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rockingbytheseaside · 8 months ago

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Hihi!, This is my first request of something like this but here we go! Male harbingers with a reader who has constant nightmares/episodes of sleep paralysis and proceed to comfort them through the process. Obviously you don’t gotta do it if you don’t have the time, just wanted to put this little headcannon out into the world!

(I swear I’m not dead! I was busy graduating and enrolling in my next uni studies!)

✦ How they comfort you when you wake up from a nightmare

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe.

In the darkest depth of our consciousness, even we do not possess sovereignty over our dreams. Be it a curse or a blessing, your mind can become your foe. As thoughts and memories convulse into pleasant dreams or horrid nightmares, you end up with the dreaded sense of despair as you witness your own mind betraying you, and waking up with a cold sweat. Tossing and turning, there is only a certain pair of arms that can soothe you in the dimness of such nights - your beloved’s embrace.

✧ Pierro knows you’re having a nightmare before you even wake up. On a quiet night, when he is sitting beside you in bed, either reading or engrossed in some papers, you’d doze off beside him. But on such nights, he discerns the unease written on your sleeping face. Eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed or softly scowling. The Jester sets whatever he is reading aside and shifts his calculated attention towards you. You start silently tossing as if the very softness of the covers is heavy on you. Pierro sighs, his hand softly coming to rest on your forehead to confirm his suspicion - you are warm, yet breaking out into a cold sweat.

“Dear, shh… open your eyes, slowly now.” - he whispers, as his hands slowly yet deliberately caress your face. “You are having a nightmare again.”

And indeed, you open your eyes; your dazed expression is one of puzzlement yet evident fear. Pierro knows your first few minutes of waking up from a nightmare are delicate. Through the haze, your first instinct is to seek refuge in the safety of the arms holding you, knowing to who it belongs already. You turn towards him, letting him pull you against his chest.

“…Your mind is wary and played tricks on you. You're here now. Breathe.” - you kept your eyes closed, too worn out to get up or speak about your nightmare. Thus, you focused on Jester’s words, breathing deeply as the sound of his heartbeat was navigating you to inhale and exhale.

You didn't have to explain your nightmares to Pierro - he already knows they mirror the horrors of the cataclysm he once witnessed. Therefore, he squeezes you tightly against him, his lips pressed against your forehead. With silent words of comfort, Pierro continued his vows to protect you, even from your nightmares.

✧ Il Capitano kneeled beside your bed, akin to a dutiful knight. You lay there, asleep, your wounds and gashes carefully bandaged. This wasn't your first time returning from a prolonged expedition, battle scars and bruises coloring your skin. After all, he often warns you not to be reckless, while you stubbornly return home with bruises.

Hence, he silently remained beside you, his fists clenched and shoulders taut. His pitch-black helmet stared at you for a prolonged time, anxiously keeping watch of your deep slumber. The Captain's mind reeled, chastising himself for not being there to protect you. But suddenly his attention was diverted as you started to mutter in your sleep.

It was incomprehensible and lasted only a fleeting second before you jolted up with a sudden gasp, urgently grappling for breath.

“My beloved, what is the matter?” - Capitano rushed towards your side, his arm immediately around your shoulder. “Focus on breathing, steady your heart.”

You wake up, eyes wide with shock and gasping for life, like a fool rescued from drowning. You stared at your beloved in confusion, before your face sourced in melancholy. Il Capitano let you hide your face against him, his arms carefully wrapped around you to avoid pressing your bruises. He sensed your shoulders shaking, small sobs emitting from you - and that sound alone could make the steadfast Harbinger crumble. His hands brush your messy hair aside, offering soothing comfort.

“I shall hold you, my dear. These were only illusions brought about by your fatigue and injuries… It’s all safe now, I am here.” - Capitano squeezed you in his embrace as if his larger frame could shield you from harm. However, in truth, his words aimed to reassure not only you but also himself. Despite his vigilance, his hands trembled whenever he witnessed your distress, fear, or unease. "What did you see, my love?"

You sniffled, recounting the blurry bits of your nightmare. Although you were regaining your breath, you felt how Capitano’s hand trembled, his stern expression faltering with concern. Even you could tell that he was more nervous about your disposition, maybe even more than you.

“You saw such horrible visions due to your fatigue. I did not shield you from your wounds and nightmares. I shan’t forgive myself for my failure. From here on out, allow me to remedy it.”

✧ At an ungodly hour of the night, Il Dottore returned to his private chambers. With the long hours of working in the lab behind him, he entered the bedroom quietly, expecting to see you fast asleep. Instead, he noticed the bathroom door ajar, allowing a streak of light to seep into the dark room, and the faint sound of tap water running caught his attention. Most importantly, you were not in bed.

“It’s rare to see you awake at this hour…” - the Doctor remarked as he stood by the bathroom doorway, observing you cool your face with water. “Why are you not asleep?”

“I…couldn’t sleep.” - you replied briefly, yet your fatigue was evident as you tapped your face with a towel.

The Harbinger did not buy your lies, he carefully stepped closer, his gloved hands placed softly onto your shoulders. “Turn around. Look at me.”

You did so, and no words were necessary as he analyzed your sorrowful gaze: reddened eyes, darkened circles, and an ashan look of despair bestowed on you. The Harbinger sighed, keenly aware that you had woken from another harrowing dream. His hands now gently caressed your cheek, thumb trailing softly.

“Another nightmare?” - he inquired in a hushed tone, “Staying awake won’t resolve it, you know. Let’s get you back to bed.”

You wished to object, but Dottore had already sprung into full work mode. He brought you back to bed, deftly fixing the tousled pillows and covers to your liking. Once you were tucked, he instructed quickly: “Now stay here. I will brew some chamomile tea. It will help your slumber.”

Thus, with his coat removed and sleeves rolled up to the forearms, he moved through the house, swiftly ensuring that your resting area exuded comfort and tranquility. Returning with the steaming tea, he placed the cup on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. “Careful now, it’s still hot. Do you want me to give you sleeping p-”

“I��m not ill, Dottore. It was just… a nightmare. Nothing more.”

“Yet your expression says it wasn’t ‘just’ a nightmare, and your heartbeat is accelerating.” - His hand ran over your forehead, instinctively checking for your temperature. “It’s just a dream. You're awake now. Don’t exhaust yourself anymore - it’s usually my job to stay late, actually.”

You huffed at him but managed a faint smile. “Undoubtedly… And what would the doctor prescribe for my ailment?”

Il Dottore smirked proudly, planting a much-needed kiss on your cheek before finally scooting beside you in bed - “Why, a dose of me, of course!”

✧ The moment Scaramouche perceived the sound of your distress in the dead of night, he swiftly flung the sliding shoji door aside, prepared for murder. But there was no intruder or attacker, it was just you, sitting up on your futon, softly weeping. The confused Balladeer stepped into your room, kneeling beside you as his mind invoked the worst scenarios already.

“What happened? I heard a scream.”

For a moment you tried to regain your breath, gulping. Only after regaining your composure, and hearing much coaxing to tell the truth, did you finally reveal to him what transpired. It was a nightmare, plain and simple. For a moment, Scaramouche was silent. He is no stranger to dreams, particularly the ones that bring tears to the dreamer. Instead, he resented them, viewing dreams as the root of his vulnerabilities and the reason for his estrangement.

But witnessing you weep after a nightmare? It was a foreign feeling, one that left a foul pit in his being.

“Hey, calm down.” - he whispered, reaching for you. At first, the Harbinger wasn’t sure how to handle this, but he persisted nonetheless. “It was all just a dream. A jumble of thoughts made up by your mind, Do not allow such a thing to haunt your sleep.”

“I'm sorry, Scara… I know, It’s foolish to cry. I just-”

The 6th shushed you, but when you tried to glance at him in the dark, you sensed no mockery or animosity in his gaze. “I didn't say you should stop crying. It’s not foolish either.”

With a deep sigh, Scaramouche begrudgingly crawled beside you under the covers. He made sure you were lying down beside him, pulling the covers over you both. "Okay, listen. I will stay with you while you fall back asleep. Only this time! So don't expect a bedtime story."

His irritation veiled his concern for your weary expression. But thankfully, his words managed to elicit a chuckle to your sleepy face. He watched you lay on your side, his fingers idly toying with the ends of your hair.

"Say, Scaramouche...? Do puppets have bad dreams?"

The Balladeer did not think much of your innocent question. He didn't have to contemplate long to let his memories resurface; instead, he just nodded quietly with no elaboration. Regardless, that simple question from you kept haunting his mind for years to come. As Wanderer sat alone in bed, the torturous grip of dreams clutching him anew, he no longer had you beside him. The reassurance he once provided while spending sleepless nights with you was absent, just as you were no longer there to offer the same.

✧ When you jolted up with a yelp, you likely caused a bigger fright to Pantalone than your own nightmare instilled in you. The Harbinger rose from his slumber, turning the nightstand lamp with half-shut eyes.

“Oh dearie, Shhh… It’s alright, all is good,” - he tugged at you with trepidation, pulling you close to him in bed. “I’ve never seen you so frightened from a dream. There, there.”

You honestly felt ashamed at first, but both of you understood the uncontrollable nature of nightmares, especially if they caused you to scream in the awakened world. So here you were, hiding your face behind your palms while your beloved hugged you, hoping to provide solace. Once you came out of your shock, you just rested against his shoulder quietly. Once the shock subsided, you remained leaning against his shoulder in silence. However, the lingering taste of the nightmare left a sour impression on your mood, as you found yourself unable to drift back into slumber.

Pantalone observed your despondent demeanor, his arm still encircling your shoulders - “Do you think you can fall back asleep, honey?”

“... I’m sorry, Pantalone. I woke you up, too. Now I feel embarrassed.”

“Nonsense, dear. An unpleasant dream does that sometimes. You’re just… shaken by the memories of your nightmare, and now unable to fall back asleep.” - The Regrator brought the covers closer over your figure, while your head leaned on his shoulders. “Do you want me to make you something? Maybe coffee, or valerian root tea with honey?”

“No, no. Can you just… keep talking for a while?” - you requested in a sudden coy manner, “You can talk about anything. I want to hear you speak.”

“Hm, very well,” - Pantalone smiled fondly and reached for his glasses on the nightstand. “I think I have just the idea.”

Reaching for a book he usually reads before bed, the Harbinger scooted closer, ensuring the open pages were visible to you. Pantalone knew that what troubled you did not require in-depth words or solutions. Instead, you sought a distraction from your troubled mind. Something to keep your saddened thoughts at bay while he spoke about whatever he could think of.

“Then allow me to read for you while you rest easy, okay? Ahem…”

In the dimly illuminated bedroom, you found solace in the soothing voice of your beloved, your gaze tracing the words on the pages as Pantalone remained engrossed in his reading aloud. You kept quiet and still, seeing him flip the pages as he continued. Soon enough, the gentle cadence of his voice ushered you into the embrace of sleep, and you yielded willingly back to slumber. Pantalone detected your drooping head and quietly closed the book before planting a kiss on your forehead.

"Sleep well, dear."

