap"

You smiled softly at him. "Seems like she really likes you, then." and I like you too, you wanted to add, but didn't. "She is usually not that touchy with people she barely met" you said and hearing your reassurance- the fact that Laura seemed to like him- it warmed his heart. But he would never admit that.

"Well, I guess I'm flattered" Logan replied with the hint of a smile, his gaze soft as you lost yourself in his eyes, Lauras babbling fading into the background. For a moment, you let yourself think about what could have been. This baby, it could have been Logans and yours. She could have been born because two people truly loved each other. Did Logan love you? You doubted it. But when he looked at you like that, you allowed yourself to be fooled.

"I don't know how you manage to fuck each other just with your eyes, but get a room. There are children present" Wade suddenly said outraged, covering Mary Puppins eyes.

You picked up Laura from Logans lap, holding her against your hip to bring distance between you, Logan and Wades teasing. Logan cleared his throat, clearly disappointed.

"I am so, so thankful that you guys helped me. I don't know what you did or what was wrong with her, but she seems all better now. Is there anything I can do to show my gratitude? you asked, gently bouncing Laura in your arms.

Logan shook his head "No need, bub" he grumbled in his deep voice. He would have done this a thousand times if it meant he could hold your baby in his arms as if it was his. "Make that creamy ass mac and cheese and my life is yours. That stuff tastes and sounds better than any pussy" Wade chimes in, making you laugh. You promised to invite both of them over for dinner sometimes this week and they happily agreed. Laura squeaked out a cute "bye!" before you went back to your own apartment again.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Ever since that day, visits to either Wades or your apartment became more frequent and Laura couldn't be happier seeing Logan pretty much every day. She would stick to his leg from the minute she saw him and to the last second before he left. It was adorable and made you fall even deeper in love with someone you could never have.

Wade made it his mission to steal Laura away from you and Logan. Partly because he wanted you to spend more time alone, and to teach her some words since he was her 'uncle' after all.

Laura sat on his lap, staring down at Wades phone. He looked over her head. He had a picture open that showed you, Laura, Logan and Wade. "And who is that?" he pointed to you, earning a delighted squeal from Laura as she pointed to your smiling face on the picture as well "Mama!" she babbled. Wade cheered her on, applauding her. "That's right, and that is Dada. Dada" he pointed to Logan. Laura recognized him, smiling brightly and giggling, but she didn't say anything. "Can you say that? Dada?" Wade asked in the best baby voice he could muster. But still, Laura wouldn't say anything. "Come on, say Dada. Da-da" Wade tried one last time, but Laura unwrapped himself from his arms to go and play with some toys scrattered on the floor. He huffed in frustration. It was easier to teach kids swear words than this.

Two days later, the day for the dinner came and someone rang your doorbell. You left Laura to play on her playmat and went over to the door, opening it a slit before realising that it was Logan. You fixed your hair with flushed cheeks, you hadn't expected him to come this early, you had just started the dinner preperations. "Oh, hey Logan. What are you doing here? Dinner was planned in two hours" you said, gingerly letting him into your apartment which you hadn't had the time to tidy up yet. Logan wasn't the guy to judge, but you still felt insecure.

"I thought I'd help you with the cooking and all. Look after Laura so you can work in peace" he said, knowing that he was just here to spend more time with you and Laura alone to give him the feeling of having his own little domestic family that he will never actually experience.

You smiled at him "That's very nice of you, but Laura is actually being very umcomplicated today" speaking of which, you showed him that your kid was silently playing with her toys. Upon noticing you and Logan, she squealed and stood up slowly, trying to keep her balance, before she waddled up to him excitedly. "There's my little pumpkin" he drawled, bending down to pick her up swiftly.

"Dada!" she giggled, making you an Logan stop in your tracks. "Did you hear that?" he asked you, looking over at you with a shocked expression. You frowned. You had never taught her to say that. "Sweetheart, who is that?" You asked the little girl, tapping Logans arm, just to be sure you hadn't heard her incorrectly. "Dada" she squeaks again, playing with his coarse beard.

You both looked at each other in disbelieve and for a second, you feared Logan woulf shove Laura into your arms and leave. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't know where she got that from" you tried to apologize, but the rejection from Logan never came.

He held her lovingly to his chest, giving her forhead a kiss. It made your heart pound faster. "No, it's okay" he reassured you, his large hand enveloping the back of Lauras head. "I...I could be her dad. If you want me to be" his question struck you like lightning, it was like a damn marriage proposal.

A marriage proposal you would never say no to. He looked at you with hopeful eyes, waiting for your answer and worrying he had overstepped.

"Yes. Be the father she never had. And please be the love I always wanted" you whispered, leaning up to kiss him. The kiss was soft, your lips brushing against the other and it was nothing you had ever felt before. You had kissed your ex- but never did it feel like this. So right. His free hand snaked around your waist, deepening the kiss until Laura decided to pull at your shiny necklace.

You smiled at her, taking her into your arms. "Do you want to play with daddy while I make mac and cheese?" you asked your daughter and minutes later, Logan had brought her playmat and some toys into the kitchen to sit beside her on the ground to watch and entertain her. It was like nothing had changed. Little did you know, Logan had accepted the little girl as his daughter way before today, even if you guys had never confessed.

And as you stole glances down to Logan, who was already looking at you with these half lidded bedroom eyes, you knew that after dinner, Logan and you would be trying for Lauras sibling.

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I really hoped you liked this, I feel like I've rusted a bit. Still got a lot of smut ideas and fics open that I need to finish. Wish me luck☹ if you saw any grammatical mistakes, no you didn't. Leave me alone im tired

Btw, thanks to @buck-star for motivation me to finally finish this <33

[remxedmoon]

UPDATE TIME BABY

so!! i’ve been making a lot of edits over the past few days after i noticed a few Issues so!!! i think it’d be a good idea to list them here? consider this an update to this weird little pseudo-mod i’ve accidentally created. plus there’s some extra art here (if you, uh, couldn’t guess from the sprite directly above me :3)

okay!! big news first!! thanks to @horatiocomehome, i finally have access to the actual game files! kinda. at least enough access to actually know what the files are named. so, i’ve renamed all of redraw files to be compatible with the game! this should make it way easier to mod them into the game. yipee! so sorry these weren’t correctly named before auauua

i finally made “official” spritesheets for my battle portrait redraws!! ttthese are not intended to replace @/thea2l112’s mod or anything, i just wanted to make ones that included my custom sprites! because i’m very proud of them. i don’t think the custom sprites should cause any issues, but just in case, i also included versions that exclude them! the only differences you’d actually see in normal gameplay are act5 siffrin’s buff sprite and act6 siffrin’s ko sprite (or lack thereof). you can find them in the portrait redraws folder, but i’ll also include them at the end of this post for ease of access 👍 also the fourth spritesheet doesn’t actually do anything in normal gameplay it’s just there so my custom bonnie and loop sprites have a place to go.

okay the changes here are a little less important so they’re going down here. anyways

added the afterimages(?) for the special attacks! i genuinely didn’t realize these were a thing until one of my partners actually put my cgs in the game. so those exist now!! yipee!!

predictably, isa and mira’s jackpot cgs having different aspect ratios did in fact cause issues. i put in a bandaid fix, but i still can’t actually test it out (and i don’t want to pester pastell about it) so, uh, maybe let me know if you encounter any problems with their placement??

so you might’ve noticed that there’s two copies of each of siffrin’s cgs during the final attack scene? that’s just how it is in the game files. i don’t know why. they’re identical in every way, just there to make sure things work properly 👍

made an alt version of the mal du pays death animation! nothing drastic, just cut out a hole to match the original. probably safer to use the one with the Hole for modding, i don’t know what the layering for the cg is in that scene. alas. sspeaking of death animations though!

so!!! there’s two new sprites for this little update thing!! i forgot to do siffrin’s unused battle portrait during my first batch of redraws, so i went ahead and made it! as you can see above! nothing too difficult, i just reused the lineart from my bigfrin sprite (since they use the same lineart ingame)

second of all!! act6 siffrin death animation :3. or well, i guess it could work in other contexts, but i intended it to be for the twohats fight. idk! thought it’d be fun! use it for whatever you desire

aaaand i think that’s it! again, sorry there were so many issues with this batch! i might’ve drawn these for use in mods and fangames or whatnot, but i really did not expect all the interest and support i’ve received??? at all?? it really means a lot!!! so i want to make this thing as Polished and Complete as i can!

aaaa. enough rambling. if you’ve read this far, thank you!!! i hope the redraws are a little easier to work with now!! here’s the spritesheets as promised, please enjoy :3

spritesheets without custom sprites here v

so all you need to do right now is disappear.

HHHHAPPY ISATVERSARY EVERYONE. here’s redraws for every single battle cg in the game. 36 drawings this time around, with 11 of those being custom (though admittedly a good portion of those are edits). combined with the portrait redraws i made back in september, i’ve made 114 redraws for this project! jesus christ! just like those redraws, these are completely free to use!! as long as i’m credited and it’s not for commercial purposes, go wild!! do whatever you want!!!

no i didn’t make these for isat’s 1 year anniversary this is just wildly good timing.

i genuinely can’t fit all of these cgs in one post even with the 30 image limit on browser, but i’ll still try to fit Most of them below the cut (without making this post horrifically long), along with some notes that might be important 👍

okay! once again, i labeled all of the custom art as such in the drive(UPDATE. NNOT TRUE ANYMORE. reformatted file names to be easier to mod in auau. apologies!), but if you want a full list, the customs are hatless siffrin jackpot, bonnie jackpot, bonnie special attack, bigfrin attack, and a bunch of alts which are definitely not related to any projects i’ve been thinking about don’t worry about it. and out of those customs, only like. 3 of them are actually completely from scratch.

while i did my absolute best to keep the aspect ratios completely the same as the originals, there’s 3 exceptions that i just couldn’t get to work.

isabeau’s hair in his special attack cg wouldn’t fit in frame if i kept things completely accurate to the og, so i moved his cg down a bit. it shouldn’t cause any issues with modding or anything, it’ll just appear slightly lower than it does in game. alas…

isabeau’s sleeve and mirabelle’s hair made their jackpot sprites a little larger than the originals? i’m hoping this doesn’t have too much of an effect (since the jackpot sprites have inconsistent sizes) but i can’t test this myself unfortunately. aaa feel free to let me know on discord if any problems arise!!

i managed to fix these, so they aren’t going to cause problems now, but my original drawings for mirabelle and siffrin in the final attack scene were a pain in the ass to fix. mirabelle’s sprite was slightly too talk to fit in frame and siffrin’s hat whacked bonnie in the face while i was editing everyone together. i’m only mentioning this because it took like an hour and a half to fix them and finish the scene.

all that aside, these were a fucking BLAST to work on. apparently this ended up taking 57 hours over exactly 10 days. which is a little worrying if you do the math on that but somehow i have not burnt myself out. i will be doing enemies at some point!!! but probably not for a little bit. i think my friends will actually kill me if i don’t take a break.

once again, happy birthday isat. you’ve ruined my life and i wouldn’t have it any other way (silly).

also, on an actual serious note, this little timeloop game has genuinely changed my life for the better? you guys are probably sick of hearing it at this point (or maybe not, i don’t talk about myself That Much. i hope), but i was practically a ghost for about 2 years before joining this fandom. it’s a little surreal to suddenly have friends (plural!!!) and people who Care about me, or even know i exist, honestly. it’s weird!! in a good way!!!

i don’t think i would’ve ever come back to social media if this community wasn’t so welcoming. i’ve met a lot of really great people through this game!!! so, uh, thank you isat, i guess. here’s to another year.

[love44lew]

everywhere, as long as its with you

彡drivers franco colapinto

彡genre spanish speaking reader! x franco colapinto, fic/smau

彡summary your boyfriend became an f1 driver, now you travel the world with him

彡notes im still pretty new to making smaus so please excuse the lack of order ToT.. i was also thinking about turning this into like a mini series since i ended up liking the plot more than expected while wring. let me know what you guys think!! other than that, thank you for reading ♡︎

you’re sitting on the knitted hanging chair outside your boyfriends argentina home, the sunset view was always so beautiful from this view—especially because he lived in the mountains where you could see everything. theres not a place in the world you would rather be. with your digital camera you snap a photo of the sunset, the quality of the camera giving the view a nostalgic feel. you close your eyes and take in the breeze brushing past your skin.

———

yourusername

location: puerto iguazú, argentina

yourusername digital camera in 🇦🇷❣️

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francolapinto ahh taking pictures behind my back !?

yourusername @/francolapinto sorry baby 🤫❤️

———

then you hear loud heavy footsteps scurrying from inside the house, causing you to open your eyes open again, glance around, roll them and then close them again. you sat peacefully for a total of five seconds before a frantic franco screams your name from inside the house, causing you to wince at the sudden noice.

“come!! quickly!” franco rushed you into the house. the two of you sat at the dinner table, you still didnt know what was happening but franco was getting a phone call and his leg was bouncing anxiously. “que??” you questioned, he quickly shushed you as he picked up the phone. you rolled your eyes, why did he call you all the way here if he was just gonna want you to be quiet. but also if he did, it must be a really important call.

he put the phone on speaker and placed it down on the table.

“is this franco alejandro colapinto?” a calm soft voice spoke from the other line.

“yes, this is him” franco said in his best english he can muster.

“you are being summoned by williams to attend the british grand prix, you will be driving in fp1.” franco silently looked at you with complete and utter shock in his eyes.

“are you available to attend?” the person asked from the other line in contrary to francos silence.

he searched for reassurance in your eyes, you nodded your head at him pointing to the phone.

“uh.. y-yes!—mm” he cleared his throat “yes, i am” he rephrased in a more collected tone. he couldn’t believe this was happening, after everything he’d gone through—everything he’s sacrificed, everything his family sacrificed, to get to this point. he’d finally made it, even if it was just for fp1, it could possibly lead to him being in a seat one day. franco finished up the phone call, his composure holding on to a thread the whole time until he finally hung up.

immediately he stood up and scooped you into his arms. he tightly held you, taking in your scent and everything you are. he’d finally done it, and he couldn’t have without your help and encouragement. when times got tough, when it felt like he’d never make it, there you were to push him on and make him feel good about himself again. he genuinely doesn’t know what he’d do or where he’d be without you. he cupped your face, his lips clashing with yours into a passionate and loving kiss. the way he kisses you always sends tingles down your spine—the softness of his touches compared to the way his mouth moves against yours. you could feel how much he loves you in every kiss, touch, or words he speaks. his love for you is only in the purest form.

“té quiero, mi amor” his eyes gazed lovingly into yours as your lips detached from each other, his thumbs softly caressing your face, taking in every feature that he loved so dearly.

“im so so proud of you papasito” you wiped the incoming tears that dared to flow down his rosy cheeks. your heart has always been with him and his goals, to see him succeed like this—even if its as little as free practice, it was another door opened for your talented man.

“venga conmigo” franco proposed, the heat of the moment seeming like a perfect time. he couldnt just leave you behind, after everything you’ve done?? he’d want you to be there the most.

“wh- what!?? thats crazy!!” you halfheartedly giggled, only response you could muster from how insane his suggestion was.

“why not? you’re always there for everything else, why not be there for the most special moment? cmon.” his puppy dog eyes are ones you could bear to refuse, his cheeks and nose reddened from all the excitement and happiness he feels. so, you agreed to go. youre his rock in all this, his biggest supporter. why wouldnt he want his favorite cheerleader to go and continue to push him on? plus, youve never been to london.

———

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—

franco went on to place p11 in his first race after london, which you were extremely proud of him. to be so close to points in a backmarker team was, to say the least, impressive. you always knew he had it in him but for his first time ever racing as an f1 drivers against the other 19 best in the world? a blessed experience.

[mattsnight]

Summary: in which Chris can’t hide his feelings for Y/N any longer.

Warnings: cursing !!

WC: 5k+++

Chris hated how he felt for you. The extreme feelings were overwhelming and it was hard keeping them together. He couldn’t live like this. He couldn’t live knowing you were his best friend and that nothing would ever happen with the two of you.

You were always the clingy kind of type. You couldn’t be alone for more than 24 hours and always had to be with someone who you loved. Most of the times it was Chris, which he didn’t mind at first, but when his feelings for you started, it all became a lot.

You came over to the triplets’ house today, since Chris hasn’t been answering your calls. You were really worried about him. When you walked into the house you were met with an angry Chris. He didn’t want you here at all. He didn’t want to talk. It hurt him to do this shit to you, but he needed these feelings gone. And there it was, he was bottling up all his feelings and is now taking it out on you.

“Jesus what the fuck is wrong with you?” You say to Chris as he just ignored you when you tried giving him a simple hug. He never did this, he would always hug you even when he was annoyed. He lets out a huff, rubbing his eyes as he glances in your direction.

"Me? Nothing is wrong with me, I'm absolutely fine. It's you, you're just always around being clingy, I can't even breathe without you being all over me. Seriously, do you have to be so clingy? Give me a break every once in a while," Chris bites back with a roll of his eyes. A small gasp leaves your mouth at his sudden anger. “What the hell happened to you, chris? At first you’re all nice and sweet to me and now you’re acting like a huge dick.”

Chris grits his teeth, turning to look you in the eyes a lot sharper than usual. "So now it's wrong that I've decided to give myself a break from your clinginess? Is that a crime now?" He quips, raising a brow at you unimpressed. "God, you're always so needy, you can't even go half a day without wanting my attention. Have you ever considered that maybe I'd want alone time?”

“I was giving you one hug, chris. I wasn’t sat on your lap touching your chest while waiting for you to fuck me!” You yell back, anger now running through your body. Chris is visibly taken aback by your words, the harsh bite of them makes his chest ache, but he can't focus on that right now. He lets out an annoyed huff, running his fingers through his hair and sighing. "You always hug me!" He points out, throwing his arms out. "Like, it's never just one hug, you're always all over me, no matter if we're alone or in public. It's like you can't stand the thought of not being attached to me or something!"

“Im not always hugging you! I was so excited to see you, is one hug that bad?” You say, running your hands through your hair. "And there it is again, the excuses!" Chris exclaims in annoyance. "You're always all over me, you've gotta touch me. You know I'm not the biggest fan of physical touch, so why are you always so clingy with me, huh, can you answer that?" He asks, raising a brow at you with an expectant expression on his face.

“Because we’re friends? Cus i enjoy being with you? Because maybe im trying to get our friendship back!” Yeah, that one hurt. It had been a while since you and Chris had hung out. At first you thought it was because he got a girlfriend, but he didn’t, Nick told you that.

"And you need to cling to me to do that? You need to be attached to me at all times to do that, is that it?" Chris asks, clearly still frustrated and a little on edge. "It's annoying. I'm allowed to want my own goddamn space every once in a while, why's that so hard for you to understand? I just want a little space to breathe, alone, without having you sticking yourself to me like glue."

Fuck, why did it have to go like this? You hated this and you knew he did too. There was hurt smashed on both of your faces, but the both of you didn’t stop. “Then tell me to shut up, leave and never come back!” You say, a voice crack slipping through. Chris's eyes widen slightly, his mouth going slightly agape at your words, his heart beating loud in his chest. He did not see that coming. "What?" He asks, a hint of surprise sneaking into his voice. “Tell me to leave, end our friendship and do whatever the fuck you want without me.” You repeat with a voice crack.

Chris's jaw clenches, his chest feels tight and his stomach sinks at your words. Every fibre of his being wanted to scream at you to shut up, to stay with him forever. He did not want you gone, but for some reason he just couldn't bring himself to tell you. "I don't want-" he tries to protest, swallowing hard and averting his gaze. "I don't want that."

“Then what do you want, Chris?!”

"You!" His eyes widen the moment the word escapes his mouth, he didn't mean to say that, he meant to say anything other than that. He clamps his mouth shut, staring at you with a mix of shock and frustration. “What?” You say quietly, not believing that you heard him right.

"I- nothing, I... nothing, forget I said that," he runs his fingers through his hair, cursing himself inwardly. This did not get better. "I just... I think, maybe, we should just have some time apart for a while. Take some space, I'll be fine without you glued to my side, you'll be fine without me around all the time." His voice stays the same, not even a slight change.

“You said me.. chris.. what does that mean?”

"I said nothing, alright?" Chris snaps, trying to cover up his slip of the tongue, but it was too late. He couldn't lie his way out of this now. He lets out a huff, scrubbing his face with his hand, looking at you with a frustrated expression on his face. "Damnit... you weren't supposed to hear that."

You take a small step back at his snap. It wasn’t because you were scared, you wanted to give him space. His expression softens just the slightest as he sees you take a step back, his heart panging in his chest as he registers the hurt in your eyes. He shakes his head in defeat. "No, I... Damnit, I can't... Look, I can't do this right now." He runs a hand through his hair again, turning his back to you and walking a few moments. Clearly he was frustrated and upset about the whole situation. “Chris—“ you try, but he doesn’t want to talk.

"Just don’t." He bites, his voice low as he keeps his back turned to you. He clearly wasn't in the mood to keep the conversation going. He was upset, and in pain, and he knew he was hurting you as well. He didn't want to hurt you, but he knew he was, and that was so much worse in his mind. “Please just talk to me, Chris. I want to understand what is going on.”

"What is there to talk about, huh?" Chris turns to look at you again, eyes sharp and his muscles coiled tight with tension. "What are we supposed to talk about? I said something I wasn't supposed to, I can't take it back, so what do you want me to say? I don't want to talk about it, not like this, not right now."

He is still staring at you, his expression pained and frustrated. It was like he was trying to hold back so many things, trying desperately to keep them all at bay and yet they were so obvious on his face. "And what was that little stunt anyway, huh? Trying to get a reaction out of me, is that it? Well great, you got one. You did what you set out to do, I screwed up. I said something I shouldn't have said. Happy?"

Your eyes start filling up with pain. It wasn’t your intention to do this. You didn’t mean any of it, you just wanted a reason why you’re losing your best friend. Chris's heart clenches within his chest at the sight of your hurt expression. The sharp pang of guilt and regret hits him hard, but it doesn't stop him from continuing. "You wanted a reaction, and you got it. I'm human. Do you think you can just prod and poke at me all the time and I won't snap back?" He bites, narrowing his eyes at you despite the panging in his heart. “Im sorry, okay?…” you say.

"You're sorry, is that it? You're sorry?” Chris snaps, taking a step closer as he towers over you. His face is a mixture of anger and pain, despite the growing guilt at the expression on your face. “You're sorry? Great, that just fixes everything, doesn't it? You didn't mean to make me snap, didn't mean to prod and poke at me until I exploded, but that's fine because you're sorry now, right?" All his anger is aimed at you when you just tried to fix something broken. You don’t dare to speak, scared you’ll ruin it even more.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I thought," he continues, his voice still sharp and bitter. "You can apologise all you want but it's not gonna change the fact that you got exactly what you wanted out of me. You pushed me to the limit, and you got a reaction. So don't bother apologising, it's too late for that." He says, letting out a frustrated huff while scrubbing his face with his hand as anger and guilt clash together in his mind. He wants to yell at you, wants to scream at you and let it all out, but at the same time the sight of your hurt expression is killing him. "Goddamnit.." he mutters under his breath, running his fingers roughly through his hair.

“I should go home.. this isn’t gonna work.” You finally say, breaking the silence. "Yeah... maybe you should," Chris responds, but the moment the words escape his mouth he wishes he could take them back. His heart is panging against his chest, his stomach clenches with guilt at the idea of you leaving. He didn't want you to go anywhere, he wanted to talk to you, he wanted you to not look so hurt and upset, but he'd gone and made it all worse in his anger.

You grab your bag quickly after his respond, ready to leave. Chris can’t take this anymore, he needs to make this right. He needs to talk to you. His heart drops to his stomach as you reach for your bag, the reality of the situation hitting him hard as he watches you get ready to leave. "Just... just wait," he says suddenly, the words slipping out before he can even think about it. "Please don't go. I... shit.”

He falters, his breath catching as he tries to find the right words. "I... look, just... just sit down, alright?" He asks, his voice suddenly much softer and more vulnerable than before. He wanted you to stay. He couldn't stand the thought of you leaving right now, he needed you to stay. He swallows hard, forcing out the next words as his heart pounds in his chest. "Please just... just sit down. We need to talk, not like this. Just... just sit down and listen to me. Please."

“Why does this all have to be so difficult?” You ask, sitting down on the couch to listen to him. "I don't know!" Chris exclaims, frustration and annoyance rising in his voice again. Why does it have to be so difficult? He should've just kept his mouth shut in the first place, he'd made a huge mess and he knew it. "I don't know why it has to be so... so difficult." He repeats, softer this time. "I don't... I just don't know." He scrubs his face with his hand, gritting his teeth and taking a deep, calming breath.

“What happened between us?” You ask, wanting answers. Chris's heart pang's in his chest again at your question. A million answers could've come to his mind, but he couldn't get the words out of his mouth. Instead, he clenches his jaw, sighing deeply and shaking his head. "I don't know," he repeats again, his frustration growing. "I... I don't know, things just... changed."

He runs his fingers through his hair, raking his brain for the right words to say, the right way to explain things without saying too much. "I can't explain it. Things just... look, it's just so complicated." He glances at you, his expression a mixture of pain and confusion. He looks away again quickly, sighing heavily and shaking his head. "Things just aren't how they used to be. Something changed... and it's all wrong now."

“Does it have anything to do with you saying that you want.. me?”

Chris visibly tenses, his breathing catching in his chest as the memory of his earlier words comes back to him. He swallows hard and nods, his heart thudding against his ribcage. "Yeah," he mutters, his voice strained. "It has... everything to do with that." He says before looking up at you again, his expression pained and his eyes full of anguish. "You weren't supposed to hear that," he explains, his voice cracking slightly. "I didn't... I didn't mean for you to hear that. I didn't want you to know."

“But you said it, what does it mean?”

Chris takes a deep breath, his heart thudding so hard in his chest it's all he can hear. He knew he was in too deep now, there was no backing out. "It means exactly what you think it means," he mutters, his voice low and heavy. "I... I want you. I want you." He couldn't believe the words were coming out of his mouth, but now they were out there in the open and he couldn't take them back. His eyes search your face, looking for a reaction, a response, any sign of how you felt at his words, but he couldn't find it. "I... I want you," he repeats, his voice hoarse and raw with emotion. "I've wanted you for a long time, and it's been killing me. I... I've messed it up, I know I've messed it up and I can't take it back, but it's the truth. I want you. I need you."

“Jesus christ, Chris.. we could’ve talked about this sooner without that arguing.” You groan as waves of mixed feelings wash over you. Chris lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he runs his hands through his hair again. "You think I wanted to argue with you? This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I didn't want to deal with this, I didn't want to admit this." He sighs deeply, his heart panging in his chest as he meets your gaze. "I'm an idiot," he mutters, his voice quiet. "I just ruined everything, didn't I?"

“No chris— god.. i am in love with you too.”

Chris's heart stops in his chest, his breath catching in his throat as your words wash over him, a rush of emotions surging through him at your confession. His eyes widen, his heart thudding so hard against his ribcage he's sure you can hear it. He just stares at you for a moment, like his brain isn't quite comprehending what he's just heard. "You... what?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you, chris..” you say. Those three words hit Chris like a ton of bricks, knocking the air out of his lungs and sending his heart into overdrive. He didn't think he'd ever hear those words from anyone, especially not from you. His expression softens, a mix of surprise and wonder and disbelief on his face as he takes a cautious step towards you, like he's afraid he might shatter whatever fragile dream he's suddenly found himself in. "You... you mean that?" He asks, his voice hoarse and low.

“Yes! I have for a long time, but i didn’t know how to feel when you just.. stopped talking to me.”

A wave of emotions washes over Chris at your words. Relief, joy, disbelief, excitement. He swallows hard, his eyes never leaving yours as he takes another step closer to you. "You... you love me?" He repeats, his voice a little shaky as he tries to process everything. "You love me?" He takes one more step towards you, his expression full of hope and awe. You look up at him, noticing he was already staring at you. His blue eyes are searching your face for any sign of dishonesty or deception. Instead, all he sees is love, and a whole lot of it. His heart is beating so hard in his chest it physically hurt, but he didn't care. All he could see was you, and the fact that you just confessed to loving him. He reaches out hesitantly, slowly putting a hand on your waist, like he's afraid you'll vanish if he moves too quickly.

And there it was, the kiss you’ve both longed for. It feels like a switch is flipped inside the two of you. Like you’re finally free. Your hands move to his cheeks, pulling him impossibly closer. His hands move to your ass, letting them rest there. Everything is how it’s supposed to be.

When the kiss finally breaks, Chris's expression is a mixture of wonder and shock, like he can't believe that just actually happened. His heart is pounding in his chest, his brain struggling to process what's just happened. He couldn't believe that you actually wanted him, that you loved him. He lets out a breathless laugh, his face still so close to yours that he can feel your breath on his face. “Shit that was so good.” He says, trying to get some air. Oh and it was good.

It was the best kiss you’ve ever had.

The end<3

Oh my god why is this sooo long :,) i hope yall liked it!

[josephquinnswhore]

where you go, I go - stalker joel miller x female reader AU.

summary: joel hasn’t been the same since ex his wife abandoned him and his daughter, but he’s been watching you for months.. you’re the perfect replacement.

word count: 1.1k

content warning: extreme stalking, harassment, unhealthy infatuation, murder, brief mention of potential kidnapping, unhealthy idealism, manipulation, gaslighting.

Today was really not the day for this, your complete lack of intolerance to bullshit had reached its capacity.

But this had been happening every attempt for the past week, a relatively new and frankly.. abruptly confusing issue.

The button on your key fob for your car makes the indicators flash orange each attempt to pry the boot open. With a click or the button, it’s supposed to open the boot automatically.

But your car doesn’t do that, no. It insists on a one armed wrestling match while you have to click the button simultaneously.

Thanks to Joel, the man that has been absolutely infatuated with you for months, since you’d hired them for a minor job, just a custom order bookshelf. Not something the men would typically accept but Joel was absolutely infatuated with you.

Since then he hadn’t ever been far from where you were. Even if that meant showing up to your house at night and sabotaging apart of your car.

It’s hot out. These Texan summers were no joke and with no breeze, the beads of sweat meticulously lined upon your forehead, not one inch of it wasn’t covered in sweat.

“Come on!” With a grunt of frustration, you attempt to wrestle the boot open again, pushing it down to try and get the latch unstuck.

He watches on as you struggle with the boot of your car for the third time this week alone, how you managed to live your life without a man to take care of you was a real mystery to him.