✧ Tartaglia blinked at you, his countenance solemn as he sat upright in bed. You mirrored his gaze, knowing perfectly well what he would say. You could smell it a mile away.

“Let me beat them!”

“No,” - you crossed your arms.

“Let me beat whoever bothers you in your nightmares”

“For the last time, Ajax, you can’t physically ‘fight’ nightmares! It’s a nightmare, not a person!”

Such was the course of your evening. Startled from a haunting dream, you found Childe by your side, showing more concern for your welfare than you did yourself. Instead, he insisted on vanquishing your nightmares with his fists alone.

“Oh come on, you know I’m just joking. I saw you gasping for air after you woke up so abruptly; don’t blame me for being concerned.” - Childe rolled his eyes, gently pulling you to rest on his arms. “Tell me, what did you see?”

You sighed deeply, remaining apprehensive despite his humorous jabs. After much contemplation, you decided it would be worse if you recited your nightmares vocally. “It… It doesn’t matter. It was a nonsensical nightmare, nothing to ponder about.”

The Harbinger frowned softly, he knew you well enough when something troubled you. And it was clear you felt anguished by the recent dream you had. Pressing further would only exacerbate it, instead, he decided to annoy you in a different manner

“Well, next time you have a bad dream… Call out for me. In your dreams I mean!” - He stated with a big smile.

“...What?”

“Think about it! Something is bothering you while you’re dreaming - you call out for me, and I stop my dreams to come to your dream.”

“That’s ridiculous,” - you chuckled

“And then, you know, pow, pow!” - Childe mimicked the motion of fistfighting, pretending to punch some invisible opponent who could be your potential enemy in a nightmare. In the meantime, you started laughing even more. “And there you go! Your nightmares are now rainbows and sunshine.”

You knew well what Tartaglia was doing. He aimed to lift you out of your forlorn state by sharing lighthearted jokes - and it was working. Tartaglia watched you laughing silly as he made some childish remarks, feeling victorious to bring in that smile he adores oh so much. It was his method of alleviating the tensions in your mind, and it proved effective as the two of you snuggled in bed, entertained by amusing banter until your worries subsided. Then, and only then, would you release a contented sigh and allow yourself to drift back into slumber in the comforting embrace of your beloved.

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s4nguiine · 14 days ago

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—mydeimos, oh mydeimos

mydei x reader - saying goodbye

» rating: sfw, angst, hurt no comfort

» notes: look.. i know this took a while, but i have an excuse!! you see, i had a whole drabble almost ready to post. but then the new patch came out and it changed the way i saw mydei entirely, and since it was wildly ooc, i had no other choice but to rewrite the whole thing. anyway i'll stop yapping now have fun

“so you’ve saved me for last?”

you don’t need to turn to know that your lover is standing behind you. his figure casts a long shadow from the doorway to your feet. you hear mydei’s footsteps grow closer, yet still your eyes remain focused on the eggplant that you’re dicing on the cutting board.

finally his hands clutch your shoulders, making you freeze.

bitter. you feel bitter. there’s the usual anger, but what’s truly fanning the flames is hurt and sadness. mydei’s palms are warm against your skin but all you can really think about is their fleetingness. you hang your head.

“why you?” you mumble.

mydei’s hand glides over your arm until it stops at your wrist, where he envelops your hand and forces you to let go of the knife. you hadn’t even realized that you were clenching it so hard. he turns your hand over and pushes his fingers through the gaps between yours, fingertips digging into your palm.

this pushes you over the edge. you grit your teeth but it does nothing to stop the tears from overflowing.

“so you know?” he asks. his voice his deep but soft. this is him, the real him that he usually hides under a layer of rough masculinity.

“phainon’s told me,” you reply, doing your best to still the tremble of your voice. “he loves you, you know.” your free hand comes up to wipe at your eyes.

“and you?” mydei lowers his head. your shoulder dips under the weight of his forehead. “do you love me?”

your lip trembles. your wiping is pointless now, the tears flow endlessly. a sob wracks your body.

“of course i do, you fool. you kremnoan oaf. what am i to do without you?”

despite your sobs you know that he is smiling. mydei’s body already towered over yours, but now that you are hunched over and crying you seem much, much smaller. the redhead’s lips hover over the skin of your neck, and he presses a soft kiss into it.

“that is enough for me.”

but what about me?

then, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you tightly into his embrace, almost as if trying to etch the curves of your body into his very flesh and mind.

yet you can’t stay still for long. you whirl around in his hold and you spot a minuscule twitch in his face when he sees your pained expression, a falter in determination that, much to your dismay, quickly steels itself once more.

mydei closes his eyes.

“i have to do this. it has to be me,” he says. then he speaks your name, a soft sound spilling from the plump lips you’ve had the pleasure of tasting.

the warrior, the love of your life, reaches for the knife that was pried from your hands, and with a quick and calculated slash, he severs the braid in his hair. mydei then presses it tightly into the palm of your hand and wraps your fingers around it, squeezing.

“remember me.”

always.

“pray for my victory.”

with every breath i take.

no words manage to get out through the tightness in your throat, so you opt for nodding instead. mydei smiles and cups your cheeks, thumb tentatively brushing your lips before he captures them in a salty kiss.

when you part, there is melancholy in his eyes. many words seem to linger just past the threshold of his teeth, yet he settles for one: “goodbye.”

and he lets you go. an attempt at chasing after him is made; you try to hold his arm just a split second longer, but he is unrelenting and his bicep slips from your fingers. your knees buckle under you as mydei steps out the doorway and disappears from your sight without another glance back.

damn this war and these circumstances; damn the black tide and what it’s taken from you. you crumple to the ground and grieve the loss of your love, tears soaking up the braid that he’s left behind.

#★ hsr tag #mydei x reader #mydeimos x reader #hsr x reader #mydei x y/n #mydei x you

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cultkinkcoven · 13 days ago

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Paganism has given me such an immense appreciation for the fact that I am a human being and i don’t even know how to explain it.

Thank the Gods that I was born as a human being. Thank the Gods that I was born into a human body.

Thank the Gods that I was born with eyes that can see light, but only a specific section of light that can allow me to understand matter. Light that has travelled for billions of years only to interact with me here, at this point in space and time

Thank the Gods that I was born with ears that can hear sound and interpret it as music. That I my face and bones were formed to create a mouth that can create complex sounds, so that someone that I love can know that I love them. So they can know anything that I could ever tell them. Thank Gods I was born as a creature with the power to create language, to communicate information through words.

That I have tiny electric signals that connect my skin to my brain, so I can feel touch. So I can smell. So I can understand that I am here, that this is here, that this happened.

Thank Gods that I am human, and I can look into the sky with absolute aw, not knowing whether it is looking back at me. Thank Gods that I can have these thoughts, that I can feel some sort of love and significance in these millions of complex frequencies. That it isn’t just information, that it isn’t just static.

Thank Gods that I am large enough that the movement of my atoms doesn’t make me feel like I am being torn apart. Thank Gods I am small enough that my rotation around the Earth doesn’t make me motion sick.

Thank Gods that my ancestors and their ancestors and those before them had so many experiences that their memories are written into my biological code as symbols. So that when I see the moon, the sun, the mother, the hero, the fool and the poet, my mind understands them as significant. Thank Gods that I see red as passion and love because it is the color of my blood. And blue is serenity and melancholy and peace, because the sky and sea are blue.

Thank Gods that I am human, and I was born into a species that cared enough about itself to record what it did. To expand upon their theories and continue their pursuits. To be infinitely wiser than those who came before.

Thank Gods that I have a body, that I have a mind and a soul too. That my body carries me, cradles me though this experience with absolute care. Protecting me, telling me, far faster than I can even perceive, that I am here, that the universe is here. That this is all around me.

Thank Gods that I am human, and I know the canine well. And he recognizes me from a multi century long acknowledgment of ancient companionship. Thank Gods I am human, and I am so interested in the lady bug, because no one else would count her spots. Because no one else would study the way the spider spins her web. Because no one else would be so curious as to count the carvings made over millions of years on the ocean floor. Because no one else thinks to wonder how a penny tastes.

Thank Gods that I am human and my mothers mother told her stories. That I believed in ideas that were fabricated in my nursery. Thank Gods that I read the tales of fantasy and historical fiction that have lead to my ability to imagine a dragon, a fairy, a Erdrich horror which exceeds all words for which I could describe it. A God

Thank Gods that I am human, and I can pray. Thank Gods that I can find Gods in high and low places, on massive and minimum scales. Thank Gods that I can traverse the entire universe in this mind that contains me. That I can explore distant worlds, alternate realities, with the assurance that I can always come home. To this body, to this world. Thank Gods that I am trapped within this body for now and that God can use this body to speak to me. That I can observe God propagating through the world, that I can ask God endless questions. Thank Gods that I have endless questions. Why why why must I know, why must I understand this thing that is living. Why why why must I stub my toe and get eyelashes in my eye and hiccups and random vibrations in my stomach

Thank Gods that I am so reactionary, that I get frustrated and embarrassed and inspired and enraged. Thank Gods that i can feel pain, thank Gods that I can feel ecstasy.

Thank Gods that I see that woman that works at the grocery store every other day. Thank Gods I noticed she changed her hair. Thank Gods that I thought about changing my hair, and changing my gender, and changing my name.

Thank Gods that I grow at a rate that is not too fast, but not too slow. Thank Gods that I am changing, that I am not the same as I was before.

Thank Gods that I can look up at the moon and love her. I think it makes it all worth it, even if I cannot ever truly know if she loves me. I can believe it to be so. Thank Gods that I can believe it to be so.

Thank Gods that I am human. Thank Gods that I am here in this body living on this Earth in this year, in this moment. Thank Gods that I am human.

For as long as I am human, and I may not be human forever, thank Gods that at least right now, I am human.

#thoughts #paganism #pagan #lucifer devotee #poetry?

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sincere1ystar · 6 months ago

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Alone Again

peacekeeper coriolanus snow x fem! reader

You and Coriolanus have always had a complicated relationship, and before you can mend it fate makes a decision for you.

There were two men who lived within coriolanus snow. The first one was Officer Snow who held his head high and was highly respected among his fellow peacekeepers. The second one was your Coryo who came to your house every night in fragmented pieces. Yet you would always put him back together again while he whispered empty promises to you among his sobs.

He came fractured to you every night and you slowly put him back together every night. As the sunlight poured through the windows, he would be as good as new again. He left you a kiss on your cheek every morning before he put on his peacekeeper uniform and left before anyone noticed he was gone for too long. You were happy to see him at peace during the mornings, knowing that his melancholy would arise with the moon and he would come back to you bruised and broken yet again.

Sometimes you wondered how much longer you could put up with it all. Coriolanus sweared that your love could heal all his wounds. Love, that’s what shackled you to him. He truely knew you, he would trace over the little details over your skin that you never knew existed and somehow always knew what were you feeling by the look in your eyes. But he still kept himself so guarded around you, you could see it in the way all his expressions seemed calculated and how he sometimes bit his lip mid conversation, making sure to never reveal too much. Did you really know the man you loved?