As amusing as it is to watch you struggle, he figures he needs to approach before some other man offers a helping hand. The last thing Joel needs is to bury another goddamn prick on your behalf. You should be thanking Joel, really.

But he understands, you don’t know. You’re vulnerable, completely none the wiser to the fact that a man that mowed your lawn once a fortnight, had managed to peep through your bathroom window and caught a glance of your bare skin while you were showering.

Unaware that anyone was watching you groan again in frustration, about ready to pull your hair out. “Why the hell is this happening to me today?!”

“Excuse me, miss?” A well recognised Southern, Texan accent calls out to you with a hint of amusement and curiosity. Turning around, the man was closer than you’d expected.

“You need something?” Perhaps you were snappier than you should’ve been, and he raises a singular eyebrow at you.

“I’m sorry. I just.. need help with this. Pain in the ass. I have cold stuff and it’s hot as shit out here!” You ramble incessantly to the man who just tilts his head.

As he steps forward. “Mind if I give it a try?”

“Good luck to you—“ before you could even finish the scornful sentence the boot was open.

“How did you do that?” Disbelief wavering in your tone.

He shrugs, folding his arms over his chest, the shirt tightens and the muscles in his arms bulge. A fitting distraction to keep your eyes away from the fact that he had just sneakily attached a tracking tab onto your car. Underneath the number plate.

Now, he already knew your home address. But he had to make sure that you weren’t seeing anyone.

You were certain he had caught you staring. “These older models have a few minor issues, I learnt that working on my own truck, I suppose.”

Now that were true. But he wouldn’t really tell you the reason he knew how to fix this particular issue.

“What’s your name anyway?”

He starts packing your groceries into the now open boot, a few bags in each hand at a time.

The veins in his forearms protrude out of the skin.

“Joel. Joel Miller.”

Once he’s finished packing your groceries away, he closes the boot. “Shouldn’t have no more issues with it.”

You raise a brow. “You’re not gonna ask my name?”

He doesn’t want to, because he already knows it.

He almost laughs, almost. “What is your name, miss?”

When you reply with your name, he doesn’t at all seem phased, which was odd. “You kinda look familiar, actually.”

He keeps a calm expression, looking around the carpark as he gives a warm smile. “I live around here. Do contracting for a lot of houses around town.”

He could’ve felt his gut drop in that moment, maybe you’d figured him out. Perhaps you were about to call him out on what he’s been doing, sneaking around your goddamn house at night, sabotaging the boot so that it wouldn’t open properly.

Perhaps if that were the worst case scenario, he would just have to whack you on the head and shove you into the boot of your little car and drive you to his house. Chain you up and explain that he’s not a bad guy, he just cares for you. No one else cares for you like he does.

Thankfully, it doesn't come to that, because you’re clueless, really. It’s sad to see that you don’t protect yourself. If Joel could get away with all of this unseen. Imagine the real creeps that would take advantage of you.

Joel had been creating all of these minor issues for you, so that you would perhaps seek him out if he happened to.. by chance.. be nearby.

Come to think of it, there was a white pickup that had some sort of business name on the side of it. Been around your street a few times this week, actually. Perhaps he’s got work in the area?

Ain’t really your business to ask though.

“Yeah, I suppose. Thanks anyway, for this.. I should get home now. Don’t want all the dairy and meat to spoil.”

By now you really should be leaving.. but you feel compelled to give the helpful man your number.

“Maybe I can thank you properly one day for lending a hand.”

You quickly scribble it down on the back of your long docket and hand it to him.

“I’ll contact you,” albeit a simple response, he vows to you.

He takes the half crumpled paper with your number and nods with a warm smile, watching you as you get into your car and thank him again through the window before driving off.

A grim smile on his wicked lips as he watches the car leave the parking lot, knowing that even now, as you left, he would know where you were.

Because where you were, Joel was always following close behind. He did, after all.. think you were perfect. The missing piece of the puzzle to his family. The right woman to give his daughter a caring, loving mother. And you—would be his wife. Joel was taking all the steps necessary to ensure it.

He would have he perfect family. He would have you.

Finally, with the number in hand, he was one step closer.

[k1tty5]

I would like to make it clear that I do NOT want anyone’s firstborns, but I will ramble. for you.

rambles about the process and other thoughts under the cut! I talk a LOT, so… view at your own risk?

I originally had this idea a couple months ago, I think when I first heard the song. I had made a little test for it, which I didn’t end up doing anything with because I thought it didn’t really make much sense. Which, I’m not sure I did that great of a job making this make sense, but you know. Whatever.

this is the original drawing i made for it back in early august, very rushed and not a big fan of it.

I liked the black background & grayscale palette, as well as the way the string kind of . Twirls around the text? BUT, I went into this without any planning, mostly just me doodling and then threw the lyrics on for fun. No plot or whatever, very short.

After I made this, I was kind of just keeping this idea in mind for later, but I held back on trying to do it as I just wasn’t really sure where I wanted to go with it. I’m very bad at planning and tend to rush into things a lot, which ends up hindering the quality of a lot of my art. and since this was something I actually liked the idea of, I wanted to give it my all.

There was also the fact that because I liked the idea, I wanted the best outcome. This kind of ends up in a sort of paralysis where I don’t want to work on something because I’m not good enough for it, but I did realize that I will likely never consider myself good enough for it, so why not just go for it?

Anyway ,

I did not end up keeping the black background for the reason that I decided that this time around I wanted it to have a more traditional vibe/look? Like perhaps it was scrawled over some roughed up paper, hence the sketchy style and limited palette.

And as for why I didn’t keep the string looping around the pages, I just thought that would add too much red to the pages, sort of ruining the vibe. So I instead just kept it inside the panels!

these are the original thumbnails/sketches! most of them I kept the same, but I did end up pretty much entirely changing the third page, because I decided there was already too many panels of just their faces with somewhat unsettled expressions .

thoughts on individual pages - don’t expect me to be organized or this to be well thought out, by the way,,

on page 1 ,

I started with a shot of the relationship, mostly to just… set the scene. I am NOT an expert on comics, and went into this with very minimal planning, so this work in general is more of the vibes than it is a storyline, but I did try to vaguely get it to resemble something comprehensible.

the second panel of Etho brushing Joel’s cheek is very much no thoughts for me lol, not very happy with how it looks. I do picture Etho as the more openly affectionate one (though i can see it both ways). BUT, to match with the lyrics, you could say that the first panel paired with “it’s hard to tell which elements of this are real” could be resembling that the boat is something tangible and physical, whereas the second panel paired with “and which are chemically enhanced” is referring to whatever feelings they have. Asking themselves if this is really real, or if it’s just the game.

no notes on the third panel lol. like i say this was not well thought out, the story is somewhat there, but it’s VERY much up to interpretation and I did intend it to be that way. I have ideas about what is happening, but I want to keep it up to the viewer.

on page 2,

“But it’s not easy to tell what I want from what I need” OH BOY !!! manic red joel. blinded by the bloodlust and rage and adrenaline. he needs this. he needs it, doesn’t he?

“I am more scared of myself than I am of anyone else” okay okay okay. I don’t headcanon he has any real remorse for killing anyone. this is a death game, you’re not meant to be a good person, this is built on lies and manipulation and blood and hurt. headcanon they’re all insane people doing bad things (with a forced hand or not). BUT !!! big fan of “i break everything i touch” kind of thing (its kind of a pattern in ships i like OOPS). so much angst. regretful of your violent nature, wishing to be gentler so that you can cradle his face without digging your nails into his skin, unwanting to break the only thing you’ve learnt to love.

but. etho doesn’t care !!! he doesnt care. his hands are just as bloody as yours, don’t you see?

on page 3,

panel one is just a continuation of the last scene which i just talked about blah blah blah

panel 2!! thats a portal. we all know what happened in the portal :)

on page 4.

ending the mini comic thing with the ship burning, while it started with a shot of the ship in its prime. before and after, how it started and how it ended.

all in all, I !! AM !!! INSANE!!! about them. I could ramble for hours probably but this is already long so ending with a couple final thoughts.

this is definitely meant to be set after they’ve gone red, when in that timeframe is up to you, though. in my vision the lyrics are kind of correlating to c!joel’s thoughts/feelings/whatevers, but it can definitely go both ways - or neither way lol. This song is really just like. THEM. To me.

anywho, thank you to anyone who has put the augh’s and ough’s in the tags, they’re very gratifying haha <3

the simplest words

[3igbootyl0ver]

who hurt you? [ii]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: Tara mistakenly puts herself in a relationship she thought would be full of love.

word count: 1822

warnings: (Tara's POV), mentions of abuse, violence, angst, swearing

a/n: ok hi guys this is mostly Tara's POV and won't really be focusing btwn her and r's relationship. the next part would probably be the last one too but im always up on doing head canons for this pic. anyways apologies for any inaccuracy for this part, if ya'll have any feedback or suggestions feel free to dm me or send anonymously.

part [i] |

Tara never meant for any of this to happen.

She first met Amber a year ago, at a party that invited everyone from both Blackmore and Woodsboro High. Tara went with you at first, but you quickly got caught up in the chaos of the event, drinking with friends to drown your frustrations over the rivalry, leaving Tara to wander through the crowd alone.

Tara glanced around the room, feeling a bit out of place without you. It was her first real taste of a high school party, but somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. You were missing. Some were celebrating—laughing, dancing, and basking in the glory of their win over Blackmore—while others attended this party just for an excuse to get drunk, but Tara wasn’t feeling the same rush. That was when she noticed Amber standing off to the side, holding a drink and watching the crowd with a knowing smile.

Amber had been a wild card that night. No one expected her to show up, least of all Tara. But Amber’s reputation preceded her—everyone knew she was sharp, calculated, and, most importantly, she knew how to play the game. She wasn’t just there to celebrate; she was there to get ahead.

Tara’s initial impression of Amber was a mix of admiration and curiosity. Amber seemed to hold herself in a way that suggested she knew something no one else did. And that intrigued Tara, even if she couldn’t quite explain why.

As Tara wandered away from the chaotic center of the party, she ended up near Amber. The two of them started talking, mostly small talk at first—what they were doing after high school, the thrill of their victory, and the peculiar tension between Woodsboro and Blackmore. Tara found herself drawn to Amber’s cool confidence, the way she seemed to have everything under control.

But what started as a simple conversation slowly shifted into something deeper. Amber had a way of making Tara feel like she was the only one in the room, even when there were dozens of people around. Tara’s mind kept drifting back to the feeling Amber gave her: like maybe she could be something more, something beyond the quiet girl who never quite fit in.

And so, things began to unravel.

Tara never meant for it to go this far. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, just a casual connection. But somewhere along the way, Amber made it clear that she wasn’t just interested in Tara’s company—she had a plan, and Tara was a part of it. Tara hadn’t realized how deep Amber’s intentions went until it was already too late. Now, Tara was left to figure out how she’d let herself be pulled into something so complicated—something that, in hindsight, was far more than just a meeting between two people at a party.

Everything was bliss when Tara and Amber started dating. She was kind, gentle, and attentive—the kind of person who made Tara feel understood and like the most important person in the world. It felt like a dream. Amber would send her thoughtful texts, surprise her with little gifts, and always knew how to make her laugh. Tara felt safe, seen, and loved in a way she hadn’t before.

But as time went on, Amber’s true colors started to surface—slowly, almost imperceptibly at first.

It started with small criticisms. At first, they were disguised as concern, little comments about Tara’s appearance or habits that Amber claimed were meant to help her. "You know, if you ate healthier, maybe you wouldn't feel so tired all the time." Or, "I don’t think that outfit is really doing you any favors." Tara tried to brush it off, telling herself it was just Amber wanting her to be her best. But the comments grew sharper, more frequent.

"You always mess things up," Amber would say when Tara made a mistake, like forgetting to pick up groceries or missing a text. "Why can’t you ever get anything right?" Her tone wasn’t playful anymore. It was condescending, even cruel. Tara began to feel like she couldn’t do anything without Amber pointing out what she’d done wrong.

The verbal jabs escalated when Amber started to get possessive. At first, Tara thought it was just a sign of how much Amber cared. But Amber's jealousy started to feel suffocating. She'd ask Tara where she was going, who she was with, and why she didn’t tell her first. "You don't really need to hang out with them, do you?" Amber would ask, her voice dripping with insinuation. It would have been even worse if she had hung out with you. It was as if you were Amber's breaking point. "They don’t even care about you like I do." "I’m better than them; why are you still hanging out with them?"

Tara found herself apologizing constantly—for things she didn’t even understand; she would say sorry just to voice the tension. 

It was always the same cycle: Amber would get irritated for no reason, her voice would grow cold and sharp just to insult Tara. "You always do this; you always make everything more difficult than it has to be. Why can’t you just do things right?". The next day, Amber would be apologetic, trying to console Tara, making her forget everything that happened the day before. She said all the right things, but Tara couldn’t ignore the knot of anxiety that lingered in her chest. She had a way of twisting everything, making Tara feel like she was always in the wrong, walking on eggshells.

And soon, the emotional abuse turned into physical fights. One day, Tara had dinner plans with Mindy when Amber confronted her again, "You always do this," she snapped. "You always choose them over me." Her voice was cold, venomous.

Tara tried to explain, but Amber wasn’t hearing it. "You think you can just leave whenever you want? No, you’re not going anywhere." Before Tara could react, Amber grabbed her by the arm—tightly, her fingers digging into Tara’s skin. "You’re hurting me, Amber; let me go!" Tara shouted, trying to pull away, but her grip tightened. She twisted Tara’s arm painfully, forcing her to sit down.

Tara’s heart was racing. She didn’t recognize this version of Amber—this wasn’t the woman she had fallen in love with. The love they once shared felt like a distant memory, replaced with anger, control, and fear. Tara was terrified, but she didn’t know how to escape. Before the day ended, Tara made up an excuse to Mindy that she couldn’t make it. She thought about her friends. Chad, Mindy, You. How will she be able to explain herself? She’s embarrassed and ashamed of herself if she were to ever face either of you. 

There was once when Amber picked up Tara from school when she saw her talking to you, both of you giggling like lovestruck teenagers, like you were in love with each other. And Amber simply couldn’t have that. Once both of them got back to Amber’s house, she gripped Tara’s arm, demanding an explanation. "So you’re just whoring around your school with someone else? Especially them? You’re just a slut, aren’t you?" Amber seethed, her nails digging into Tara’s skin, leaving another mark on her skin. Tara stood there, tears streaming down her face, knowing no matter what she said, it would be dismissed, twisted, or ignored. "You’re mine, Tara. I’m not letting you go anywhere," were the last words she heard before being shoved down the stairs, undoubtedly leaving bruises all over her body. She knew the next day Amber would whisper apologies, giving her kisses and hugging her in an attempt to make her forget.

Tara began pulling away, distancing herself from you, from Chad, from Mindy, from Anika—everyone. It wasn’t that she didn’t care anymore, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Amber’s wrath falling on them, especially you. She couldn’t risk you getting hurt because of her, couldn’t risk Amber turning her anger on the people she loved. The more Tara tried to protect her friends, the more she isolated herself.

Every moment felt like a calculation; every text, every phone call, every plan made without Amber’s approval felt like a risk. Tara started to feel like a prisoner in her own life, like Amber was always there—watching, waiting for her to slip up, to make a mistake.

Amber had a way of making her feel like she was constantly under surveillance, always one misstep away from an explosion. Tara couldn’t shake the feeling that Amber was breathing down her neck, that every time she laughed too loudly with a friend or spent too much time away from her, Amber would find out. And when Amber found out, the consequences would be brutal. Tara had learned that the hard way.

It was like living in a constant state of fear. Tara’s heart would race whenever she saw a message from you or heard from one of her friends. She hated that it had come to this—that Amber’s control over her had stretched so far that she couldn’t even speak freely without worrying about the fallout.

But more than anything, she hated that the woman she loved, the woman she had trusted, had become someone she feared. Every day, she woke up wondering how much longer she could live like this. How much longer until Amber's control over her—and over everyone she cared about—was too much to bear?

Amber’s behavior spiraled even further. The emotional abuse had crossed into physical violence, and Tara was left unsure of where it would go next. Amber would apologize, beg for forgiveness, and then turn around and hurt her again. Tara began to feel like she was losing herself. She was afraid of what might happen if she tried to leave, afraid of what Amber might do. 

Though she would still post pictures of them together, of them being in a happy relationship for people to see online, the reality was far different. Behind the carefully staged photos, the smiles seemed forced, the laughter hollow. She knew the posts didn’t reflect the late-night arguments or the hidden marks on Tara’s body. Yet, there was comfort in the illusion, in maintaining a facade that everyone else admired. It was easier to keep up the pretense than to confront the discomfort of what was really happening—of the slow unraveling that no one could see. The attention, the validation from likes and comments, provided a temporary sense of relief, a distraction from the gnawing uncertainty she felt every time she looked at Amber when the camera was off. It became a blurred line for Tara to interpret what was the reality and the sick image she created of her and Amber online. 

But one thing was clear: this wasn’t love anymore. And Tara didn’t know how much longer she could stay in a relationship that was slowly suffocating her.

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

a/n: next update might be awhile bc exam season is coming up and im a chill girl that needs to rest so you'll probably hear from me in like 2-3 weeks :p

[aayakashii]

continuing the headcanon that @str8upjorkinit created with a few more houses, since some people asked for it (will post the other houses later I promise!)

Hotarubi and Mortkranken with a S/O that loves to carry them around (with pictures ?!)

Subaru

Turns into a tomato immediately

Apologizes for being carried as if you're not the one that decided to carry him in the first place!!!!

Tries SO hard to think of reasons why you should not be holding him like that, but his mind is just a blue screen at this point

Subaru tried the best he could not to entertain his little crush on you but you really went there and made it impossible 😔

He'll never say it (because he always thinks he's being inconvenient), but he loves when you carry him whenever he's anxious or overwhelmed

You're kinda like his personal weighted blanket and he loves it

Still apologizes constantly, even after you two have settled this into your routine... time to hold him even tighter to maybe squeeze the insecurities away!

Subaru when you first began holding him vs Subaru after getting KINDA used to you holding him

Haku

Oh he's sooooooo into this

It's a wonder you don't drop him at your feet when he starts flirting with you right away

AND your face is so close to his? He hit jackpot, baby!

Expect him laying his head on your shoulder and flirting shamelessly just to see you getting flustered

It's not like he's not affected though!

He has the wildest butterflies fluttering in his stomach when you hold him so tightly and so close, literally sweeping him off his feet

After a while, you get used to his teasing, so he just enjoys his time on your arms.

If he ends up taking his afternoon nap on your lap, you can't blame him 🫵‼️ you did put him in the moat comfortable place ever (your arms)

Haku while he's flirting with you vs Haku when he relaxes and naps in your arms

Zenji

HAS THE TIME OF HIS LIFE

In fact, speaking of Time of My Life, you know that old movie, Dirty Dancing? If you can lift Zenji, he Will be forcing you to do the whole choreography with him

and you WILL be taking Patrick Swayze's role because he wants to be the girl who's lifted

Obviously he's excited you can lift him since he's HUGE but in his mind he's just like....... of course you can lift him!!! It's YOU after all!!!

You literally can do anything in his mind. No wonder you're his second favorite person, only behind his little brother.

He feels like a little damsel in distress whenever you carry him in his arms and he loves it, even starts writing more stories with this theme since he's so inspired

Loves it so much that he kinda expects you to do it everyday

Sending thoughts and prayers for your back

Zenji when you showed him you could lift him vs you after the 1000th time he asked you to carry him

Yuri

CAPITAL H HORRIFIEDDDDDD

Yells "PUT ME DOWN, WORM" like a thousand times

The other students start asking for you to please just put him down so they can work in peace

Because he won't stop yelling and distracting everyone with how dramatic he is

You're having way too much fun though, seeing how he turns the deepest shade of red ever and stutters nonstop about you being insane

He will never not complain whenever you hold him in your arms, but, after a while, he kinda gets used to it

Says it's just a symptom of your derangement and that no medicine seems to fix it 😔 how tragic

To be honest, he kinda likes it a little bit... especially the way he can see your face and your smile from up close... but he'll never ever admit it to himself, much less to you

Yuri when you carried him for the first time vs Yuri after he resigned himself and accepted that you Will carry him no matter what

Jiro

10000% doesn't mind

He is, however, a bit surprised that you can actually lift him up (after a little bit of struggle since he's the biggest ghoul after all

He thinks it's a little bit funny how you made it a matter of honor to carry him without struggle (which you manage after a while)

Whenever you get spooked and he (sadistically) laughs at your reactions, he allows you to carry him as some sort of peace offering

Jiro used to resist being carried whenever he got sick. His habit of just enduring it by himself for as long as he could was a bit hard to break

Much to his surprise, however, being able to "relax" in your arms as you take him back to Mortkranken made his sudden bouts of sickness less harrowing

Still thinks it's a little bit amusing how silly you look so focused, carrying someone double your size. He can get used to it as well, though

Literally just Jiro. Jiro vibing as you carry him. He will always just be vibing.

[yummymitzy]

Hi! I love your writing! Could you write a part two to Dangerous, right? Maybe it's their first mission or Nat needs a rescue and sees the reader's true form? Can you make it really angsty with a happy ending though?

Dangerous, Right? Part II

Summary: Hydra mission goes wrong on Natasha’s side, but did everything else go wrong?

Pt I

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader , Lucifer Morningstar x Reader (platonic)

WC: 2320

A/N: Sorry if it’s not as angsty as you expected😭😭

ᨖᨖೱᨖ⧗ᨖⴵᨖ🕷️ᨖⴵᨖ⧗ᨖೱᨖᨖ

Tonights mission wasn’t any different from any other mission, infiltrate the base and grab the necessary intel without suspicion. Until it wasn’t easy anymore, she hadn’t suspected that they’d be waiting for her.

It happened all so quickly for Natasha, one minute she was confident she’d make it home before the night falls; then the next minute a group of agents ambush her.

She felt almost embarrassed that she’s got herself in this position, but she’d dwell over that later.

The agents were quick on their feet, never faster than her. Her only negative was that she was out numbered, she didn’t feel any better when more agents swarmed through the door.

Her heart was thrumming in her ears while she clutched her fists tighter, the surrounding agents were sprawled on the floor of the room. Natasha’s adrenaline was so high, she hadn’t felt the blood soaking through the leather encasing her waist.

Once the adrenaline slowed, a sharp pang shot through her side. Reaching her hand down and grazing it against the wound, blood was all she saw on her fingertips. Cursing under her breath, she couldn’t believe how she let this mission turn to shit.

The sound of heavy footsteps outside the door caught Natasha’s attention, it wasn’t one person either. This really should have been the one day she would have taken a day off, Natasha thought.

She wanted to be at home, the compound, watching White Chicks with her friends while her eyes slowly drift towards you, losing focus of the movie. She hadn’t meant to be so forward with you during your first interaction.

It just felt all too fast for Natasha, she’s grown used each and every one of them with every moment that passed by. She never expected she’d had to repeat that process all over again when you and your brother turned up at the door.

Feeling guilty wasn’t a foreign feeling for Natasha, but this emotion felt more overwhelming than usual. Was it because she was on the brink of dying? She wasn’t sure.

She felt guilty for all of the innocent people she’s killed, guilty for the people who she wasn’t able to save. Guilty for how she acted with you. If only. Just if only she had spent her time getting to know you instead of judging.

Unbeknownst to her, FRIDAY was quick to alert the team of her condition. Right as FRIDAY displayed Natasha’s vitals, you were out the room, determined to get to her.

“Y/N!”

A strong voice echoing the hall of which you were rushing to get out of. Time wasn’t on your hands even if you wished that it were.

“Y/N! Take me with!”

The strong voice yelled once more. You had already known it was Lucifer from the start, his stern voice wasn’t one you were able to miss.

“Then catch up. I’m not waiting around.” You said over your shoulder, footsteps never faltering as you rushed down the corridor. The heavy footsteps behind you were all you needed to know.

“Do you think we’re able to make it fast enough with the quinjets?” Lucifer huffed behind you once you stepped foot onto the landing pad of the building.

“Ohh, no. Those things are slow.” You huffed a laugh as your wings extended behind you. Sparing a glance at Lucifer, a look of confusion was painted on his face, accompanied with a hint of exasperation.

“Now hurry up and catch up! If I hear that she’s dead, your grave will be dug next to hers!” You yell over your shoulder, feet lifting off the platform as you drive through the air towards Natasha’s location.

-

Dying really wasn’t the best feeling. It was a feeling Natasha became familiar with, it cane with the job. But this time, it felt different.

The pit in her stomach wasn’t from pain, it was an emotion she couldn’t define. What was it? Was it guilt? Natasha questioned, until the emotions began rushing through her.

She didn’t know what she’d die first from, the guilt or her wound. She felt sorry for how she made you and your brother feel unwelcome, it was a defense mechanism she wasn’t able to shake off.

Neither of you deserved that, it was barely your guys’s first day and the tension she created was unbearable. She was angry, frustrated with herself that she had judged your character. A hint of sadness also resided within Natasha, a foreign feeling to her. She was upset she wasn’t able to establish a great relationship with you, she wanted to be your friend, maybe more.

But that couldn’t happen now, and she was scared. Being afraid was an emotion she crossed paths with too many times to count. She was afraid of dying, afraid of not being able to clean the red off of her ledger, afraid of not being able to start off new with you.

Natasha had came to peace with the idea of dying, but not like this. She wanted to die once her ledger was cleaned, once her life didn’t feel like she was living off of the same schedule everyday.

She didn’t want to die with the guilt of her past weighing on her shoulders, she wanted to be free of that. Letting out a shaky sigh, she slowly seated herself onto the floor ; leaning upright against the wall as her hand tightly clutches her wound in an attempt to ease the bleeding.

Was Natasha close to dying before? Yes. But it never left her this fucking exhausted. She felt as though she was trying to compete against the two supersoliders in a race and still graciously lost.

Her worries eased as the surrounding area around Natasha blurred. Natasha’s head felt lighter and the tension in her body slowly lifted, and the pain from her wound numb enough to leave the throbbing. Natasha wasn’t against death if it was ever this calm, if she doesn’t include how she died.

The moment she shut her eyes, an explosion immediately caught her attention. So maybe she wasn’t going to die peacefully after all, she thought. Her eyes darted around the room, the room seemed untouched, meaning that explosion wasn’t near.

Huffing, her head lulled back, her eyes burning holes into the ceiling above her. Until the explosion reached her ears again, the pain in her side increasing tenfold. The explosion sounded more closer this time.

But before Natasha could dwell on it more, the door to the room she lays in opens. Two silhouettes were all she could make up due to the blinding light behind them. Were they here to kill her off? Might as well.

“It’s a quick in and out, don’t bother wasting time on any other agents.” A familiar voice stated, the owner of the voice stepping closer to her. Was it you? Was it really you? Why had you gone all this way to save her? Especially when she made you feel so unwelcome.

“..Y/N?” She croaked out, her voice wavering from not being used for a good minute. Her vision clearing slightly once the figure that she now knows is you is stood right in front of her.

She hears another body drop once more and she doesn’t need to turn her head knowing it’s an agent. Once her vision clears up, she’s shocked. Natasha wasn’t expected to be greeted with another sight other than your face.

Well it was your face, but different. It seemed more…devilish. Horns protruding out of your hair and curving away from your face, much like a goat. Your irises shone a bright red as your wings fluttered behind you. The only thing she could make out of your features was compassion, and something else she couldn’t define.

“Hey, Nat. We’re going to take you home, okay?” Your voice drops to a softer tone than she’s ever heard, she wishes to hear it more often. The guilt once more pangs against her heart, how could you be so kind to seek her out with how she treated you?

She hummed, that was the only response she could give at the moment. She was shocked, she understood why you were placed in the Avengers now, you really did have potential. She never doubted that for a moment. But that wasn’t her reason.

She was speechless to how you flew all this way without the quinjet all just for her? If she felt guilty then, then she felt even more guilty now. She wasn’t even sure if you really had forgiven her, consoling her in the dead of night.

Black spots started to form in the corner of Natasha’s eyes, vision becoming blurred once more before her eyes shut. The action sent a panic through your body. It was as if somebody had dumped cold ice water on you.

You didn’t waste any time rushing towards Natasha’s limp body. Sending a look towards Lucifer, you bolted towards the nearest window and slammed your side into it, preventing any shards from impaling the already injured woman.

You’ve flown countless of times before, but flying with a limp person in your arms?

The adrenaline kept you on your feet, as you drove through the wind. The gusts of wind kept you in reality, and the city lights looked beautiful from above. Only if the situation at hand wasn’t so drastic, you would have taken Natasha to gaze with you as a way to mend your friendship. relationship?

The flight back to the compound was incredibly fast, you didn’t even wait a minute before rushing towards the medical bay. Stealing a glance down towards the redheaded woman you’re carrying, she looked peaceful. Ever yet more graceful than she already is.

Why hadn’t she alerted any one of her state? Why did you and the rest of the team have to find out from FRIDAY?

Questions were piling in your head at 100 mph, your feelings are conflicting. You felt worried for Natasha, guilty that you hadn’t been there sooner, and another emotion. Was it admiration? Did you like Natasha? Fuck that, you’ll focus on that when she gets better, if she even does.

Once you reached the med bay, Dr.Cho immediately took over. The worry for Natasha was filling your bones, you had just met her but you felt as though the both of you could be so much more.

You shut your eyes, Dr. Cho was quick and efficient and you trusted her skills.

You didn’t know how long your eyes had been shut until Dr. Cho tapped you awake. Her worried gaze was the first thing you saw.

“She’s stable and the wound should heal nice, all that’s left is for her to wake up.” She stated, her words slow as she was trying to find the right words to ease your racing mind.

“Alright. Thanks doc.” Not once have you looked away from Natasha’s sleeping form. She looked gorgeous, even in a hospital bed.

You were true to your words that very night. You forgave her, there wasn’t anything to hold against her even if you thought harder about it. There wasn’t anything about her that you would dislike, her radiating smile, her fiery hair and personality, the kindness and compassion she holds with her teammates.

One twitch from her fingers was all it took for your thoughts to vanish. She was awake.

Seeing her eyes flutter open left you breathless. All the worries disappears when you saw her forest green eyes peer up at you.

“Hey Nat. How are you holding up?” You sat up, watching her in your peripheral while you fixed her a glass of water. Accepting the glass, she was quick to finish it, her eyes peering up at you once more as you placed the glass on a nearby table.

“Feels like I’ve been shot.” Apparently her attempt at joking didn’t fly past you from the glare you sent towards her.

Taking a deep sigh, she looks you dead in the eyes, a genuine glint shining in them.