Despite his flaws, you knew he loved you and you comforted yourself with the fact. He still made effort for your sake even when he was in vain. He would always come back to you, was it for your sake or because you were all he had left?You weren’t picky, you never received much love growing up so you latched onto what you could get and you refused to let go of Coriolanus even with calloused and scorched hands begging you to let go.

When the appearance of his footsteps on your doorstep was replaced with a letter, you don’t read too much into it at first. It was later than his normal arrival time and you decided to peek out the window to see if you could catch any sight of him. Instead you were met with a flimsy piece of paper that that didn’t even meet up to his presence. You opened it hoping it was just a warning that he would be coming home later than usual. Your face fell when you slowly unfolded the paper and realized that Coriolanus wasn’t just held up by his peacekeeper duties.

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

To my dearest,

It seems our path has come to an end. Not like I wanted it to, I avoided shortcuts and alternate routes. I always knew deep down we were on limited time, still like a foolish boy I pushed it down hoping for a miracle. Don’t hate me, fate is a cruel thing and set us up from the start knowing we would never stand a chance. Don’t wait up on me either, I won’t come back. Perhaps this was for the best, a soul as gentle as yours was never meant to be with my tainted one. I hope you’ll move on, it’ll be best for you and that’s all I’ll cared about from the start.

Forever and Always,

your Coryo

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

Even know that he was gone he was stil asking so much from you. “Dont hate me.. Don’t wait up on me.. I hope you’ll move on”. You should be angry, yet you can’t help it as tears slip from your eyes. You gave him everything you were, you gave him your being and soul all for a piece of paper with his written words on it. Your tears fall on the paper smearing the ink. Destroying the last memory you would ever have of him. Still, the letter couldn’t capture the way he always knew how to make up for his mistakes or the way his apologizes ran sweet through his mouth like honey. He had turned you into some sort of fool, crying your heart out over a man who could only offer you “I’m sorry’s” instead of “I do’s.

Too little too late.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow oneshot #coriolanus snow imagine #tbosas #thg tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader

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hihomeghere · 3 months ago

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Right Person, Wrong Time Part two / John Marston x f!reader

Summary : You’ve tried to pretend that night with John never happened. But you can’t ignore him for much longer, especially not when Abigail asks you to talk to him

Word count : 2k

Warnings/tags : Cursing, reader is pushed against a tree, angst that leads to fluff, platonic Abigail x reader, John x reader, graphic mention of sex, mention of past pregnancy (not readers), John’s a deadbeat dad, alcohol, past Abigail x John, let me know if I missed any

not proof-read, I'm lazy

Divider by @saradika

“You make him better, ya know?” Abigail’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. Almost making you drop your gun as you ran the oiled rag over the barrel.

“Pardon?” You asked, turning to glance at her. She still wasn’t looking at you, instead her gaze was affixed to Jack as he sat in the grass.

“You make him… I don’t know- just better.” She said with a small shrug.

“Jack?” You asked furrowing your brows as you looked over at Jack before back at her.

“No- Christ I’m not talking about Jack.” She huffed, exasperated that you hadn’t managed to read through the lines. “I’m talking about John.”

Oh. You pursed your lips, running the rag up and down the barrel, not saying a word.

“Don’t know how you could think that.” You muttered, shame creeping up your neck along with a deep fuchsia.

“Really?” She asked, raising a brow, “Well I-“ she let out a sound between a scoff and a sigh. “Course you weren’t around when he got bad.” She said, shaking her head.

“What do you mean?” You asked, setting your revolver down next to you. Turning to face her head on.

“When you left he… he would just sulk. Walking around, moping, picking fights.” She listed off, rolling her eyes. “Hell, the only time he wasn’t baring his teeth like a damn dog was when…” She trailed off, her lips a thin line. It didn’t take a genius to know what she was alluding to. You didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. John had acted like Abigail was the moon and stars before you had run off. To think that he actually missed you. That was near unbelievable.

You scuffed the toe of your boot against the dirt, painfully aware of the silence stretching between the two of you. “Then I got pregnant and then Jack was born. I thought… I thought he might- he might’ve come to terms with being a father once he was actually here.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “But he was never the same after you left.” She said, her voice taking on a melancholy tone as her blue eyes met yours.

“Abigail, he’s an idiot alright?” You started, shaking your head. Trying to hold onto your breakfast as your stomach churned. “The damn fool probably realized what he’d been missing out on-“ She cut you off by barking out a laugh.

“Don’t go trying to sell me shit, telling me it’s ’chocolate cake’.” She shook her head. “It ain’t me or the boy that’s suddenly turned his disposition around, it’s you.”

You looked away from her, your eyes on Jack as he played.

“Abigail-“

“No. You listen to me.” She said, grabbing your hands, her grip ironclad. “You’re the only damn person in this gang that he gives the time of day.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I just- maybe you could talk to him about Jack?” She asked, tilting her head to meet your eyes. “The boy needs his father.” She squeezed your hands, and your heart clenched in response. “If not for me… then for Jack?”

What the hell were you supposed to say, no?

“Yeah… yeah okay.” You nodded, sighing through your nose.

“Ya mean it?” She asked, a smile tugging at her lips, “Oh, thank you.” She pulled you into a hug, squeezing you tight.

“Alright, alright.” You chuckled, gently pushing her away. “I’ll talk to him.”

If you weren’t such a damn chicken you would have done it that second. But you were just as much of a coward as he was. Poetic, wasn’t it?

A week had passed since the incident. The incident where you came on his cock, his seed still dripping out of you as you ordered him out of your tent. The moment you had dreamt of for years, became your biggest nightmare. Your stomach flip-flopping every time his eyes met yours from across camp. You could never escape it, escape him.

When you saw him push the hair back from his face, all you could think of was how it felt through your fingers. How his lips felt against yours, on your neck. How his teeth felt digging into the column of your throat.

You were pathetic. On top of all of that you had gone right back to being Abigail’s friend, when you had betrayed her in the worst way possible. You were no better than him, returning to her with your tail behind your legs. The only difference between you and John, is that she didn’t know the atrocity you had committed against her, against Jack. Sure, they weren’t together anymore, but it didn’t make you feel any better.

So maybe that’s why you were doing this for her, as some atonement for your transgressions. The sun was slowly setting as you walked through camp, your stomach tied in knots as you looked for John. You found him near the campfire, pulling a bottle up to his lips as Javier played the guitar. His melodic voice carried through the camp, even if you couldn’t understand what he was saying, it was beautiful.

You could feel John’s eyes boring into you as you glanced over at Javier before turning your attention back to him.

As your eyes met, it was like a crack of lightning. The air suddenly turned charged between the two of you.

“Can I talk to you John?” You asked, sighing deeply.

“No.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he brought the bottle to his lips, taking a long drink. You cringed as the liquor overflowed out of his mouth, running down his chin. He coughed, wiping away the liquid with the back of his hand.

“You serious?” You scoffed, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

“Yeah.” He grumbled, narrowing his eyes as he reclined in his chair. Spreading his legs as the bottle hung loosely from his fingers.

“Are you already drunk?” You asked, narrowing your eyes..

“Does it matter?” He huffed, rolling his eyes. Clearing his throat before bringing the bottle back to his lips. You clenched your jaw, his words igniting a fire in your belly. You stalked over to him, grabbing the bottle out of his hands.

“What the hell?” He growled, jumping to his feet as he tried to take the bottle out of your grasp. If he hadn’t been inebriated, you wouldn’t have stood a chance.

You held it out of his grasp, pushing him backwards. “Stop.” You huffed, not breaking eye contact.

“Fine. I didn’t want it anyway.” He threw his hands up in the air, beginning to stumble away from you and the fire. You sighed, rolling your eyes as you set the bottle down in the dirt before following after him.

“John!” You called, chasing after him as he walked farther away from camp and further into the nearby trees. “John, stop!” You started to jog, losing sight of him.

He moved out from the darkness. His hands fisting the collar of your shirt, as he pushed you back up against a tree.

“What do you want, huh?” He growled, his body a hard line against yours. ”Now you want to talk after you’ve been walking round camp, fucking torturin’ me?” He stepped closer, caging you in further against the tree. You wrinkled your nose at the smell of the liquor on his breath.

“The hell you talking about?” You huffed, pushing back against him.

“You, damn it!” He huffed, his eyes narrowing into slits as he slammed you back up against the tree.

“Get off of me!” You growled, glaring up at him.

“You wanted to talk, let’s fucking talk.” He held your body to the tree before he let go, stumbling backwards. “You’re the one who wanted to talk so damn bad so talk.” Your body finally caught up with your mind as you moved towards him.

“What difference would it make, you probably won’t remember this in the morning, too piss drunk.”

“Yeah? Well I remember that night.” He snarled, crowding in on you. “You can go around pretending like it didn’t mean nothin’, like I didn’t mean nothin’.” You swallowed thickly, heat flooding your cheeks.

“That ain’t what happened-“

“Then what the hell did happen?” He shouted, throwing his hands up. They fell to his sides as he stared at you. “I… Christ I know I messed up before but I… I can’t go round pretendin’ like nothing happened that night.” He sighed, his anger replaced by something more somber.

”You… you have a family, John.” He sighed, sitting down on a nearby stump, his head in his hands.

“You think I don’t know that?” He asked, raising his head.

“You sure don’t act like it.”

“You don’t know how damn hard it is.” He huffed, shaking his head. “I don’t- Abigail is a good woman but she ain’t the one for me. Jack- well he deserves someone who knows how to be a father, a better man.” He muttered, running a hand down his face.

“You’re that man, John.” You sighed, “Sure, you were a fool and a coward-“ He glared up at you, “but you came back. Now, you just have to try.”

“It’s not that simple.” He muttered, shaking his head. “It’s- everything used to be so damn easy.” He ran his hand down his face. “Before- before you left.”

You pursed your lips, crossing your arms as you looked down at your boots.

“Now Abigail and you are always mad at me and… and now there’s Jack.” He sighed trailing off, “I just- I want things to go back to the way they were.” He said, his eyes finding yours in the pale light of the moon. Your heart clenched uncomfortably as you swallowed past the lump in your throat.

“It can’t.” You sighed, walking over to him. “But that doesn't mean it can’t get better.” You said, offering him a weak smile. He stared up at you, his brows pulled together tightly. “Things aren’t ever gonna be the way they were. That’s just life.” You said with a small shrug, “We made our decisions and we gotta live with them.”

“I shoulda’ chose you.” He mumbled, lowering his gaze.

“But you didn’t.” You said sitting down next to him, “And now we got Jack, and he is one of the best if not the best kid there is.” You smiled, nudging his shoulder. He ran his hand down his face again, rubbing at the stubble on his cheek.

“He gets it from his mother.” He sighed, looking up at you.

“He’s got a good chunk of you in him, Marston. The best parts.” You said, “Hasn’t learned all the asshole traits you possess yet.”

“Shut up.” He chuckled, rolling his eyes. The two of you sat together in comfortable silence, looking up at the star filled sky.

“Did you miss me,” You asked, not daring to look over at him, “when I left?” You bit your cheek, waiting for his response.