“I feel like I should really apologize, Y/N. Although you said you forgave me, it doesn’t make up for all of the things I said.”

“Nat-“ “No, let me finish, I need to say this.” Your eyes widened a fraction before staying silent once more. Natasha shouldn’t feel the need to apologize to you when you already forgave her.

“All the things I said, it was unnecessary, not to mention not professional. I couldn’t help but judge, I felt like Fury just let you guys in the team like it was an open audition.” She huffed a laugh before continuing once more.

“You saving me proved that you really are worth being on the team. I never meant to hurt you, I just felt….protective, this team grew to be my family and I felt forced to trust you and Lucifer so quick. I’m really sorry, Y/N, you don’t have to feel bound to empathize with me. I just wanted to let you know of my intentions.”

You were shocked to say the least, the words that spilled from Natasha’s mouth brung tears to your eyes. You fought hard to not let the tears spill as you processed the information.

Neither were you able to find any words to respond to Natasha’s speech. Natasha noticed that, retracting herself from you with insecurity written on her face. She expected you to turn against her and leave her alone in the room.

Next thing Natasha knew was feeling a warmth embrace her, you were hugging her. Carefully raising her hands, she embraced you further, her hold on you becoming tighter as you both shared a moment that will impact your relationship forevermore.

[lovelaetter]

had a lil thought about corrupting innocent step sis kazuha 🙂‍↕️ first with little kisses and then getting braver, hands roaming all over her, grabbing her ass, rubbing her through her sweats. gets so needy and whiney. her face beet red when you push her against the wall and make her nervous, boxing her in and playing with her.

she would definitely get desperate for you, humping your leg needing to cum, calling her your good pup and she moans into your ear. ehehehe

-🐶

STEPCEST, brief SOMNO

this got me thinking how stepsis!zuha would differ from stepsis!chaery because they’re quite similar to me and i think the major difference would be that, while the whole stepsis!chaery lore includes noncon, dubcon, toxicity, you made her like the thing, with zuha this would never happen because stepsis!zuha wants you, she feels like a pervert admitting it but she thinks about you all the time!! but like you said, to you she’s an innocent angel, her perversion doesn’t come even close to yours— she thinks of kisses and maybe some risky touching, you think of fucking her by the front door after she comes home from her ballet practices.

she thought you’re joking the first time, looking at her and asking if she wasn’t going to thank you for letting her borrow whatever thing it was that she needed from you, her little frown, muttering “…i already did?” and your smirk, stupidly pointing at your cheek saying you wanted a kiss. she really, really thought you were messing with her, you used to be kinda mean when you first met, but still tip toes to you, quietly, and leans to kiss your your cheek, mind failing when you turn your head and she hits your lips instead, stepping back seconds too late, staring at you in utter confusion not knowing to say something or not, expecting you would say something about it but you just go “you’re welcome” and tells her to go do her thing or else she will be late to meet her friends and she’s surprised with herself because she goes ?? her mind totally short circuited.

thinks about it for days, keeps on running the tip of her tongue over her lips as if she could taste you there, lays in bed at night tracing them. looks at you expectantly every day and dinner time being so weird because she pays more attention to you than any other thing which often causes your parents to ask if she’s alright because she seems so distracted and she blushes so hard when she sees a knowing smirk on your face. she would panic the night you decide to speak for her, getting up and telling your parents to not worry because you and her would clean things up. poor baby on the sink doing the dishes and almost breaking a glass feeling you wrap your arms around her and say how she is not as subtle as she thinks she is, how you bet you know what goes inside her little mind; is she thinking about that day? is she thinking about you? and she so would beg you quietly to stop it, she doesn’t want to talk about it, she would never deny thinking about you, she would be lying, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t get to be upset at you for toying with her.

but when you turn her around and get at proper look at her face and see her pouting?? what are you supposed to do, not kiss it away??? you can’t hold yourself back, lips on hers and pulling her so close you probably hurt her a little but the important thing is that she kisses you back, eagerly, without question, she needed it to happen again so bad, it’s pathetic, not knowing where to put her hands, whimpering on your mouth. totally does not forget about the dishes and has to have you promising to go to her room later for more to finally let go of you…

for some reason the poor thing thinks you would stop at kisses so the first time your hands get on her, grabbing her ass for no reason other than it looked cute in jeans one day she jumped, only to down on her then that it wasn’t so bad, growing to anticipate it. same for touching, touching her, but does nothing but break the kiss and bite her lip, closing her eyes, feeling the way your hand slides inside her pants the first time, carefully testing the waters by rubbing her over her underwear but she’s quite new to everything, a few moments and both of you feel herself getting so messy down there, your fingers slippery, hard to keep in one place.

even so, she still a bit confused by the thing you got going on, at least until you start seeking her more and more often, stealing kisses in risky situations, touching her in risky situations, your hand between her legs while you’re in the living room watching a tv show, speeding your movements as your mom or dad enters to ask you something and she has fries her brain focusing on not being suspicious with her little clit under constant assault under the blanket badly thrown over your laps. seeing an opportunity of full filing the fantasy of fucking her right after she arrives from her ballet practice and obviously not wasting, it’s rare for you to be home at the time and to be alone. angel girl with her cheek against the wall and you behind her not bothering to even take a piece of her clothes off and fingers making so much pressure down there, moans and whimpers and also “stop, you are being gross, i’m sweaty!!” only to shut up because you promise if she stops bitching you will maybe fuck her properly.

and you’re so right, she would hump your leg if too desperate but better if it’s one night you’re sleeping together— because there’s nothing wrong with that, you’re two girls, you’re sisters, your parents don’t see anything else— and you wake up because there’s something moving, moving on top you, warm slick cunt on your thigh, moaning muffled by her hand and she doesn’t realize you’re awake because her eyes are closed and almost falling off the bed when you grab her waist, “go on, pup, keep going”.

i love her so much :(

[mikimakiboo]

Time Travelers AU - Bathroom Break

I am baaaaaaaack on the story ! For those who missed it I published everyone's backstory, all are linked in the master post !

@ancha-aus it's been a while since I tagged you here

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I feel like this chapter is way too short compared to the time it took me to write it

Here it was: the moment Dust dreaded the most... going back to work. Not that there was a problem with his job, his colleagues were fine, the customers were usually nice except for some exceptions, but it was to be expected when working in a fast food. No, the thing that worried him was leaving his roommates, because they were basically roommates, alone all day. He wasn't afraid they would fight, thought Nightmare had been quite distant these past few days, he didn't participate in conversations during meals and usually just translated for Killer and asked him a few things, but apart from that he always seemed moody, mad about something and avoiding them. It did worry Dust, maybe it was something he did, or didn't do, that caused the noble to change his behavior ? He'll need to talk about it with him. Regarding the others they all seemed to get along, he noticed Cross would sometimes lower his guard when Killer talked, or rather rambled, to him to listen to what he was saying, which was something important to note as the knight only ever left the door to eat, Dust knew it because he saw him sleeping while still standing. Horror was nice to everyone, just not paying much attention to Nightmare as he seemed to avoid him more than the others anyway, and Killer just liked to chat with everyone, not caring if they understood him or not. So no, Dust wasn't scared they would fight. He was scared they would get bored, get curious and break something or even hurt themselves, that someone would knock at the door and call the cops when seeing them, or many other things they could do that could result in troubles both for them and for Dust. He really didn't need that.

Dust sighed, preparing yet another burger and putting it in a bag for those at the drive through, he didn't need to think about it anymore, the movements were basically muscle memory at that point. Should he introduce the others to burgers ? Maybe he could order everyone a burger once he got his paycheck, and he could buy soda and potatoes to make the fries himself ? Would they even like it ? Nightmare would probably despise the grease, maybe Cross too as he seemed to be very in shape, but he had a feeling Killer and Horror would like it. Well, that could be a plan for later then.

He felt someone tap on his shoulder.

- Break time, I'm taking your place.

His colleague said. Was it already his break ? He didn't see the time pass, for once. Well, he usually didn't have much to think about, so he must admit he wasn't particularly focused on the time that day.

- Oh, okay, thanks.

He finished the burger he was making before putting down his apron and going to the changing rooms to grab his phone in his locker. He then went to the bathroom, not that he needed to go as he was a skeleton, but he liked sitting on the throne in his little cabin, that way he didn't have to sit in the staff's room and make small talk with the others, he could just scroll on his phone for fifteen minutes without being disturbed. He sometimes wished he had a digestive system so he could take a dump on company time and be paid for it, but he didn't have one, anything a skeleton consumed was either turned into magic or would get thrown up if the body couldn't "digest" it. What a shame, honestly.

He wondered for a moment if he should call home on the land-line, but he soon figured it would be useless as he didn't teach them how to pick up a phone, so he just hoped everything was fine and went on socials to see what new brainrot was available to pass the time.

His alarm went off after fifteen minutes, indicating the end of his break. He sighed.

- Alright, here we go again...

He muttered to himself, getting up without flushing, and opened the door to step out of the cabin. He tripped on a branch and fell face first on the grass.

Cross flinched, planting his sword in the ground as to maintain balance when he felt everything shift around him. The house had dissapeared, and he found himself in a field surrounded by a forest. It felt like a few days ago, when he appeared in Dust's backyard, he had felt the air sting and crackle before everything shifted, and when he opened his eyes, he was somewhere else.

Where was he now ? He pulled his sword from the ground, holding it tight in case a threat would appear, and looked around him, were the others here too ? He heard a noise behind him, and quickly turned, only to see Killer gripping on a branch, hanging from a tree. As he was about to run by his side he saw Horror coming out from behind a bush, leaves and twigs stucked in the furr of his coat. Killer saw him too.

- Horrooooooor ! Adiuvaaaaa ! He cried.

Horror jumped, not expecting to hear a voice above him, and quickly went to grab Killer and put him safely on the ground. The Roman then immediately opened his bag to make sure all of his stuffs were with him, and sighed in relief before looking up at the Viking.

- Gratis..

Horror nodded, then looked at Cross.

- Vel ?

He asked, thought Cross didn't understand, but he supposed Horror asked him if he was doing good, as he looked concerned. Cross was doing fine, he wasn't hurt and by chance landed on his feet and on a plain surface, unlike Killer who ended up in a tree.

- Eo vais ben, mercit.

He thanked him, before hearing a spine-chilling scream.

- Google noooooooo !!

All three of them turned quickly, startled, and saw Dust, a little farther, kneeling on the ground with his little magic rectangle in his hands, visibly distressed.

- Dust ? Killer called, bene facis ?

- Google's dead ! Dust cried out, holding his rectangle in the air, it's mort, morz, mortuus, liflátinn, dead !!

Cross froze, who was dead ? Who was so important that Dust had to announce their death in five languages ? Was his rectangle dead ? Wait, wasn't the rectangle what allowed them to communicate ? Oh. They might have a problem then.

They looked at each other for a minute, not knowing how to save the rectangle from death, before Killer went to the wheeping skeleton and kneeled before him, looking through his bag. Dust looked up at him when he took out the thick book Dust had been reading recently: the Old Norse dictionary. Cross remembered Killer shoving the book in his bag when Dust left without it, saying he would keep it safe until he returned. Dust looked at the dictionary in awe, taking it carefully.

- Oh my fucking god, Killer, I love you so much right now, gratis.. !

Killer smiled, happy to have been useful.

As Dust was getting up with Killer's help they heard a new noise, and as they turned, they were met with a rather unusual sight: Nightmare, the very sophisticated Nightmare, was laying face flat in a mud puddle, the only mud puddle in the whole field, and looked particularly horrified, and disgusted, when he stood on his elbows, his face covered with mud. Killer couldn't help but burst out with laughter, especially when Nightmare tried to get up only to slip and fall again. Cross heard Dust fight back his own laughter and Horror chuckled, but even if the scene was indeed funny, Nightmare trully looked distressed, and Cross couldn't leave him like that.

- Sire !

He rushed to his side, helping him up by letting him grab him for balance, not caring if he dirtied his armor as it was rather easy to clean.

- Vous trouvez cela amusant !? Nightmare yelled, angry, and shaking slightly, asking if they found it funny.

Horror raised his hands in an apalogy motion, but Killer was still pretty much dying on the ground, wheezing and holding his non-existant stomach, Dust simply avoiding his gaze. Nightmare huffed, a shameful blush on his cheeks as Cross helped him step out of the puddle and sit on a log nearby as he tried to wipe the mud from his face, taking his gloves off as they were just as muddy anyway.

- Estes-vos blecié, sire ? Cross asked, wanting to know if he was hurt.

Nightmare shook his head, he wasn't hurt, physically at least. Cross nodded, standing straight again to look at the others: Killer had stopped laughing and was now catching his breath, Dust was looking at their surroundings, and Horror was looking at Nightmare, thoughtful, but didn't come any closer.

Now that everyone was here, they needed to think of a plan. They needed to figure out where they ended up, or when, if they could seek shelter somewhere, or if they couldn't and would have to build a sort of nest at least for the night, what they could hunt or gather, take turn to stand guard, ... Horror didn't seem to have his axe with him, which was... rather inconvenient, but he was pretty sure Killer still had his knives in his bag so it meant they were at least two with weapons to defend the group. He looked down at Nightmare again. They had to find water.

He sighed and gestured to everyone to come closer. He would rather they didn't split up.

- Nos devons trover eaue, he said, glancing at Nightmare who was still staring at his hands, senz se séparer, he added, looking back at them.

- Okay wait, Dust stopped him, "eaue" means water, right ? I mean he does need to wash himself so it would make sense he needs water... wait I think I remember the translation... he thought for a while, looking throught the dictionary, okay so.. aqua for Latin ? Aaaand... vatn for Old Norse.

Killer snorted.

- Sordidus est, aqua eget.

Cross wasn't sure what that meant, but judging by Nightmare's glare it most likely was a mockery, or one of the Roman's usual tease at least. He wanted to reprimand him, now wasn't the time for teasing, but Horror was faster than him and gave Killer a gentle nudge on the shoulder, shaking his head disapprovingly, to which Killer whined but didn't push it. Horror then pointed at the woods.

- Vatn.

Before anyone could reply, he opened the way. He had fallen in a bush and heard running water in the distance when he got up, surely there was a river nearby.

- Wait wait wait ! Dust interrupted again, Horror stopping to look at him. We're just gonna accept that we apparently got tossed throught time ? I mean it ain't you guys first time but it is mine ! And I actually have to go back to work !

Cross frowned. Work ? He knew what work meant, but why was Dust talking about work ? Oh, right ! Dust was supposed to be at work ! But he couldn't get back to work now, they didn't even know in what time they were, but surely it wasn't Dust's time anymore as these strange buildings were nowhere to be seen. Cross shook his head, Dust couldn't go back to work for now.

- What do you mean no ? I need the money.

Cross thought for a while, trying to remember the translation for money, and shook his head again.

- Nos sommes denz une altre époque, pas de "work".

He tried to explain, telling him they were in a different time. Dust frowned at him, before sighing.

- Well it's gonna be one fucking long bathroom break then... He mumbled, before following Horror again.

Cross held out a hand for Nightmare but the noble got up by himself, and simply followed the others from a distance, Cross walking behind to make sure no one deviated from the line and no threat appeared.

After only a few minutes they heard running water, and at the next turn around a tree, they saw a small river. Nightmare went to kneel on the shore and put his hands in the water. Killer went next to him, crounching down, and ignoring Nightmare's glare to rummage through his bag and take out a piece of cloth that he handed him. Nightmare looked at it for a while before taking it without saying a word, still bitter that they laughed, and put it in the water to clean his face. Dust stayed near Horror, looking at the trees.

Cross stood back, watching them all, making sure everything was safe for them to stop here.

He really hoped they could find a shelter soon.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hello, hello!!!I saw your post here with the answer to the question (If the age restriction was done away with, do you think Harry's name would have been picked for the tournament at 14?). And your thoughts on Cedric and Hufflepuff, and I'd like to know your opinion. I've always disliked the Hufflepuffs and Diggory himself because of their behavior when Harry was chosen champion. Cedric is always called a good guy, but he did nothing when his friends wore badges against Harry and laughed with them about it. Your thoughts?

I'm so glad I found your blog! You are miracle!

Hello again 👋

(Referencing this post)

Well, I don't dislike all the Hufflepuffs in the books (I like Susan Bones a lot because of the 2 lines she has in the whole series), but I do find it interesting that a lot of the students we see in Hufflepuff when Harry's at school, don't really exemplify Hufflepuff traits.

The Potter Stinks badges I'm kinda fine with. Like, I can understand it. See, Hufflepuff usually doesn't get the spotlight, and then they have Cedric Diggory as the school champion. Of course, they're excited. And then, oh, what's that? Harry Potter from Gryffindor is stealing the Apotlight again as the fourth champion! WTF? This isn't right!

For them, supporting Cedric and renouncing Harry is the just and fair option. Becouse Harry isn't supposed to be a champion, and they're supporting the "true champion". It doesn't really matter Harry didn't want to be a champion, it's unfair he was chosen as one at all.

So, I get it. I get the support for Cedric and resentment of Harry. It's other smaller things that make the image of the house fall apart a little for me.

It's Ernie McMillan making grandiose declarations not becouse it's the right thing to do, but for appearance's sake:

“Well said!” barked Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry had been expecting to speak long before this. “Personally I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we’ll do this year, even with our O.W.L.s coming up!” He looked around impressively, as though waiting for people to cry, “Surely not!” When nobody spoke, he went on, [...] “Er . . .” said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass him. “Well . . . I’m sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is.” But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. “I — well, we are prefects,” Ernie burst out. “And if this list was found . . . well, I mean to say . . . you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out . . .” “You just said this group was the most important thing you’d do this year,” Harry reminded him

(OotP, Ch16)

Or his general concern with appearance over substance, really:

Ernie Macmillan was one of the few still staring at Professor Umbridge, but he was glassy-eyed and Harry was sure he was only pretending to listen in an attempt to live up to the new prefect’s badge gleaming on his chest.

(OotP, Ch11)

It's Justin and the others snap judgment of Harry in CoS without actually being fair and hearing him out:

the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of him. He knew the snake wouldn’t attack anyone now, though how he knew it, he couldn’t have explained. He looked up at Justin, grinning, expecting to see Justin looking relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful — but certainly not angry and scared. “What do you think you’re playing at?” he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.

(CoS, Ch11)

and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from Herbology, coming toward him. Harry had just opened his mouth to say hello when Justin caught sight of him, turned abruptly, and sped off in the opposite direction.

(CoS, Ch9)

It's Amos Diggory having no idea what "fair" is even if it punched him in the face and being the most insufferable character that isn't an outright villain:

“Ced’s talked about you, of course,” said Amos Diggory. “Told us all about playing against you last year. . . . I said to him, I said — Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will. . . . You beat Harry Potter!” [...] “Harry fell off his broom, Dad,” he muttered. “I told you . . . it was an accident. . . .” “Yes, but you didn’t fall off, did you?” roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. “Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman . . . but the best man won, I’m sure Harry’d say the same, wouldn’t you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don’t need to be a genius to tell which one’s the better flier!” “Must be nearly time,” said Mr. Weasley quickly

(GoF, Ch6)

(I hate that man sooo much it's not even funny.)

It's Cedric needing to be nudged to tell Harry about the egg from Moody/Barty as I mentioned in the post you referenced.

Zacharias Smith being a bit of a prat is fine, it's not like he's ever pretending to be anything else, so at least he's honest. But the point is that a lot of the Hufflepuffs we meet aren't exactly just and fair people like their house would suggest.

And I love it.

I mean, we talk about how Gryffindors aren't all brave, like Remus and Pettigrew who are both cowardly lions who'd rather run away in many situations. Or how Slytherins aren't all bad, that "the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters" and that Slytherin is more than just power-hungry evil people.

Showing Hufflepuffs who aren't noble, just, and hardworking is great. In fact, it's essential worldbuilding. It's another nail in the coffin of houses not being the be-all and end-all of who a person is. Becouse Hagrid is wrong in what he tells Harry:

“Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin,” said Hagrid darkly. “There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one.”

(PS, Ch5)

Some Hufflepuffs are assholes, some Slytherins are nice, some Gryffindors are cowards and some Ravenclaws aren't smart. Houses aren't just about what you are, but what you value, what you want to be. I always saw someone's house as a mix of their traits, yes, but also their priorities, approach to problem-solving, or what they value most about themselves.

Remus and Peter may be cowards, but both of them value bravery greatly. They both looked up to James for his courage. There could be a Ravenclaw who isn't the sharpest, but they like to learn and solve riddles, even when they aren't any good at it. Slytherins like Tom Riddle, who value bravery and courage and despise cowardice like a Gryffindor, but they're so set on being great, of leaving a legacy, that the hat places them in Slytherin. Hufflepuffs like Ernie, who want to be noble and looked up to as a beacon of justice, but it doesn't come naturally to them so they act the part ("fake it till you make it"). I love this idea of Hogwarts houses that all these Hufflepuffs exemplify. Houses aren't always what you are, and sorting is more complicated than that.

So Cedric isn't the peach perfect noble and just Hufflepuff and it's great. Becouse people aren't always perfect and just and he's human. I would give him that he is a hell of a lot fairer than some of his housemates. But I don't think Cedric is the poster child of a just Hufflepuff — he isn't, and I prefer him that way. He's nice, don't get me wrong, he's not a bad person, but the idea that he was so perfect just because he died tragically sucks.

[ang3lc]

hey yall mind if i practice my angst? no? well don't mind if i do....

simon riley x gn!reader, angst

The rain hammered against the windows of your flat, drowning out the sound of your footsteps pacing the small living room. Simon stood by the door, soaked through, his black hoodie clinging to his broad frame, water pooling at his boots. His hair, dirty blonde and darkened by the rain, fell messily over his forehead, dripping onto the floor. He looked at you with that same unreadable expression he always wore—a mask, even now.

“You shouldn’t have come,” you said, voice tight, arms crossed over your chest as if it might shield you from what was coming.

“I had to,” he said simply, his voice low, rough. It wasn’t an excuse; it was just a fact, like the rain outside or the way he always had to have the last word.

You shook your head, biting back the lump rising in your throat. “Why, Simon? What could you possibly need from me that you don’t already have?”

He took a step forward, his boots squelching against the floor. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words got caught somewhere between his throat and his pride.

“You don’t get to do this,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. “You don’t get to show up here, looking like that, saying nothing, and expect me to just… what? Fall apart for you? Again?”

Simon’s jaw clenched, his shoulders rising slightly like he was bracing for impact. He always did that—closed himself off just enough to make you feel the distance. And yet, here he was.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Do what, Simon?” you asked, stepping closer, your frustration boiling over. “Be honest? Let someone in? Or is it just me you can’t handle?”

He flinched at that, but his eyes never left yours. Those eyes—dark, stormy, always hiding more than they showed—locked onto yours with an intensity that made your chest ache.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he said, his voice rough, almost defensive.

“Barely,” you shot back. “You’re here, but you’re not. You’re in my life, but never really. You’ve lived in my heart so long, I don’t even know what it feels like to be without you, and it’s killing me.”

His shoulders sagged, and for a moment, you thought you saw something break in him—some piece of the armor he always wore. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, quieter now.

“But you do,” you whispered. “Every time you leave, every time you shut me out, you hurt me. And I let you. Because I keep thinking maybe this time, it’ll be different.”

The silence between you was deafening, broken only by the rain and the soft sound of your unsteady breaths. He looked down at the floor, his hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Maybe I should go,” he said finally, the words like a knife to your chest.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice trembling. “Maybe you should.”

He turned to leave, but then he stopped, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He didn’t look back when he said, “I wish I could be better for you.”

You laughed bitterly, wiping at your eyes. “No, Simon. You just wish I didn’t want more than this. But I do. I deserve more.”

He nodded once, his shoulders stiff, and then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

You stood there, staring at the door, the weight of his absence settling over you like a heavy blanket. You hated him in that moment—for his silence, for his distance, for the way he always left before you could even begin to put yourself back together.

The rain lingered long after Simon left, clinging to the air, clinging to you. You stayed by the door, staring at the spot where he had stood, the faint smell of cedarwood and cigarette smoke still lingering like a ghost in the room. It felt cruel how the world didn’t stop, how life kept moving while you stood frozen in the aftermath of him.

Simon Riley. He had been a hurricane in your life—silent, destructive, and devastatingly brief. Every time he walked away, he left pieces of himself behind, and you hated that you were the one who had to pick them up, to carry the weight he refused to bear.

The flat felt colder now, emptier, as if he had taken the warmth with him. You crossed the room, your fingers ghosting over the armrest of the couch where he used to sit, his legs spread wide, his head tilted back as if he could find peace in your living room when he couldn’t find it anywhere else.

There were nights when Simon spoke in his sleep. He never realized it, but you’d stay awake just to listen to the pieces he let slip—names, places, apologies that never made sense. It was the only time he ever truly let you in, and even then, it felt like stealing.

You sat on the couch now, wrapping your arms around yourself, staring at the coffee table where he used to rest his boots, always muttering something about how your flat was “too clean to feel like a real home.” His words had been teasing, but there was an ache in them too—a longing for something he couldn’t name.

The thing was, you knew he cared. In his own quiet, fractured way, Simon cared. It was in the way he lingered by your door like he didn’t want to leave but couldn’t stay. It was in the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, just for a second, before he caught himself. It was in the way he always came back, even though he knew it would hurt both of you.

But caring wasn’t enough. Not when his silence felt like a wall you couldn’t climb. Not when he held you at arm’s length even while standing close enough to touch.

You leaned back, your head hitting the cushion, and closed your eyes, willing yourself not to cry. But the tears came anyway, hot and bitter, slipping down your cheeks and pooling in the hollow of your throat.

Somewhere, Simon was probably walking in the rain, his hood pulled up, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He’d tell himself it was better this way, that leaving was the kindest thing he could do. He’d convince himself that you’d move on, that you’d be happier without him.

But he’d be wrong. Because he wasn’t just a part of your life. He was the center of it, the axis everything else revolved around. And now that he was gone, you didn’t know how to spin without him.

In the quiet of your flat, you thought about calling him, about saying all the things you never could when he was standing in front of you. But what would you even say? Come back? Stay? Love me the way I love you?

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. And you were tired of breaking yourself trying to fix him.

Instead, you picked up your phone and deleted his number. It wasn’t enough to erase him from your life, but it was a start. Because if Simon Riley couldn’t choose you, then you had to choose yourself.

And yet, as you sat there, staring at the empty screen, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was out there thinking of you too, if he felt the same ache, the same hollow emptiness you felt.

But you’d never know. Because Simon Riley was a ghost. And ghosts always disappeared.

mlist

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Gargoyle/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 6,091 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist Part 1 (here), Part 2 (coming soon!)

You're a new volunteer at the halfway house and a dear friend of Esmeralda; you expected working here to be tough, but you didn’t expect to fall in love with one of the monsters seeking shelter here.

The halfway house loomed in front of you like something out of a gothic novel, all sprawling stone and ivy creeping up the walls. The rain had turned to a light drizzle, just enough to make the night feel colder than it should.

Tugging your jacket tighter, you glanced up at the carved arches of the doorway, wondering—not for the first time—if you were out of your depth. Then the door swung open, and there she was.

“Finally!” Esmeralda’s voice carried like a warm embrace. Her smile flashed sharp and bright, and even though you knew what she was, it still startled you to see her teeth. “You’re late.”

You laughed, stepping into her embrace without hesitation. Her arms were cool against you, but that was Esmeralda—cool to the touch, always warm in her way. “Blame the weather,” you said. “The train was slow, and so am I when it comes to resisting bakery stops.”

She pulled back and gave you a knowing look. “I told you to bring something. If you didn’t, I’ll be forced to scold you.”

You reached into your bag and produced a paper-wrapped box. “Raspberry tarts,” you said smugly. “Because I know you too well.”

Esmeralda’s grin widened as she plucked the box from your hands. “You do, darling. This is why we’re friends.”

Friends was a soft word for what you were. Not many humans knew what Esmeralda was, and even fewer stuck around once they did. You’d never cared. She had saved your life once, and you owed her for that. Besides, the world was far more interesting with a vampire for a best friend.

She stepped back and gestured for you to come inside. The house was just as impressive on the inside as it was on the outside. High ceilings, dark wood, and the kind of place that felt like it should come with a ghost or two.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here,” she said, leading you down the wide hallway. Her dark hair bounced as she walked. “The timing is perfect.”

“It always is. Sometimes, I think fate brings us together at just the right time. Every time.”

The place buzzed with quiet energy. You caught movement from the corner of your eye—something tall and shadowed slipping into another room.

Esmeralda waved a hand dismissively, either at your comment or whatever you thought you’d seen. “This time, it really is. I have some associates who could help us secure long-term funding, but they’re going to need convincing.” Her heels clicked against the floor, echoing through the hall as she stopped by an arched doorway and turned to face you. “That’s where you come in.”

“Me?” You blinked. “You want me to dazzle some vampires into handing over cash?”

“Not quite.” She smirked. “You’re a journalist. I need you to help record the residents’ stories. Show the work we do here—how important it is. You’re good at that, and the residents need to socialise with someone they don’t see day in, day out.”

You hesitated, looking around again. The house had a strange, quiet pull to it. “You think they’ll open up?”

“They will.” Her smile softened, just enough to feel genuine. “They just need a reason to.”

Esmeralda gestured for you to follow her further into the house, her heels clicking rhythmically on the wooden floor. “I think you’ll find the residents are more varied than you might expect,” she said, her voice tinged with pride. “This place doesn’t just offer shelter—it’s a second chance for some, a lifeline for others. If we’re going to convince my associates to fund us, they need to see the real impact we’ve had.”

You nodded, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “You think their stories will do the trick?”

“They will,” she replied firmly. “Though it depends on how well you can connect with them. Some are easy to talk to. Others... less so.”

Before you could ask what that meant, a blur of movement caught your eye. A small figure came rushing down the hallway towards you, barefoot and clutching something to her chest.

The girl skidded to a stop just inches from colliding with you, her mossy green hair clinging damply to her face. Wide, watery grey eyes darted between you and Esmeralda, her pale cheeks flushing an earthy pink.

“Oh! I-I’m sorry!” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. She shifted nervously from foot to foot, clutching what looked like a shiny silver trinket against her chest. “I didn’t mean to... I wasn’t looking where I...”

“It’s alright,” you said, smiling to put her at ease. You crouched slightly, meeting her eye level. “No harm done. You all right?”

The girl nodded quickly but didn’t speak again. Esmeralda placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, her tone soft. “Maisie, this is the friend I told you about. She’s here to help us tell our stories.” She turns to me. “I thought you might like to start with Maisie?”