“Course I did.” He said softly, looking over at you. “Every day.” You swallowed thickly, your eyes moving from his to his lips. Before you could second guess yourself, you moved forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands immediately moved to cup your cheeks, pulling you closer to him. You held onto each other as though the other would fade away into the darkness that surrounded you. The taste of whiskey invaded your senses as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, claiming you for his own.

The two of you slowly broke apart, resting your foreheads against each other.

“I gotta talk to Abigail.” He mumbled, letting out a small sigh.

“Yeah you do.” You said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

“You ain’t gonna pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow right?” He asked after a moment, a sense of vulnerability in his tone.

“No way in hell, Marston.” You chuckled, nudging your nose against his. “You gonna remember this tomorrow?” You quipped.

“Don’t know how I could ever forget this, darlin’.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #john marston #abigail roberts #abigail marston #jack marston #john marston x reader #rdr2 john marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #hihomeghere #rdr2 x reader

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celli-ohs · 2 months ago

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Show Must Go On

pairing: secret softie!park jongseong x reader

genre: high school au; crack, comedy, fluff

synopsis: When you told the waitress to give your compliments to the chef, you didn't expect the chef to come out and thank you personally, and you really didn't expect the chef to be your classmate Park Jongseong. Realizing how bad this could be, he has you keep it a secret. That shouldn't be too hard for you to do he thinks, but you're full of surprises- and slip-ups.

before you read: character profiles | sunghoon series

warnings: language, loser enhypen

word count: 2.7k

tag list (open): @ancnymcnzjy @melancholy-z @lamin143 @soobinbunnie5 @benny1989fredd @bbsantc

note: part 2 of my and scene! series, loosely based off en-drama.

Entry 001: 22/05/24

Believe it or not, but Park Jongseong wakes up at 5 am every morning, and has done so for the past three years of his life. His friends would have a fit if they heard that, as he was notoriously known for running late to class every single day.

His teachers wouldn’t believe him either, as Mr. Lee himself has chased Jongseong down one too many times for trying to sneak into first period half an hour late by hopping the side gate.

(Riki’s stupid April Fool’s prank had him up at 3 am, his dad thought he was going crazy for how early he was up that day.)

But it wasn’t like he was doing crimes or wasting time before school. No, Jongseong was busy working his ass off at the restaurant his family owned, prepping the kitchen before they opened at 7:30 am sharp.

“Fresh eggs are beautiful, aren’t they?” His mother smiles as Jongseong helps his father carry in the mounds of cartons of eggs the delivery driver just dropped off. She’s holding one of the brown eggs, admiring its color.

“They are,” He nods with a gentle smile. She chuckles and ruffles his bed hair. “Let’s go, we still need to wash and chop the cabbage for kimchi.” She tells him, and he follows her deeper into the kitchen.

Jongseong’s mornings were usually pretty peaceful. He and his parents prepare the restaurant for a long day ahead: making a fresh batch of kimchi to ferment, restocking ingredients, cleaning and pre-cutting meat, washing any leftover dishes, tidying up the restaurant- you name it, he’s done it.

He took pride in knowing he’s able to help and create not only delicious meals, but an enjoyable atmosphere for people to eat in.

“You better hurry, you still need to get ready for school.” His mother urges. They’d returned home to eat their own breakfast. Jongseong shovels his food down his throat (his mom made him scrambled soft tofu and eggs over rice).

“And didn’t you say you’ve still got some Biology homework to finish?” His dad asks, washing a plate.

His eyes widened. He did have a page left in his workbook. Crap.

“Gotta go bye!” Jongseong swallows the rest of his food, downing his drink in seconds before placing his dishes in the sink. “Don’t forget to brush your hair!” he hears his mother call, before he dashes upstairs to his bedroom.

15 minutes later Jongseong showered, changed out of his dirty work clothes into his school uniform, and is now struggling to blow dry his hair while simultaneously brushing his teeth.

He checks the clock, it’s 7:42. He had 18 minutes to get to school. If he ran, he could catch up to the guys, and maybe convince Jaeyun to help him with the last page of his Biology homework during lunch.

He rinses his mouth, and runs back to his room to stuff his books and binder into his bag. At the front door, he trips on his way out while slipping on his shoes.

Jongseong runs across the street, barging into the already bustling restaurant. He waves to a few regulars who greet him cheerily. “Mom?” He leans against the counter, calling out for her.

“I’m here! I made you lunch too,” She holds up the neat looking container, and he happily places it into his bag. “Have a good day at school alright? Don’t be late, I don’t know if I can handle another call from the office about you being tardy,” She warns him.

“Thanks, I’ll be fine,” He assures her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

His mother nods, and pats his head. “Be safe, I love you.” She gives him a hug and kisses his cheek. Feeling embarrassed, he blushes, reeling back (he’d wipe his cheek if it weren’t for the fact he knows his mom would complain).

“Okay, see you later,” He grins, walking out.

“Bye son!” His dad cheers, sticking his head out from the kitchen window. Jongseong laughs before ducking out back onto the street.

He dashes down the road, running through smaller streets and alleys as fast as he can. His watch reads 7:50, he’s gonna need to speed it up. Jongseong decided to take a shortcut, sprinting through a park to save him some time.

“Hiya mister!” One of the little kids shouts as he goes down the slide. Jongseong chuckles and gives him a big wave as he darts past.

Going back on the main road, Jongseong decides to climb a fence and he’s happy to see on the other side a group of familiar boys, walking leisurely a few meters ahead. Perfect.

Jongseong leaps, landing a bit roughly, not bothering to dust himself off before jogging over to join his friends.

“Thought you’d never show,” Sunoo greets. “You need to stop sleeping in,” Sunghoon lectures. Instead of arguing, he just nods, rolling his eyes.

“Where’s Jungwon?” He asks, looking at the group to realize his best friend was nowhere to be found.

“What do you mean?” Heeseung looks at him, confused. “Jongseong has been late all week, he doesn’t know.” Riki answers.

“Remember Jungwon's president now? He has to come to school early,” Jaeyun fills him in, as they enter school through the front doors. With a groan, Jongseong nods, he’d forgotten about that.

Elections were last Friday, and two days ago on Monday, the results were posted. Jongseong had lost the position he wanted as Treasurer.

While initially upset, Jongseong saw the silver lining of it all. He had no idea how he would be able to juggle being on the student body council, and help his parents with the restaurant (on top of his grades… yikes).

Jungwon on the other hand, had miraculously won the position as Student Body President, his biggest fears coming true.

“They won’t even let me pass it off to Euijoo,” Jungwon sighs as he calls Jongseong a few nights ago. “I don’t even want to be president, Euijoo does! This has to be rigged, my speech was horrible. I literally told people to not vote for me!”

“So do we actually know if the votes were rigged?” Jongseong follows Jaeyun to his classroom. “Dude, Jungwon’s super popular. He’s friendly to everyone, funny, good looking, and down to earth. Who wouldn’t vote for him?”

“He’s like a breath of fresh air compared to all the uptight and strict past presidents” Sunghoon pops into the conversation. “Or at least that’s what my girlfriend told me.” He shrugs. “Oh geez, here we go again,” Jaeyun rolls his eyes.

Ever since Sunghoon got a girlfriend, he’s been insufferable. They’ve been dating for a total of one week and Sunghoon has made it very very apparent that he believes he’s the chosen one.

Before Sunghoon can argue, his girlfriend arrives, tackling the boy in a hug and distracting him for his friends. “Anyways” Jongseong clears his throat. “Jayeun, think you could help me finish my Biology homework at lunch?” The other boy eyes him, looking uninterested. “Do I have to?”

Jongseong huffs. “I’ll buy you a Yakult.” Jaeyun looks tempted. “Buy two and I’ll help.” Jongseong gives in, sighing with a nod while his friend smirks triumphantly. The warning bell rings and Jongseong begins to depart back to his class.

“And make sure they’re nice and cold!” Jaeyun calls out. Jongseong doesn’t even turn around as he gives him a thumbs up.

“Can’t you just do the entire thing for me?” Jongseong whines. “Not unless you buy me one more Yakult.” Jaeyun teases. Like hell he’d pay for another tiny overpriced yogurt cup, even if it was supposed to be good for you.

“Give me that,” He swipes his workbook back, trying to focus while Jaeyun laughs at him.

“Biology isn’t that hard,” Riki says as he takes a bite of his food. “Remind us again what’s your rank in your class?” Jongseong asks as he scribbles down an answer. Riki goes quiet, mumbling obscenities as Sunoo cackles at him. “He’s like five away from last,”

Someone suddenly throws their tray down onto the table, catching everyone by surprise.

“Look who finally arrived!” Riki’s mood flips and he graciously stands to bow, hands pointing to the empty spot beside him. “Your seat, your majesty!”

Jungwon doesn’t look the least bit excited as he sits down.

“Hey, we saw you on the intercom this morning! Good job on the announcements,” Heeseung smiles. “Thanks.” Jungwon’s eye twitches.

“That was so funny,” Riki begins to laugh. “Dude, Riki C and I were gonna piss our pants.”

Jungwon’s eyes turn sharp, he suddenly grabs Riki by the collar, scaring everyone at the table.

“I know where you live Nishimura, I will hunt you down and personally make your life a living hell. Your sister told me you still sleep with your baby blanket. Don’t test me.” Jungwon growls, and Jongseong has to step in and pull him away.

“Okay, calm down prez, you’ve got an entire cafeteria watching you.” He reminds his best friend. (Riki clutches his throat as he moves to sit next to Heeseung. The senior comforts him, petting his hair and whispering soothing words.)

Jungwon settles, now moping as he picks at his food. “If I have to sit through one more boring ass meeting, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’m going crazy.” Jongseong eyes him as he finishes his workbook, stuffing it into his bag and pulling out the lunch his mom packed.

“Looks like I dodged a bullet,” He jokes, only to receive a glare from Jungwon. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t stress out too much,” Heeseung says. “If you want, I can ask my sister to help you out. She’s the new secretary.”

Not only Jungwon, but the entire table, is silent as they stare at Heeseung for a total of seven seconds.

“Your sister is Lee Yunah?!” Jungwon hisses, voice lowering as he mentions the girl’s name.

“Yeah,” Heeseung frowns. “You guys didn’t know? Everyone says we look alike.”

But no one seemed to hear him, everyone was confused how someone so nice, friendly, and popular as Lee Yunah, was related to… well, Heeseung.

“I sit across from her in class, we talk all the time, she’s never mentioned you were her brother.” Sunoo looks shocked.

“I don’t know, we don’t really interact at school since we’re in different grades, so maybe that’s why?” Heeseung shrugs, continuing to eat his food.

That was definitely not the reason why.

“I think I can talk to her myself,” Jungwon mumbles. Heeseung doesn’t seem bothered.

“Hey!” Jaeyun suddenly speaks up. “I don’t have practice today, you guys wanna go to the arcade after school?”

Heeseung looks ecstatic at this. “Sure! I’d love to go!” Riki also looks more cheerful.

“Yeah, can my girlfriend come?” Sunghoon asks. “Eh, why not? She’s probably better at games than you anyways.” Jaeyun snickers while Sunghoon glares.

“Well I can’t, I’ve got to paint my tree.” Sunoo sighs. “Paint your what?” Jongseong swears he heard him wrong. “My tree costume. You guys do remember I'm Tree number two in the musical, right? We’re doing Wizard of Oz.”

“Oh really? I just thought you just really liked plants all of a sudden.” Riki admits and Sunoo rolls his eyes.

“Well, I’ve got another meeting after school. So I can’t. We’re gonna discuss appropriate and inappropriate ways to wear our uniforms.” Jungwon looks distressed.

“What about you Jongseong? Wanna go?” Jaeyun looks hopeful at him.

Jongseong’s lips grow into a thin line as he winces. “Can’t. I’ve got baseball.” He lies.

The other boys (minus Jungwon) groan in unison. “Your baseball league is crazy, practice every day, including weekends?!” Jaeyun exclaims.

“We haven’t been to any of your games, you never invite us.” Sunghoon complains. “And when you do, we’re always busy or the game gets canceled.” Sunoo points out.

“I bet you it’s because he’s so bad he keeps getting benched. Doesn’t want us to watch him sit all day.” Riki chuckles. Jongseong doesn’t do anything but sigh.

“Sorry, but they’re really strict. Maybe one of these days you'll see me play.” He feigns sadness.

“Quick question, which arcade are we going to?” Heeseung asks. As the boys turn their attention back to their afternoon plans, Jongseong glances at his best friend.

Jungwon looks at him disapprovingly.

He wonders for how much longer he can keep this little lie up.

He’s chopping up some scallions when his mom bursts into the kitchen.

“Son! I thought I told you to go home and finish your homework?” She places her hands on her hips.

“I already finished my homework.” Jongseong fibs.

“Really? Or are you just lying so you can help out tonight?” She eyes him.

“Okay I didn’t.” He tells the truth. His mother does not seem happy with that. “But you and dad need help. Chef Jiyoung has already left, and Chaeyoung and Minjoon are off. I can cook while you and dad serve. Plus my homework isn’t that hard, I can do it before I go to bed.”

His mom sighs, mumbling something about how he stresses her out sometimes. Jongseong has a feeling he’s about to be lectured.

“You’re such a good kid, you know that?” She surprises him by ruffling his hair. His worries subsided.

“And you’re a good mom.” He tells her, feeling shy. “Here’s table 6’s order.” He hands her the plate of food before she can get sappy with him. As she walks out to serve the food, his mother wears the biggest smile.

Jongseong continues his shift, cooking every meal his family throws at him with ease. He always loved to cook. It first started out from just watching his parents, it fascinated him how simple ingredients could become the best meal he’s ever eaten.

When he got older, he began to help around the kitchen. Jongseong found it fun to learn the process of each dish, and enjoyed it even more when the food came out delicious.

Now he’s a master in the kitchen, whipping out dishes without as much as a glance at the recipe. His dad would even argue Jongseong was a better cook than him now.

It’s the end of the night, and Jongseong is cleaning up the kitchen when his parents come in chuckling.

“Son! You’ll never guess what happened. Your dream came true!” His dad chortles. Jongseong looks at him confused. “What do you mean?”

“Remember when you told us you’d always wanted to go out and personally thank a customer for enjoying your food like they do in the movies? Well, it’s happened! A lovely young lady wanted us to give her compliments to the chef, you!” His mother beams.

Jongseong stands there, baffled. He’d told his parents that silly dream when he was eight years old after watching Ratatouille for the first time.

“That’s cool.” He nods. “You should go out there, say thanks. She was very sweet.” His mom encourages.

“Uh, I don’t think so, that’s-“ “Oh son please! She’s the last customer of the night, there’s no one else out there. Don’t be embarrassed.” His dad pushes.

“Plus, she’s very pretty! You should be excited such a pretty girl enjoyed your cooking.” His mom acts as if that’s the biggest accomplishment he’s ever achieved.

His parents look at him eagerly, and Jongseong gives in, sighing as he unties his apron. “Fine, but I’m never doing this again.” He grumbles, much to his parents' delight.

He brushes himself off, running a hand through his hair as he steps out to the front. He spots the person sitting in the booth, their back facing him.

With a deep breath, he approaches.

“Hi, I heard you really enjoyed your meal. I wanted to thank you, I’m the chef.” He states, as he walks over, trying his best to sound joyful. “Is there anything I can do to-“

“Jongseong..? You work here?” The person interrupts.

He finally looks and Jongseong immediately realizes he’s fucked up, since the person he’s just walked up to was you, L/n Y/n, the new Student Body Treasurer.

Why is he screwed? That's because EN-High students aren’t allowed to have jobs, and you’ve caught him red-handed.

Jongseong’s life was ruined the moment he saw you.

Entry 002: 23/05/24

Show Must Go On masterlist | and scene! series masterlist | kpop masterlist

comment/reply for taglist!

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sup38008 · 2 months ago

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Guys, do you think Adam and the other 2 (maybe 3 with Lucifer) archangels would be besties post cannon?

Like Adam and Michael are already like a married couple. So he’s already got one down.

Personally I think Adam’s first meeting with Raphael and Gabe would be rocky for obvious reasons, but then they become great friends. To the point even Michael is jealous of them.

And their friendship only actually happens because Adam is like the only being that treats them normally. Like their actual people(archangels) instead of eldrich entity’s that should be feared.

And no one has ever done that for them. Not even their fellow angel siblings. They are the highest and most dangerous weapon heaven has. And with that, the power, responsibility, and burdens of the job has left them above everything else. So there’s no room for actual genuine friendship.

Like even with Gabriel, the winchesters were kinda “friends” with him. But not the same way Adam and him could be. Like at their core, TFW feared Gabriel in a sense. I mean he is an archangel, they would be fools if they didn’t.

They knew he could kill them anytime he wished. He has repeatedly showed them his powers already. (Like the repeating Tuesday). So yeah, they weren’t really “friends”, so to say. Because at the end of the day, they wouldn’t trust him as far as they could throw him. Which isn’t much. If at all. And trust is a needed basic component in any kind of relationship.

And we don’t even have to start with Raphael, that mf ain’t got no friends, that’s for sure😭🤞.

And now we get to Adam, bro has lived with the archangel MICHAEL for like 1,000 years or 50,000. Pick one. He is so used to the archangel bullshit, it’s not even funny. 😞 And he’s like idk, the second or something oldest human, so bro is just chilling with anything after being with MICHAEL; IN A CAGE. For years.

So he’s used to super mega powerful being that doesn’t have human limitations.

So to him, Gabe and Raphael are just his boyfriends brothers. And just that.

He treats them like normal people, talk to em like normal people, and just acts like nothing bothers him. Like they don’t scare him. (They don’t, Michael’s protective ass ain’t letting nobody touch his human 💀)

So of course these lonely ass, sad ass archangels are like, “hmm, interesting. I now see what Michael saw in you”, and are like, “lemme give this a chance, he genuinely ain’t scared of me”. Cuz for once, someone isn’t.

They’re being treated normally, like normal people with their own issues and troubles. And this is exactly what they need after the whole, god just using them like replaceable toys in his story. THAT DOESN’T EVEN REVOLVE AROUND THEM, HIS FREAKING CHILDREN.

So yeah, a sense of normalcy is needed. And Adam is happy to provide it. Bro is literally the kindest person on earth, bro’s been dealing with Michaels troubled, protective, first nepo baby, and just-say-the-word-and-I’ll-eradicate-the-entire-universe-if-it-so- -much-as-bothers-you ass. To have the patience for that, bro has my respect ✊.

Also they would get along just fine too. Great even.

Adam has this side of quiet, melancholy, wise, and understanding to him, that developed in the cage. And this pair well with Raphael’s character, so they chilling having a cup of tea and biscuits while reading medical books on a sunny afternoon; basking in the company and just peace and quiet.

Adam also has this unhinged side that also developed in the cage, cuz Yk. Humans aren’t meant to live this long, so he’s just here and doesn’t give a flying fuck on a rolling donut anymore. Pairs well with Gabriel’s trickster ass self.

So they definitely ganging up on TFW, and pulling the craziest, meanest, and funniest pranks on them knows to man and; archangel apparently. 😩

This is also fueled by Adam’s dislike for the Winchesters. Cuz Yk, they left him in the cage. Some family they are. 🤷‍♀️ All in all, they become an unstoppable duo.

Anyways, what do you guys think? Thoughts and comments are welcomed in this blog. Write your hearts out, it will be appreciated! Let me know if y’all want to hear my perspective on this with Lucifer added. I think I have been rambling enough for today.

Buh-bye 👋

#adam milligan #supernatural #midam #michael #spn #spnfandom #the winchester brothers #sam winchester #raphael #dean winchester #sam and dean #the archangels #TFW #lucifer

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starrmarr · 10 months ago

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I am haunted by a deep melancholy for a man I’ve never had in my life, a man that may not even exist. I am bride to a phantasm. I search for him in vain, in the curtains I believe he is hiding behind. I become enraged when I am fooled by those who profess to be him so I conform until I don’t, until I can no longer pretend. He beckons me, I must go, I’m terribly sorry. I surrender to his whims, my loyalty is to him, all the songs I listen to are for my love, my ghost. I am in love with his voice, his power, his money, his gentle sternness. I need his redirection— how will I ever find my way to you? I swear I can feel his embrace in the dark, and then again in the light. I am afraid I will lose the language to speak to him with, the gift required to see him. Do not vanish, please. I will wait a lifetime if you are the reward. God and husband.

#body and blood

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familiarscars · 2 months ago

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Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 29

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, sex explicit, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

You almost let the knocking on the door go unnoticed. Even from your dream, you could hear it, but you ignored it, determined to hold on to the sleep that had eluded you for so long. It felt unfair to give it up. But the persistence of the knocks forced you to open your eyes and sit up in bed abruptly.

Barefoot, the coldness of the floor made you tiptoe as you moved, still groggy and rubbing your eyes. When you opened the door, you could hardly believe what you saw, squinting to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination.

Noah stood leaning against the doorframe, his clothes stained with blood, sweat dripping down his face, a cut above his brow, and a swelling along his jaw. His pupils were dilated, like someone who had seen a ghost, and you didn’t have time to ask anything before he moved forward and wrapped his arms around you. He hugged you so tightly that you let out a grunt as the air was forced from your lungs, your eyes widening in shock at his reaction.

“Don’t send me away. Don’t send me away. Don’t send me away,” he whispered, his voice nearly a plea.

The initial shock melted away as you lowered your guard, placing one hand on his back to calm him while closing the door with the other.

“It’s okay. I’m here…” you said cautiously. “You’re safe now. Where have you been? What happened to you?”

Was he medicated? Did he even know where he was? Did he remember your last interaction before the show? It didn’t matter. You had made a promise to yourself in that abandoned house: if Noah needed help, you would be there.

This wasn’t the first time. You both always withdrew into each other when the rest of the world felt unsafe.