Maisie’s mossy hair swayed as she shook her head rapidly, eyes wide with alarm. “Oh, no, no. I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“Maisie’s an open book,” Esmeralda said to you, ignoring the girl’s protest. “Shy, but sweet as they come. Or,” she added with a hum, “you could start with Laurent and Olivier. They’re the oldest residents, so they have the most history to record.”

“Oldest?” you asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

Esmeralda nodded. “And the most stubborn. Olivier can chat for hours, but good luck getting Laurent to open up.”

Before you could respond, heavy footsteps thudded from the opposite direction, drawing your attention. Two towering figures appeared at the end of the hallway, their presence as imposing as it was magnetic. One was slightly darker in tone, his grey-green skin like moss-covered stone, his massive frame a wall of muscle. The other was a shade lighter, with a more angular build and sharp amber eyes.

“Maisie,” the darker one rumbled, his voice low and steady. “Give it back.”

The lighter one sighed, crossing his arms. “You know stealing isn’t a game, right?”

Maisie squeaked, thrusting the trinket forward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it!”

Esmeralda leaned in. “Meet Olivier,” she said, nodding towards the lighter figure, “and his twin, Laurent.”

They strode closer, the hallway seeming to shrink under their sheer size. They were massive, nearly seven feet tall, with broad shoulders that seemed to stretch the very definition of imposing. Their skin, textured like weathered stone, shimmered faintly in the dim light.

Your gaze caught on Laurent first, the larger of the two. His face was broad, with a wide, squashed nose, sharp, heavy brows, and tusks that curved slightly from his lower jaw. The glow of his amber eyes cut through the shadows, steady and unreadable, but there was something about the way he carried himself—stiff, upright, every movement deliberate—that made your chest tighten.

He looked like he’d been carved from stone itself, all strength and immovable purpose, and yet the detail of him was captivating: the faint cracks across his forearms, the way his massive wings, folded tightly against his back, curved with a natural grace.

For a moment, you forgot to breathe. He was terrifying. He was magnificent.

He was staring right at you.

You forced yourself to focus on Olivier instead, who offered a crooked smile as he took the trinket from Maisie. His features were similar to Laurent’s—squashed and intimidating—but there was a softness to him, in the way his golden eyes glinted and the slight curve of his lips. “I hope we didn’t scare you too badly,” Olivier said, his tone teasing as he turned the trinket over in his claws.

You shook your head, managing a smile despite the fact that your pulse was still racing. “Not scared. Startled, maybe.”

Laurent’s low, rumbling voice cut in, deeper and rougher than Olivier’s. “You looked scared.”

The words hit like a challenge, his gaze boring into yours with a quiet intensity that made the air feel heavier. Your throat tightened as you tried to find your footing again. “First time meeting a gargoyle,” you said, keeping your tone light despite the unease creeping into your chest. “I wasn’t expecting statuesque giants in the hallway.”

Olivier’s laugh broke the tension, his grin widening. “Statuesque. We’ll take that as a compliment.”

Laurent’s expression didn’t shift, but something in the flicker of his eyes told you your attempt at humour had landed poorly. He glanced briefly at Esmeralda, then back at you. “We’re not statues, that’s a myth.”

It wasn’t quite defensive, but there was a weight to the statement, a quiet correction. Your cheeks warmed under his scrutiny, though you weren’t sure if it was embarrassment or something more disconcerting.

“Well,” Esmeralda interjected smoothly, her tone placating, “I think introductions are overdue. Laurent, Olivier, this is my friend. She’s here to help us with some important work.”

Laurent’s stare lingered for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to Maisie. “You need to stop taking our stuff.”

Maisie mumbled another apology, clutching her mossy hair nervously before darting down the hallway toward her room. Her bare feet barely made a sound as she vanished into the shadows. You watched her go, relieved that she seemed more embarrassed than upset.

Laurent and Olivier lingered for a moment longer. Olivier gave you a small, hesitant smile, the kind that seemed polite but guarded. “It was nice meeting you,” he said, his tone warm; but still laced with caution.

Laurent, on the other hand, didn’t bother with any pleasantries. His amber eyes flicked over you briefly, unreadable, before he turned and walked away. Olivier followed a moment later, the two of them moving in sync, their massive wings shifting slightly as they disappeared into the house.

You exhaled slowly, the tension in your chest easing now that they were gone.

“I’m sorry about Laurent,” Esmeralda said softly, drawing your attention back to her. Her dark eyes held a mix of amusement and sympathy. “He has... a way of putting people on edge.”

You crossed your arms, still feeling the weight of his gaze. “He’s intense - and intimidating. Is he always like that?”

Esmeralda tilted her head thoughtfully. “Most of the time, yes. Laurent is...” She paused, searching for the right words. “Complicated. Fiercely loyal, deeply protective, but also very guarded. He doesn’t trust easily, especially humans.” Her lips quirked into a small smile. “Don’t take it personally. It’s not you—it’s everyone.”

You raised an eyebrow, still curious. “Olivier? He seemed... nicer.”

“More approachable, certainly,” Esmeralda agreed. “Don’t let his smile fool you. Olivier is just as wary as his brother. The two of them are inseparable. They’ve been through too much together to let anyone else in easily.”

“Oh?”

Her tone shifted slightly, quieter, more serious. “I could tell you more, but it’s not my story to share. That’s for them to decide.” She gestured down the hallway, as if to indicate the direction the gargoyles had gone. “If you want to understand them, you’ll need to hear it from them. Separately.”

You frowned, puzzled. “Separately?”

Esmeralda nodded. “Laurent and Olivier rely on each other. That’s not a bad thing, but it’s... limiting. They rarely speak to anyone else, and I think it would do them good to branch out. Even if it’s just for this project, talking to you individually could be important for both of them.”

You hesitated, unsure if Laurent’s gruff demeanor was something you could break through. Still, there was something about him—and Olivier—that intrigued you. You wanted to understand why they were here, why they stayed when so many others seemed to move on.

Esmeralda smiled, her sharp features softening. “Take your time. They’ll open up eventually. Just be patient… and persistent.”

You nodded slowly, already thinking of how to approach them. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” she said warmly, motioning for you to follow her further down the hallway. “Now, let me show you where you’ll be staying.”

***

The room Esmeralda had set aside for you was beautiful, in a way that felt almost too much. The ceilings were impossibly high, the bed large enough to swallow you whole, its dark wooden frame heavy and ornate. A tall wardrobe sat in the corner, its doors slightly ajar, revealing neatly folded blankets that you didn’t need.

The entire space was cold; not freezing, but just enough to keep you shifting under the covers.

Then there was the snoring. It rumbled low and steady through the wall, like some great beast slumbering on the other side. You guessed it might be one of the residents—a werewolf, maybe? Whoever it was, they were sleeping far more soundly than you.

Frustrated, you kicked the blankets aside and padded over to the tall windows that opened onto the balcony. The latch creaked faintly as you slid it open, stepping out into the night. A chill breeze hit you immediately, raising goosebumps along your arms, but it was a relief after the oppressive stillness of the room.

The view was eerie. Beautiful. The sprawling grounds of the halfway house stretched out below, dark shapes of trees swaying in the faint wind. Above, the moon hung bright and full, casting everything in a silvery glow.

There, perched on the roof like a gargoyle carved into the building itself, was Laurent.

Your breath caught. He was perched on the very edge of the roofline, his wings partially unfurled, silhouetted against the moonlight. His massive frame was still, his head tilted slightly as though he were watching the horizon. He looked like part of the house, his dark skin blending into the stone.

You took a quick step back, hoping he hadn’t seen you. The last thing you wanted was to disturb him—or worse, have another uncomfortable interaction like earlier.

The faintest movement of his head confirmed he’d already noticed you. His glowing amber eyes locked onto yours, even from a distance. There was no going back now.

After a moment’s hesitation, you decided to take a leap of faith—literally. Climbing up onto the roof seemed like a terrible idea, but staying silent felt worse. You couldn’t explain it, but something about Laurent’s presence pulled at you. You grabbed the nearest part of the latticework and started to climb.

The wind picked up as you scrambled higher, the cold biting at your fingers. The angle was steeper than you’d thought, and halfway up, your foot slipped.

A startled gasp escaped you as you lost your balance. Before you could fall, a massive hand closed around your arm, pulling you up with startling strength. Laurent’s grip was solid and unyielding, his claws barely brushing your skin as he steadied you.

“Careful,” he rumbled, his voice low and rough. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

Your legs trembled as you clung to the edge of the roof, heart racing more from the near fall than anything else. “I-I wasn’t—”

“You’re scared,” he interrupted, his gaze sharp, almost accusing. “You shouldn’t have come up here if you’re afraid of me.”

“Afraid of falling,” you snapped, your voice steadier than you expected. “Not you.”

His expression flickered, surprise flashing across his heavy features before settling into something unreadable. Slowly, he pulled you fully onto the roof, setting you down with more care than you’d expected.

“Hmm,” he muttered, his deep voice more thoughtful now. “You’re braver than you look.”

You sat smiled and carefully, legs crossed, and your hands braced behind you for balance. The roof slanted enough to make your stomach churn if you looked down too long, so you fixed your gaze straight ahead instead. The cold stone beneath you seeped through your clothes, sharp and uncomfortable, but Laurent’s steady presence made the discomfort bearable.

He hadn’t moved far, crouched on the edge of the roof like he belonged there, his wings partially spread to balance himself. The moonlight outlined him in silver, catching on the rough texture of his mossy-green skin and the faint cracks that ran across his arms. His claws flexed once, idly, before going still again, his focus still somewhere in the distance.

The silence between you stretched, heavy and unfamiliar. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, watching the way his sharp, angled features caught the light. His face was undeniably strange—his nose wide and squashed, his jaw prominent and square. His glowing eyes were the most striking, unblinking as they reflected the faint light of the moon.

Odd, you thought. Odd, but not unattractive. Certainly unconventional, but there was something compelling about the strength in his features, the way his stillness made him seem carved from the roof itself.

When he finally turned his head to look at you, the weight of his gaze knocked the breath from your chest. He wasn’t just watching you—he was studying you, those amber eyes sharp and expectant.

You fumbled, sitting up straighter. “I—uh...” The words caught in your throat as his expression remained unreadable. “Esmeralda thought I should talk to you.”

His brow furrowed slightly, one of his wings shifting closer to his body. “Why?”

You rubbed at the back of your neck, feeling the cold bite of the wind there. “She’s... She’s hoping to get funding for the house. She thought that if I recorded the residents’ stories, it might help convince the people she’s reaching out to.”

For a moment, Laurent didn’t respond, his gaze sweeping back over the horizon. You wondered if he was ignoring you entirely when he finally said, “I know she’s been struggling.”

His voice was low, rough, but there was something softer beneath it. You tilted your head, surprised by his honesty. “You do?”

He nodded, still watching the trees sway in the distance. “She tries to keep it quiet, but it’s obvious if you pay attention. Fixes that don’t get finished. Rooms that stay empty longer than they used to.”

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond. He wasn’t wrong—Esmeralda’s determination to keep the house running sometimes masked just how precarious things had become.

“She thinks your story could help,” you said quietly.

Laurent’s jaw tightened at that, his claws flexing again. “I don’t tell my story.”

It wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t exactly welcoming either. You braced yourself, determined not to retreat. “Maybe this time, you should.”

“No,” Laurent said flatly, his gaze cutting back to you.

The weight of the word hung in the air, as immovable as the gargoyle himself.

You hesitated, frustration bubbling under your skin. “I’m not asking you to bare your soul or anything,” you tried, keeping your tone even, calm. “It’s just—Esmeralda really believes this could help the house. You’re the oldest resident. Your story matters.”

“I said no.” His wings flared slightly, a restless motion that seemed involuntary, and his claws scraped faintly against the stone roof.

Your irritation flared, pushing past the unease in your chest. “Why; what are you so afraid of? Esmeralda has done so much for you, she deserves—”

“Enough!”

His voice cracked like thunder, louder than anything you’d heard from him before. It rolled over you, heavy and full of raw anger. Laurent turned toward you fully now, his massive frame towering in the moonlight.

“Do you ever shut up?” he growled, his tusks catching the faint light as his upper lip curled. “Take the hint and fuck off!”

The words hit like a slap, sharp and final. For the first time since arriving at the house, you felt real fear, a cold knot tightening in your stomach. The sheer size of him, his claws flexing at his sides, the tension radiating from every inch of him—it was overwhelming.

Your heart pounded as you scrambled to your feet, stepping back toward the edge of the roof. “I’m sorry,” you stammered, barely managing to get the words out. You turned, gripping the stone ledge as you clambered awkwardly down to the balcony.

When your feet finally hit solid ground, you turned back instinctively, catching sight of him still standing on the roof. The shadows draped over him like a second skin, his wings tucked tight against his back, but he didn’t look at you. He stared straight ahead, as if you’d already disappeared.

The knot in your stomach tightened further. You wanted to call up to him, to try again, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the flicker of guilt in his eyes, the one he tried to mask with cold indifference. Or maybe it was the sharp edge of your own fear.

You turned back to the hallway, your chest still tight as you opened the door quietly. You hadn’t made it far when a vaguely familiar voice stopped you.

“Are you alright?” Olivier stood just ahead, his expression a mix of concern and something softer. He glanced toward the balcony, his wings twitching faintly. “I was looking for Laurent. Did something happen?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “We talked. Or... tried to. He got angry. I pushed too hard, and he told me to leave.”

Olivier’s brows furrowed, and he stepped closer, his broad shoulders hunched slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “My brother... he has his reasons for being the way he is. That’s not an excuse, but I hope you understand.”

You nodded, still rattled. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”

Olivier gave you a faint, apologetic smile. “He knows. He just... needs time.”

You smile awkwardly, trying to stuff down the flicker of guilt growing in your stomach. “Yeah, I know.”

***

The next few days passed in a blur of activity. You kept yourself busy, determined to avoid crossing paths with Laurent. If he didn’t want to talk, fine. There were plenty of other residents willing to share their stories, and you threw yourself into listening to them.

Maisie was the first. The young kelpie was painfully shy, her mossy hair dripping faintly as she sat across from you in the sunlit sitting room, her knees drawn to her chest. She’d come from a small loch in the Scottish Highlands, the last of her kind in that area. Her voice wavered as she explained how the world had changed too much for her kind to survive, her watery grey eyes filled with a sadness that seemed far older than her youthful appearance.

“Humans don’t leave offerings anymore,” she murmured, twisting a strand of mossy hair between her fingers. “They drain the lochs... build over everything. There’s nowhere left for us.”

Her words stayed with you long after she returned to her room.

Lucas was a different story entirely. The boisterous werewolf cornered you in the kitchen as you were grabbing a drink, pulling you into a sprawling conversation over a shared pot of coffee. He was charming and open in a way that felt effortless, leaning against the counter as he recounted his life before the halfway house.

“I used to live in the city,” he said, stirring sugar into his cup. “Worked construction, went out on weekends, the usual. Then I met someone—human, obviously—and things got... complicated.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “Complicated how?”

Lucas’s grin faltered, his golden-brown eyes dimming slightly. “She found out. Couldn’t handle it. One night I shifted in front of her by accident, and that was that. She told people. I had to run.” He shrugged, a casual motion that didn’t quite mask the tension in his shoulders. “Esmeralda found me before things got worse.”