“I…” Noah hesitated as he pulled away from your embrace, rubbing his face with trembling hands.

“How did you get hurt like this, Noah?” you asked, following him as he moved across the room. “What did you do, Noah? What happened?”

“I… I didn’t do anything!” he snapped, shaking his head, his gaze frozen with fear.

That wasn’t the right approach. Noah wasn’t a fool. If you wanted any information from him, you had to act in a way that had always worked — by stroking his ego.

“And I believe you,” you murmured with compassion. Slowly, you noticed the tension in his shoulders ease as he blinked a few times and tilted his head slightly.

“You do?” he asked, his voice fragile.

“Of course.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes still vacant, his voice trembling as you knelt before him. Without hesitation, he grabbed your hands, gripping them tightly.

“I was in the car with Scarlet. We argued. She lost control. She tried to kill us.”

“Oh my God…” The lengths she was willing to go shocked you. “Noah, where is she now?”

“In critical condition at the hospital,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “They interrogated me. I told them everything I just told you. I had the worst headache, and she was screaming so much… she threatened me.”

“With what?”

He froze, his eyes locked on yours for several agonizing moments before finally whispering, “D-death… she threatened to kill me.”

“She got nervous when I told her I was going to expose her. She sped up until…”

It didn’t make sense. Not when Scarlet and Noah’s names had been splashed all over the internet recently, tangled in rumors of a relationship. She’d clung to him relentlessly, making sure everyone believed it, yet something about Noah’s side of the story had always felt off.

Gerard had insisted it was Noah’s choice… but how had a relationship spiraled into death threats and a near-fatal crash? The pieces didn’t fit.

But you knew where this began and ended.

With one name.

“It’s okay. Don’t think about it anymore… it’s over now,” you said, brushing your fingers over the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry for bothering you so late. I just… didn’t want to go to anyone else.” His voice cracked. “Not when I only feel safe here.”

“You did the right thing.” A faint smile tugged at your lips as your thumb traced a gentle path along his face, a touch he accepted with closed eyes. “Everything’s going to be fine…”

A tear slipped from the corner of Noah’s eye, marking the path of your fingerprint.

“Can Scarlet have visitors? I’ll go see her tomorrow. We need to arrange her transfer to Los Angeles. We leave the day after tomorrow.” You reminded him, your voice tinged with reluctant duty. “I can’t stand her, but we can’t just leave her behind. Unfortunately.”

“No!” His reaction was sharp before softening into an apology. “She’s in the ICU, no visitors allowed. But I’ll let you know when it changes. I gave them my number.”

His answer seemed plausible, so you shrugged.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you offered.

He followed without hesitation. In the bathroom, your reflection captured his behind you—bloodied and wrecked, yet still the most captivating man to ever cross your path. Your heart raced as his breath filled the small space, and his fingertips brushing your shoulder sent a shiver down your spine.

With a touch, you activated the sensor and watched the bathtub fill as he groaned, peeling away his clothes. Bruises mottled his torso, but it was astonishing how he had walked away from the crash with nothing life-threatening. His luck was baffling.

“It’s not fair… that you’re still kind to me. Not after everything.”

“It makes me feel better… it’s like…”

“Your fate,” he murmured, bracing his hand against the wall near your face. “No matter how far you run, it always pulls you back—whether it’s ruin or redemption.”

“Yes…”

You agreed, watching him with unwavering focus. Crouched beside the tub, your chin rested on your arm as your hand poured warm water over his tense, sculpted shoulders.

In that moment, you wished you could read him as easily as the darkest, most twisted novel. You had always wanted to understand how his mind worked—how someone who spent a lifetime chasing unattainable perfection, refusing failure, truly operated once he finally shattered.

"Have I ever told you that I would do anything for you?" Noah asked, gently lifting your chin so your face aligned with his.

The silence between you was broken only by the soft sound of water. His skin glistened, droplets clinging to his face, making his features even more mesmerizing, painfully perfect. A single strand of hair fell across his forehead, and with each breath, his tattooed chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, almost in tune with the surrounding sounds.

"You’ve always told me that, Noah," you whispered, unable to look away from him.

"Not enough, little storm," he murmured, his words like a charged current. "I would do anything for you, even if it meant dying."

"Stop saying nonsense."

Noah smiled.

You were so focused on him that you didn’t notice his swift movement until his firm grip seized your wrist. In one sudden pull, he yanked you into the bath. Thankfully, it was large enough to fit you both. Your body plunged into the water, and you resurfaced seconds later, gasping, your T-shirt drenched, hair plastered against your face.

When you finally looked at him, he was laughing, a full, toothy grin as if your shocked expression was a delightful joke to him.

"When did you become so scared?" he teased, splashing water toward you as you pushed your wet hair back, trying to regain composure.

"You’re pathetic!" you snapped, rolling your eyes before retaliating with a splash that soaked him.

Noah shattered your irritation, pulling you into his lap, sending more water sloshing onto the floor. You didn’t resist, your arms instinctively looping around his neck, your faces so close that his eyelashes brushed yours. Your fingers stroked the nape of his neck, and for a moment, his eyes closed, savoring the connection as your noses grazed each other.

"There are things we say to each other that we never forget," he murmured, gripping your waist and settling you onto his lap. You wore nothing but a band tee, allowing you to feel his heated skin against yours, his hardness sliding tantalizingly against you.

"What’s your favorite line, coward?" you teased, voice dripping with seduction.

His response was a sharp smack to your exposed backside.

"It doesn’t matter how hard you try to avoid us, every pathetic day of your life, or who wins tonight. In the end, you will always be mine," he growled, his fingers tangling in your hair as he crushed his mouth to yours.

You couldn’t argue when you weren’t even trying to avoid him anymore. In truth, you hunted every opportunity to collide with him like two nuclear bombs destined for mutual destruction. That was who you were.

Your mouths fit together perfectly, tongues entwined in a desperate dance as though you hadn’t tasted each other just a day ago. It was need, fire, flames consuming your bodies, merging them into one as his hand explored your body without restraint.

He stripped your soaked shirt, tossing it to the floor where water pooled around it. As you ground your clit against his throbbing length, Noah held your head firmly, his free hand splaying across your chest, rough fingertips tracing every curve.

"Bad girl…" he rasped, voice thick with lust as he hardened beneath you.

You gasped, moaning softly, his tongue mapping your mouth until he bit down on your lower lip, tugging it between his teeth, his dark eyes boring into yours with a wicked, possessive gaze.

You wanted him more than anything.

He seemed to hear your silent plea, arching you back with a firm tug of your hair. Pain shot through your scalp, igniting a fierce heat between your thighs as you rocked against him. Water couldn’t compete with the slickness coating your folds.

He made you burn.

His lips left a trail of bites and kisses down your neck, lingering between your breasts, each nip a promise of bruises come morning. Your head lolled forward, gasping, as he smacked your cheek lightly, a smirk playing at your lips.

Finally, he released your hair, granting you control. You pinned his hands to the tub’s edge, a finger pressed to his lips.

"I’m teaching you some manners," you whispered. "Behave…" you taunted, letting him feel the head of his cock slide against your clit. His jaw clenched, breath ragged as you teased, moving slower and slower until your entrance hugged him just enough before pulling away.

"Enough," he growled, the word torn from him.

"Be good," you cooed, your grin wicked as you continued.

"Little storm," he warned, the need in his voice barely restrained.

You ignored him, a smile of defiance curling your lips as you rocked just out of reach.

"Dear…" he groaned. "You’ll regret this."

"Will I?"

Without waiting for permission, he broke free, seizing control. Hands gripping, dominating, reclaiming his place.

And you let him—because you always would.

With his free hand, he caught her off guard by slamming her body downward, his entire length swallowed by her tight, heated core—just as warm as the water that surrounded them. You let out a startled cry, but quickly composed yourself, ready to take everything he had to give.

Your breathing merged with his as you began to move slowly, rolling your hips. Your spine arched with pleasure that spread like wildfire through your veins. Noah trailed kisses down your chest, capturing the peak of your breast between his teeth and suckling with deliberate, lingering pulls that sent electric jolts through your entire body. You were his—every heated, clenched inch of you belonged to him, every moaned breath carried his cursed name.

You had never belonged to anyone the way you belonged to him.

Noah was on edge, his body taut as your core gripped him tighter with every thrust. His teeth grazed your nipple again, tugging the silver piercings as he savored the mix of metal and your skin. He groaned, his body shuddering as he tried to hold on. But you moved like a storm, wild and uncontrollable, your hips rising and falling with relentless intensity.

It felt like cruelty to be apart even for a moment, but he pulled you off him, both of you clambering out of the tub with no time to waste before reaching the bed. The damp sheets clung to your skin as he pressed your body into the dark satin, gripping your hips with one hand and forcing your cheek against the mattress. His eyes darkened as he studied the slickness between your legs. His fingers trailed down your inner thigh, then dragged over your dripping core, teasing you until your entire body trembled. He toyed with your second entrance, circling it with deliberate precision.

"Noah..." you whimpered, squeezing your legs together in desperate need. He delivered a sharp slap to your backside, forcing them apart again with a commanding grip.

"Any requests, little storm?" he whispered.

"Don’t stop."

He twisted his wrist, making you arch backward, pulling you up by your hair as he thrust inside again. He watched you keen, your cries growing higher with every deep, rhythmic stroke. His lips grazed your face as sweat replaced water, dripping down your bodies. His hips collided with your backside, the sound echoing louder than your moans in the room.

Your desperation didn’t soften his resolve. You didn’t want mercy. You wanted everything. Every punishing thrust, every relentless pull of your nerves stretched thin. Your body quaked as he pressed a thumb against your second entrance, heightening the exquisite tension between pain and pleasure. You felt a wet heat sliding down your thighs, and every time you tried to close them, he forced them apart again.

Noah gripped your hips tightly, burying himself so deep that you felt the raw friction ignite between you. Together, you shattered, your bodies writhing as ecstasy consumed you both. Even as his release pulsed inside you, your hunger still burned, and when he tilted your face back to meet his, you turned, bringing your lips to his in a feverish kiss.

His long fingers traced your cheek as he towered over you, the shadows of his gaze flickering with something dark and possessive. You smiled when another stinging slap landed across your face. It burned like the feelings you hid so fiercely, feelings that had always been for him. He gripped your chin, tilting your head until your eyes locked.

His gaze held yours as he slid a finger between your lips. You sucked on it slowly, your tongue swirling, drawing him deeper. Noah groaned, his eyes shutting briefly as he shook his head in disbelief at how thoroughly you possessed him.

You captured his rigid length in your hand, the slickness making it glide easily as you teased his tip, massaging and stroking until a deep sigh escaped his mouth. His control wavered, your wicked touch driving him further into madness. He leaned back, giving you full reign, and you took advantage of it—licking from base to tip, swirling your tongue over the swollen head before swallowing him whole.

The sounds he made were intoxicating. His breath hitched, his thighs tensed, and your hands roamed lower to cup him, feeling the weight and heat in your palms. You watched him as you worked him over, the flush in his cheeks deepening, his jaw clenched tight. He was yours to torment, and you reveled in his unraveling.

“Such a good girl…” he murmured hoarsely, voice thick with desire. “Touch yourself while my cock owns your mouth.”

Your fingers slipped between your legs, slick with your arousal. The heat there matched the flames inside you as you circled your clit, moving faster, harder, chasing the burning climax you felt rising. You didn’t stop. His hips thrust against your mouth, filling your throat, your eyes watering from the force of it.

His groans mingled with your muffled whimpers. Every inch of you trembled as you sank your fingers deeper into your slick heat, working yourself to the brink. Noah’s hands tightened in your hair, and as he watched you come apart, your body tensed, shuddering in waves of release. A tear slid down your cheek as you moaned, your voice lost to the pleasure that consumed you. His climax surged hot and thick as he groaned your name, filling your mouth, and you swallowed it all without hesitation.

“Such a devil…” he muttered in disbelief, running a hand through his hair as he collapsed onto the bed. “That’s the only explanation for why I can’t stop thinking about how good it feels to be inside you.”

You grinned, sprawling beside him. He pulled you under his arm, your slick, sweaty bodies tangled together.

“Is this the closest you’ll ever come to admitting you missed me?” you teased.

“Maybe we should just sleep,” he deflected, closing his eyes.

You laughed softly. Sleep wouldn’t come, though. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind raced with memories—the night in the abandoned house, the sharp headache Noah had complained about on the ride home, and the strange blank spots in his memory afterward. His behavior had been… different. Odd. It sparked a sense of déjà vu.

Something about it reminded you of yourself.

Slowly, so as not to wake him from his deep sleep, you slipped out of bed and pulled on the first shirt within reach, tied your hair into a high bun, and grabbed the room key card from his jacket pocket. You moved with utmost care, quietly opening the door and walking down the hallway without making a sound, not even letting the door click shut behind you.

Noah hadn’t kept the medicine bottle in the pockets of the clothes he was wearing, which led you to believe he hadn’t taken the pill earlier, something that fit with his behavior during the show and his complaints of severe headaches in the car.

Determined, you began searching his room, careful not to disrupt anything. You rifled through his suitcase and backpack—filled with nothing but chargers and a laptop—until your eyes landed on a toiletry bag lying atop the bed. Inside, alongside some bandages, you found the damned orange pill bottle that had been the catalyst for your suspicions. Leaning against the mattress, you furrowed your brows and thought hard, trying to remember why that name seemed so familiar. The harder you tried, the more your unease grew, each thought linking Noah’s symptoms with a nagging sense of déjà vu.

And then it clicked.

Without hesitation, you rushed out of his room and down the hall, stopping at the last door. Three swift knocks later, a grumpy, sleep-masked Jolly opened the door, wearing nothing but shorts and a surly expression. He sighed heavily at the sight of you standing there with arms crossed.

“I need to talk to you about something,” you whispered.

“Can it wait until morning?” he grumbled, holding up his phone to show the time—4:00 a.m.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then come in.”

You took a seat, as did he. Diving into this conversation meant exposing yourself—something you despised and had avoided doing for so long. But if helping Noah meant confronting your own past, there was no escaping it anymore.

“Noah’s been having a lot of physical health issues lately,” you began, turning the pill bottle over in your hands. “He never complains outright, but it’s obvious. The last studio episode made that perfectly clear.”

“You know how much he hates asking for help or showing weakness… It’s a dumb trait, but it’s who he is,” Jolly muttered with a shrug.

“Yes, I know. Normally, it would be easy to dismiss as stubbornness. But something about all of this keeps nagging at me.”

His eyes narrowed, interest finally piqued as he leaned forward.

“Noah’s been taking a pill that seems to magically cure his headaches but scrambles his memory in the process,” you explained. “When he’s on it, he can’t remember recent events. At the show, he didn’t even know his own song… It’s like each dose erodes his mind a little more.”

“So we take him to the doctor and get the prescription changed.”

“It’s not that simple, idiot!” you snapped, tapping your temple with a finger before tossing the bottle to him. He caught it and studied the label while you continued. “Noah said his doctor prescribed it, but as soon as I saw the name on the label, I had a terrible feeling—Dr. Klein.”

“You know him?” Jolly asked, looking from the bottle back to you.

You swallowed hard, scratching the side of your neck as discomfort rippled through you. But you pushed past it.

“I’m almost certain he was the same doctor who treated me when I was in rehab.”

The confession felt like a weight lifting off your chest. Jolly’s eyes widened, his shock evident as the words hit him like a slap. There were few topics you despised more than this one. The scars on your body might have faded, but they’d never let you forget.

“Rehab?” he asked, his voice sharp with disbelief. “Why didn’t I know you went to rehab? I thought we were best friends.”

“We are.”

“So you let us believe your absence during the tour was just because of a fight with Noah when, in truth, you were going through all that alone?” He stood, pacing in agitation. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why didn’t you tell me? If not the others, at least me?”

You sighed, fingers digging into your scalp as his words echoed around your head. Waiting for him to calm down, you finally spoke.

“Because I didn’t remember.”

Silence fell.

Jolly sat down again, closer this time, eyes searching your face. He noticed the way your hands trembled, your voice now barely above a whisper. His anger dissipated, replaced by something softer, more understanding.

“I spent most of my treatment drugged, not knowing where I was or what they were doing to me,” you said, your tone heavy with dark resignation. “Being awake was rare. Not that it mattered—I preferred keeping my eyes closed as long as possible.”

You took a deep breath, as though each word demanded more strength than you could muster. “When I got out, my sense of time was shattered. I couldn’t tell what was real, a dream, or something they’d planted in my mind, until I ran out of post-treatment meds. That’s when the memories started trickling back. Flashes of being in some place far from Los Angeles, of punishments—beatings—for ‘noncompliance.’ There was a bitter smell there I’ll never forget. But one memory stood above all the rest.”

“What was it?” he asked, his voice low, almost fearful.

“A man’s hands, stamping a prescription. Dr. Klein.”

“Shit,” he muttered, his face hardening with sudden worry.

“It played over and over in my head like a broken record,” you whispered, your words trembling. “I snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore. The confusion, the scars I couldn’t explain, memories that might not have been mine. It got so bad I tried to end it. Anything to make it stop.”

The silence between you thickened with unspoken pain.

“I did everything I could to forget. Pretended none of it ever happened.”

“Do you think Noah is going through the same thing?” Jolly asked, his brow furrowed deeply. “If this is deliberate, why target you both?”

You leaned forward, weary but resolute.

“They came for me when I stopped being useful—when I became a problem for the band. It was his way of punishing me and taking control. The less I could resist, the easier it was to manipulate me into keeping the band afloat.”

Realization dawned in his eyes. “Noah’s been pulling away from the band too…”

You nodded slowly, your gaze distant.

“Yes. And it’s happening to him now.”

“Who’s ‘he’? Who’s doing this?”

Your eyes met his, cold and bitter with truth.

“Gerard.”

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby

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affableramen · 11 months ago

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They return home drunk ~ genshin impact men x you, the reader

Suitable for characters: Neuvillette, Pantalone, Ayato.

Tags: gender neutral reader.

Notes: I dunno what this is. Very silly.

You heard the door open into your house and you identified it was your long-expected s/o. You have been meaning to call him as you got occasionally worried. However as soon as the door was shut with what seemed a lazy motion according to the silent noise, you realised it was actually nothing to worry about. Your boyfriend just appeared to be silly.

“Darling?” You tried to reach him with your voice.

The door was finally shut, and the next sound you heard was a groan of disappointment. “Gah!” His heavy body fell against the wall. You walked out of your room and went to the stairs to have a proper look. You tried to suppress your laugh when you saw him in such a ridiculous state.

“Darling! What—”

“…No one loves me. I am so lonely. So poor and pathetic”, he said as he started approaching the stairs but of course, he had to not notice the first step and naturally bumped into it. The fall could not be called gracious as your man did not foresee the barrier. You immediately started going downstairs to lend him a hand yet he raised his palm and stopped you.

“I’m fine, I can take care of myself”, he glared at you with the eyes full of annoyance and shifted his weight to the side. “I don’t need help of some… heroes”, he spat.

The colder man held onto the staircase for a few seconds, heavily breathing, rubbing his nose and muttering something unintelligible before he moved up. There was such distance, such melancholy in the aura around him, that was quite a sight. You were left to wonder where and with whom he had to gulp so much. Seeing that the man did not need your help you returned to your room and laid in the bed. It was quite late, in fact. You grabbed the book you paused in and looked forward to seeing more cringe from your beloved, but incredibly drunk person.

There was dim light in your room- you had a weird habit of reading if not in a complete darkness. After all, too much light was bad for migraines, you thought. And just when you relaxed you heard heavy, long footsteps approaching your room. You put your book to the side and met the man with a curious gaze.

“I thought you did not want to talk?”

“I don’t want talking”, he barked briefly. His eyes, even if alcohol-hazed, were gloomily glowing in the darkness.

The man was going straight into the room, heading to your bed and as he finally crawled to the area, he unwrapped his outer coat and revealed his shirt, (unbuttoned on the top as if he was feeling hot, made him look sexier).

“Why do you look disheveled? You been with someone?”

“You fool”, he climbed onto the bed and shifted his weight on top of you, grasping you tightly and gently at the same time. “Of course I wasn’t. I just felt hot. How could I cheat…” gasp, “…on a gorgeous little prince/princess like you.”

You pulled your hand into his hair and played with some locks. A satisfied moan escaped his dry lips as his face muscles gave up and he relaxed in your embrace.

“I thought you were unhappy with something.”

He moved away for a sec and looked into your eyes deeply, and caressed your cheek.

“I am most unhappy with myself… Take a look at me closely. I am so loser, am I not?”

“No”, with a swift motion you got into a sitting position where both of you were in front of each other. “Not at all. Let me hold you, would you like it?” You were tenderness itself when you were with this man. It was only for him.

“Very much, hold me please. I only allow you to see me like this. You’re the one who accepts me. I cannot imagine my life without you anymore.”

“There, there… It’s the alcohol saying in you.”

The man shook his head.

“No, I mean what I say. No one out there understands me, not one… except for you. But loving you is my torture AND bliss; I hate that I have feelings for you. I know that I should not. I am used to distance myself from the people, I have long forgotten what it is like to trust… Being affable and friendly on public has nothing in common with being not hostile internally. I despise so much around me, yet I never let it be displayed. My people have to witness a perfect image… a designed, refined statue such as I present to them. And sometimes, this façade makes my inner feelings boil even more. Because I know how deep down I despise those I smile to…”

“Pookie… You are forcing these silly thoughts attack you again. I told you to get more sleep, but you always do as you please.”

“See? I am so selfish.”

“I did not mean that. I am only saying that you should consider my advice… once in a while.”

“You are too caring, baby. You deserve a better man, less troublesome.”

“Let me choose for myself”, you brushed his cheek with the back of your hand. “Besides, if you had these pent-up feelings, you know you can always come to me for a little chat.”

“I see… But I did not wish you to tolerate the pathetic condition that I am in,” he laughed at himself. “Well, this one ain’t better. This one might be even worse.”