It struck you how casually he spoke about something that had likely upended his entire life. The ease in his tone felt practiced, a cover for something far deeper.

You wanted to press him further, to ask how he’d really felt when everything fell apart, but the slight twitch in his jaw warned you to tread lightly.

“Well,” you said instead, offering him a small smile. “It sounds like you’ve found a place here. Even if it’s... not what you planned.”

Lucas exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah, it’s not bad. Esmeralda runs a tight ship, and the residents aren’t half as scary as they look.” His grin returned, broader this time. “Most of them, anyway.”

He didn’t say it outright, but you could hear the unspoken Laurent in his words. The conversation drifted to lighter topics after that, but even as Lucas returned to his usual charm, his story lingered with you.

Later that evening, as you wandered the hallways, you found yourself drawn to the little-used staircase that led to the third floor. You’d avoided it until now; Esmeralda had casually mentioned that only one resident stayed there, and even she hadn’t offered much detail.

The stairs creaked under your weight, the air growing cooler as you ascended. The third floor was darker, the faint scent of dust and something older curling in the still air. Shadows clung to the corners, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d imagined the faint movement flickering just out of sight.

Then a voice, low and whispery, broke the silence.

“You’re brave... or foolish.”

You froze, your breath catching. The shadows shifted ahead of you, curling and stretching until they coalesced into a shape—not quite solid, not quite human. A pair of faintly glowing eyes blinked into existence, and you realised you were face-to-face with something dark and shadowy.

“I heard you don’t like visitors,” you said carefully, your voice steady despite the prickling unease that crawled up your spine.

Rio’s shape rippled, his outline flickering like smoke caught in the wind. “Most of them don’t try to talk. They... avoid me.”

You took a tentative step closer, tilting your head. “Why’s that? You seem... well, intimidating, sure, but not terrible.”

A sound that might have been a chuckle escaped him, soft and dry like paper crumpling. “That’s... generous. What do you want?”

“I’m recording stories for Esmeralda,” you explained, watching the shadows shift around him. “About the residents, their lives. She said it might help the house.”

Rio was silent for a long moment, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly. “A human,” he murmured, almost to himself. “She sent a human.”

Despite the odd flicker of fear still clinging to your thoughts, you crossed your arms. “Are you going to let that stop you?”

His form seemed to grow taller, darker, before shrinking back again. “No. Ask.”

The exchange was brief, fragmented, but he answered you, his words drifting like smoke in the quiet hallway. When you eventually thanked him and left, you couldn’t shake the sense that you’d just glimpsed something rare, something no one else had seen.

Esmeralda’s delight later was almost infectious, but even as she praised you for managing to talk to Rio, your thoughts wandered. No matter how many stories you gathered, one glaring absence loomed in your mind.

Laurent still hadn’t spoken to you, and you were starting to wonder if he ever would.

***

Maisie sat cross-legged on the couch, her mossy hair draped over one shoulder as she carefully plaited it into thin, uneven braids. You were perched on the other end, notebook in hand, jotting down details of her story between her shy pauses.

“I suppose,” Maisie murmured, her voice as soft as the brush of water against stone, “I was lucky Esmeralda found me when she did. I didn’t... I didn’t know where to go.”

You glanced up, offering an encouraging smile. “You’ve been here a while now, though. Do you feel safe?”

Maisie nodded, her fingers still working through her damp hair. “Safe, aye, but it’s... different. Always worrying someone will notice something.” Her gaze dropped to her lap, her voice quieter now. “People don’t like what they don’t understand.”

Her words sat heavily between you, both of you lost in thought until the murmur of voices from the next room pulled you back.

Esmeralda’s voice, low and sharp, carried through the doorway. “You don’t think they’ve figured it out, do you?”

Maisie froze mid-braid, her watery grey eyes snapping to yours. You shook your head slightly, motioning for her to stay quiet as Lucas’s reply drifted through the air.

“It’s just talk, Esme,” Lucas said, his tone calm but edged with unease. “People in small towns gossip. It doesn’t mean they know anything.”

“What if they do?” Esmeralda shot back, her usual poise slipping. “What if someone’s realised what we are? You’ve heard the rumours as much as I have. Strange sounds. Lights at night. The halfway house full of strangers. They’re putting things together.”

Maisie’s hands trembled, her braid forgotten as she leaned closer to you, her voice a whisper. “Are they talking about us?”

You pressed a finger to your lips, trying to focus on the conversation.

“They’re always going to talk,” Lucas replied, though his voice sounded strained now, the usual easy charm missing. “It doesn’t mean we’re in danger. We’ve dealt with this kind of thing before.”

“This is different,” Esmeralda insisted. “I know when someone’s watching. I know when someone’s looking too closely.”

There was a pause, the kind that felt heavy with things unsaid. Then Lucas spoke again, softer this time. “If someone’s onto us, we’ll deal with it. We always do. You’ve been keeping this place running too long to let a few nosy villagers bring it down.”

The tension in Esmeralda’s voice didn’t ease. “I won’t let them hurt anyone. Not again.”

Your stomach tightened at her words, and you could see Maisie clutching her knees, her knuckles pale against her mossy skin. You wanted to tell her everything was fine, that it was just paranoia, but the edge in Esmeralda’s tone made it hard to believe even yourself.

Maisie’s whisper barely broke the silence. “Do you think... they’ll come here?”

You didn’t have an answer. Instead, you closed your notebook and gave her a reassuring smile you didn’t quite feel. “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” you said softly, though the uneasy knot in your chest told you you’d both heard enough to worry.

Maisie’s fingers fidgeted with her braid, unravelling it as quickly as she’d plaited it. Her watery grey eyes darted toward the doorway where Esmeralda and Lucas’s voices had been, their absence now replaced by an uncomfortable stillness.

“Maisie,” you said gently, closing your notebook and setting it aside. “We can pick this up another time, yeah?”

She blinked, her mouth forming a small o of surprise before she nodded quickly, her mossy hair swaying. “Aye, I—thank you,” she mumbled, standing so quickly that the hem of her long skirt caught on the couch. She tugged it free and all but darted out of the room, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floors.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stood. You didn’t blame her. Whatever Esmeralda and Lucas had been talking about had set both your nerves and hers on edge. There was no use pushing her now.

Stepping into the hall, you nearly collided with someone solid—someone massive. Your heart skipped as you looked up to find both twins standing there, blocking most of the narrow hallway with their combined size.

Laurent, as always, looked like he’d been carved directly from the walls—stoic and unmoving—while Olivier’s brows rose slightly, his expression more open but just as unreadable.

“Sorry,” you said, stepping back and trying to gauge whether they’d heard the conversation too. From the way Olivier’s amber eyes flicked toward the sitting room door, it was clear they had. Neither of them said anything, and you felt the awkwardness thicken around you.

“So, uh,” you started, fumbling for something to say. “What brings you to this end of the house?”

Olivier gave a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just stretching our legs.”

Laurent, on the other hand, didn’t so much as blink. He stood there, his wings tucked close, a hulking silhouette against the dim light of the hallway.

You cleared your throat, glancing between them. “Well, nice to, um, bump into you. Again.”

Olivier’s smile widened just a fraction, but Laurent simply turned, his massive frame moving further down the hall. Olivier followed without another word.

Later, when sleep refused to come, you found yourself wandering into the kitchen. The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sound at first, until a low, familiar voice startled you.

“You’re up late.”

Laurent was standing near the counter, his hulking frame somehow looking out of place amidst the cosy clutter of the kitchen. His wings shifted slightly as he turned, glancing at you with those glowing amber eyes.

“So are you,” you replied, leaning against the doorway.

For a moment, you thought that was the end of it. Then, awkwardly, he gestured toward the kettle. “Tea?”

The word was stilted, almost uncertain, and you blinked.

“Sure,” you said, your voice softer now.

Laurent reached for a small container, and your eyes widened as he set it on the counter. It had your name written neatly on the label.

“You knew where my tea was?”

He shrugged, the movement oddly stiff. “Esmeralda said it was yours. You leave it in the same spot.”

You stared, caught between surprise and something warmer. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

His claws brushed the edge of the container as he opened it. “I notice everything.”

You didn’t comment, instead watching as he ambled about the kitchen.

Laurent moved with a quiet efficiency that seemed incongruous with his size. The kettle hissed softly as he poured the steaming water into two mismatched mugs, his massive hands surprisingly deft as he worked. His shoulders hunched slightly to accommodate the low cabinets above him, and every shift of his wings made the kitchen feel even smaller.

You watched him from your spot near the table, caught between awkward silence and an inexplicable pull you didn’t entirely understand. He seemed too big for the space, too solid, like the room itself might give way before he did.

Yet, there was something mesmerising about the precision of his movements, the quiet strength in the way he handled something as simple as making tea.

The air between you was heavy, uncomfortable. You wanted to say something—anything—but the words refused to come. Laurent didn’t seem inclined to break the silence either, his amber eyes focused on the mugs as he let the tea steep.

Your fingers tapped absently against the edge of the table, the tension stretching taut. “I, uh... I didn’t mean to push you before.” The words slipped out before you had time to second guess them. “When I first got here. I just… I was trying to help, and I think I overstepped.”

Laurent didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached for the mugs, his claws brushing the handles as he turned to hand one to you. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, the glow in them unreadable.

“I don’t like being pushed,” he said finally, his voice a low rumble that resonated through the small kitchen.

The sound sent a shiver down your spine, something deep and instinctive that wasn’t entirely fear. You nodded, fingers wrapping around the warm mug. “I get that. I just... wanted you to know I’m sorry.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his tusks catching the faint light as his jaw shifted. “You meant well,” he said eventually, his tone gruff but not unkind. “It’s fine.”

The tension between you didn’t entirely dissipate, but something in the air felt different. You took a deep breath, lifting the mug to your lips—

A sudden crash from somewhere in the house shattered the quiet, the sound sharp and violent enough to make you jump. The mug slipped in your hands, hot tea splashing onto your fingers and sending a spark of pain through you.

Before you’d even registered it, Laurent was already moving. His wings flared slightly, casting shadows across the walls as he straightened to his full height.

“Stay here,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

Another sound followed—a muffled shout, unfamiliar voices carrying through the hallway. Laurent’s head snapped toward the doorway, his body tensing like a spring ready to release.

“Who the hell is that?” you whispered, your heart pounding as the voices grew louder. Laurent didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped toward the door, his massive frame blocking your view as the sound of heavy footsteps echoed closer.

[eowynstwin]

I've come to the last thing I'd like to talk about, and unlike the rest it's something I've already made progress working through. I want to try keep this subject brief, because 1) it's taken a LOT out of me to get through all this and 2) even so, it's helped, and I'm ready to move on. I just don't want to leave anything important to me unaddressed.

So, I mentioned that when I returned to this blog, it felt like everyone had moved on from the Myka issue. I didn't see the same kind of support when I came back as I did when I left—and maybe it seems presumptive of me, but I had been expecting it. There was precedent, after all.

And I'll be honest—it took pretty much all the wind out of my sails. It kind of felt like it didn't matter if I was here or not—like, outside of the Myka issue, I hadn't actually made enough of an impression on anyone, with my own work or my support for others', for them to really care if I came back. Which, considering how many people were there for me when I left, I believed I had. That belief felt pretty misplaced after that. And to put it mildly, that did not feel good.

At the same time—and I've already talked about this in the past, so I don't want to retread old ground too much—I noticed a drop in engagement with the new work I posted. I understand now that that involved a lot of factors—my long absence, the change in my url, general fandom trends—but because it happened around the same time as my return, it compounded that feeling of my irrelevance.

So as I’ve been writing this whole time, and posting, I’ve lived with this undercurrent of god I hope this is good enough for them to care about me again. I felt like I had never actually been good enough for anyone to think of me outside of the Myka incident. I couldn't enjoy my own work without thinking none of this was ever good enough. I got to the point where I couldn't enjoy other people's work without thinking everyone likes them, but they don't like me.

Now, obviously this is unhealthy. It's also patently untrue, as demonstrated by the support I and my work have been given in the months following my return.

A part of me kind of cringes to discuss this at all, because it feels unfair to the people who've offered that support—I don't want anyone to feel like I haven't appreciated it, because I have. But I lay all this out to lead to the conclusion I've come to, which I want to share, because it feels like the gateway into finally leaving Myka, and all of these things I've been feeling, behind for good.

I've talked to friends since then, gotten context, and I've evaluated my tenure as a whole in this community in effort to understand.

The thing at the core of this issue is that my confidence was shaken. Both by the incident itself, and everything that followed it.

While it was happening, I was under a microscope, and found inadequate. I couldn't talk about it, because that would only make things worse for me. When I came back, I felt like I was still under the microscope, and I still couldn't talk about it—and in addition, it seemed like I had earn my place here again.

Feeling like that has made it really, really hard to enjoy being here. But I know that feeling isn't entirely rational. And if I don't want to feel that way anymore, I have to let myself say the things I need to say and make the things I want to make, and I have to let myself enjoy doing it.

I want to be here. Despite everything, I still belong here, even if I don't feel like I do. I've been so afraid to talk about Myka all this time, really, because I didn't think any of you wanted to hear about it. I thought it would drive you away.

But I've talked about it now. And you've all listened. So that means I'm allowed feel confident about everything else.

Thank you.

[cbk1000]

Well, I guess that kudos is sticking around, but honestly, it doesn't change the fact that the work didn't land for me. I wasn’t trying to be mean, just saying what I thought. If you're gonna publish it, fine, but don’t act like it was some sort of high praise. Keep the kudos if you want, but don't expect me to pretend I liked it.

Interpreting my response to your previous ask as acting like it was some sort of high praise is an INSANE failure of reading comprehension.

You absolutely did intend to be mean, you're just upset that I thought your insults were funny instead of taking them to heart.

'But don't expect me to pretend I liked it.' Listen. I need you to stop and think about this for a second. We are complete strangers to one another. I'm not expecting you to pretend you like it. I do not know you. I don't want or crave your regard because, once again, you are a stranger and my only interaction with you thus far has been you sending a rude ask to my tumblr account. Whether you like it or not does not mean anything to me because I do not know anything about you as a person or your personal tastes. I am not a friend or coworker who expects you to put on a good face despite your true opinion.

I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you're very young and haven't yet learnt how to appropriately interact with strangers online, so to recap: this ain't it. That message you sent was one of the cringiest things I've seen in more than 20 years of participating in various online fandoms. You need to reread what you write before you send it and really think about if that's the way you want to represent yourself, even anonymously.

But above all: it's fanfiction. Free gay internet writing. Written by a rando you do not know, and do not have to interact with. Just close your internet browser window and don't think about it again. You're the one who initiated this. You are the one dragging out your association with a fic you do not like. Contacting me twice now about a fic you didn't like is indisputably strange behavior. If you want to participate in fandom spaces without alienating everyone, including writers you do admire, you need to stop doing this sort of thing. The reaction is always going to be, 'What a douche'. Even from people who themselves don't like the fic it was aimed at. Your time in fandom will be far more pleasant if you concentrate your time and attention on the fan creations you DO enjoy, and that is what I recommend you do.

I can't tell you what to do, obviously, but I encourage you not to message me again. I will delete any future responses from you, because frankly, this is not healthy behavior and you need to focus on something that brings you enjoyment instead of getting hung up on a single fic you didn't like. I have disliked and not finished loads of fanfics. I merely close the window I was reading it in and go do something else, and that is what you need to do.