“I don’t mind your ‘pathetic’ condition. You look rather charming, love.”

The man leaned towards you placing his head on your shoulder, his cheek rubbing against you. As you put your hand over his hair, caressing it once more, you heard silent, yet calm breathing.

“Uh, the alcohol got him.”

Attempting to not disturb the peaceful sleep of your darling, you deliberately pushed him back onto your bed, making sure the pillows were comfortably enough beneath his head, and covered him with the duvet.

“We’ll talk again tomorrow. Sleep tight.”

#genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x y/n #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #ayato x reader #pantalone x reader

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ladykailitha · 6 months ago

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Icarus Part 20

Damn guys, wow! Twenty chapters in. Shit. Wow. We've only got five chapters to go.

Hey, remember that breakdown that Steve feared was coming? Yeah it's in this chapter. Just not the person anyone thought it would be. Also Steve learns to lean on the people who love him.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

Steve was nervous. He was rarely nervous on stage, but this was special. Eddie had written a duet version of one Corroded Coffin’s songs and Abbadon was going to feature. So when The Fallen left and Corroded Coffin came on, the first song would be the new duet.

Apparently Gareth had been badgering Eddie to include it in the set list since before the whole rehab stint. But that was around the time Steve and he got together and felt it was too close to the mark to sing it on stage like that.

But somehow the three other members had convinced him and Eddie in turn had managed to convince The Fallen, both bands managers, and their tech guys to let them do it in Denver.

The Fallen finished their encore and they huddled together as Corroded Coffin’s equipment was set up.

Then it was time, with all the lights off Abbadon went to stand in the middle of the stage, directly in front Gareth’s stage where his kit was. The spotlights came on, first highlighting Gareth, then Brian, Jeff, and then Eddie.

Abbadon stood in the darkness, microphone in hand, head hung between his shoulders.

This was the moment. The moment Steve had spent his whole adult life dreaming about. On stage with Corroded Coffin to sing with Eddie. His only regret that it was as Abbadon and not himself. But damn, he’d be fool to turn down the opportunity and he knew it.

Eddie started in on guitar; the sweet, slow build up of one of their greatest hits. “Run, Lover Boy, Run.”

But when the first verse started it wasn’t the gravelly growl of Eddie Munson, but the haunting tenor of Abbadon.

“When I see you there,

Standing with your friends,

I have to stop and stare,

Because, baby I know how this ends...”

Finally Abbadon was lit by a pale blue light, making the white of his costume seem ghost like and eerie. He raised his head and the lace mask made him even more beautiful. He walked toward the front of the stage slowly as he joined Eddie front and center.

To say the crowd went wild would have been an understatement. The Fallen fans were freaking out and screaming and crying. The Corroded Coffin fans roared their approval as Abbadon’s voice lent the song a melancholy vibe.

Eddie sang the second verse and then they joined in together for the chorus. Abbadon leaned in close, their spotlights blending together.

“Run, Lover Boy, Run,

Don’t you know,

You were only a little bit of fun

Run, Lover Boy, Run

You were looking for love,

Can’t you see we’re done?”

Abbadon knew he should have moved back for the next verse, but somehow he found himself draped over Eddie. Even though the song was about being used by a guy he thought he could trust but was only looking for a hookup and not something more serious. He just couldn't move away.

Eddie had a white knuckle grip on his guitar, playing his hardest and singing about heartbreak. Abbadon’s microphone was at his side as he shared Eddie’s. He had even turned it off to avoid feedback.

They were so close that any closer they would have been making out over the microphone. But the thing that really tipped things over the edge was when the final verse came, Abbadon sunk to his knees and belted it out. So from a certain perspective it looked as though he was grinding against Eddie leg.

The crowd went absolutely feral. There was screaming, crying, and apparently in two extreme cases, fainting.

He wasn’t.

Steve wanted to make that clear. He wasn’t grinding against Eddie’s leg. To both their management and the media. Because, yeah he saw the video the fans uploaded and it was very suspect, but his other fans had his back. They posted the view from the other side of the stadium where he was just a few feet away from the lead singer, on his knees, his free hand clenched in a fist.

But oh boy did fuel rumors about Abbadon and Eddie in ways that made Steve’s skin crawl. It was a good thing they had two days before they got to Vegas for Steve to hide in their trailer.

“Steve!” Robin as Robin called out, banging on the door. “Come on, Steve, you can’t hide in there forever!”

Eddie had tried. Chrissy had tried. Hell, even Vickie gave it a go. But Steve refused to budge. Shane let out a sigh after Simon and Spence were both sent away as well.

“Let me try,” he said softly.

They all cleared out to let Shane have a go. He sat down on the steps to the trailer and leaned his head against the door.

“Hey, Steve,” he muttered. “You don’t have to come out, but I’m gonna start talking and maybe you’ll decide to do that on your own.”

He was met with silence. Which was already a step up from the shouts to go away. So he started talking.

“I worry about us as friends, all of us,” he said, strained. “Simon keeps turning down women who are generally into him because he thinks they’re only into him because of what we do. But there have been some real good ones. One that wanted to get to know him, but he just shuts them down. I worry about his attachment to you. I know he’s straight. I’ve hit on him before... before you I guess. Back when we were just some idiots in a cafe who didn’t know what life was.”

He let out a watery chuckle. “But I’ve also seen girls flirt with him as a roadie and he still thinks it’s because of what he does rather than wanting him for he who is. He’s a good guy. He’s one of the best. But he doesn’t seem to want to be better.”

Shane looked up at the clear blue sky and let out a shuddering breath. He hung his head.

“Spence doesn’t want to go out anymore,” he continued, his voice quaking with the feeling of loss. “All he wants to do is spend all his time talking to Nadia. The only time he goes out is as someone else and that can’t be healthy either.”

He ran his fingers through his tight red curls, gripping them at the base and pulling. His hands shook with the effort and the emotions.

“I just came out as gay and I’m frightened by it all,” Shane said. “My parents are supportive. Because of course they are. But I can tell the difference in people from the way they used to look at me and how they look at me now. I was going to teach middle school, Steve. I was going to teach world history to teenagers. But this changed everything.”

There was a soft thud behind him and he figured it was Steve sitting on the floor in front of the door.

“But of all us,” he whispered through his tears, “I worry about you the most. You think you have to be strong for everyone else. You came out with me and I’m getting more support than you are. Yeah, you have a good support system. I wouldn’t have allowed you to come out otherwise, twin. But this moment that blew up in your face, shouldn’t have.”

He lifted his head up and let the tears continue to stream down his face. “It should have been a moment of pure joy and it turned into an embarrassment. You’ll forever look back at the first time you sang with shame. And you shouldn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were incandescent. You lit up that stage and it was beautiful.”

The door to the trailer opened a crack and instantly Shane was on his feet. He opened the door all the way and slipped inside, closing it tightly behind him. Sitting in the dark on the floor not far from the door was a very disheveled Steve. It looked like he hadn’t slept in awhile. They all traveled together, but Steve had taken to locking people out until it was time to get on the road again.

“Hey, twin,” Shane muttered as he moved to sit next to him on the floor.

Steve snorted. They looked nothing alike but by some twist of fate they had been born on the same day, year and all. Steve was older by like seven hours. So Shane had taken to calling him twin when no one else was around.

“Hey,” he whispered. “I hate making people worry about me.”

Shane bumped their shoulders together. “Well that’s too damn bad, Steve. Because you don’t get to make that choice for other people.”

Steve out a shuddering breath. “It’s not even the fallout of people thinking I was grinding against him that bothers me the most.”

“Yeah?” Shane asked with a huff. “What is?”

“That I wanted to.” Steve buried his head in his hands. “I wanted to touch him, kiss him, hell even fuck him on that stage. But I knew that if I wavered for even a fucking second the backlash would be, oh so much worse.”

Shane looked at him for a moment. “No it wouldn’t.” Steve’s head whipped around to face him. “Steve...you hang off me and Simon all the time. You flirt with the audience. All the photo shoots of you are in sexy poses. Shit, man. You wouldn’t be doing anything different than a half a dozen heterosexual bands have done on stage.”

Steve thought about it for a moment. And Shane was right. A famous rockstar humped a massive blown up dick on stage and no one thought twice about that. At least none that weren’t going to be pearl clutching about it in the first place.

“Oh,” he whispered. “Fuck.”

“I think you should play up into more if I’m honest,” Shane huffed. “You’re out as bisexual. Play into the stereotype of being a slut. The people who know you, know you’re with Eddie and monogamous, but those people,” he pointed out of the trailer, “the ones that don’t matter? Soak up all that attention and feed on it.”

Steve’s eyes lit up and a slow smile spread out over his face. Pictures started forming in his head. He thought about how his persona was already the opposite of him in real life. He thought about the thrill he got when he saw the photos of him online from the angle that made it look risque. He thought about how he wanted to play up into flirting with Eddie on stage.

“Can you get the rest of the band in here with Robin and Eddie and Vickie if you can get her too?”

Shane’s answering grin was all he needed to know. Shane got to his feet and within minutes everyone was huddled together in the trailer and Steve explained his idea.

Vickie smiled wickedly. “I think it’s a brilliant idea and if Eddie’s on board with it I’d be happy to lean into that.”

Eddie sat back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think what might make it easier so people don’t focus on me is if I get the rest of the Corroded Coffin boys in on it too. That way if Steve as Abbadon is seen flirting with the whole band it’ll come off as being a flirt and not that there’s something specific between Abbadon and I.”

“I like that,” Simon agreed. “Abbadon is already all over Astraeus and Asmodeus so flirting with Jeff and Brian as well as Eddie that would play up into the slut allegations.”

Steve laughed and then shared a knowing smile with Robin. Yep. Simon might be shy about most things but when it came to Steve... that was a whole other kettle of fish.

“We’ll do another duet tonight,” Eddie said, nodding. “Have Abbadon start Gareth’s lap or something.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” Spence said, “but don’t lock us out next time. You’re there for us. It’s time you let us be there for you. Okay?”

Steve let out a low shuddering breath. “Yeah, okay.”

They all came up and gave Steve huge hugs before they piled out of the trailer again, leaving behind Shane and Eddie.

“Thanks for getting him to come out of his shell,” Eddie said to Shane. “I didn’t know what to say because it’s always been apart of my contract that I was out and loud.” He stood up and gave Steve a sweet kiss on the mouth before he, too, went back outside.

“You going to be okay, Steve?” Shane asked, moving to sit next to him on the sofa. Well futon technically, but semantics.

Steve looked up at his friend. “I worry about you, too.” Shane let out a an aborted laugh. “I know you’re frightened of being out, but I know you’ve been coming back from partying all hours of the night and sometimes day. Spence and Simon sleep like fucking logs and snore just like sawing them. But I hear you.”

Shane buried his head in his hands for a moment before running his fingers down his face. “I’ll tell you what, twin. I’ll cut back on the partying, if accept our help. And not just some of the time. Come to us for help and I’ll keep the partying to a minimum.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Just take Spence out with you and we’ll call it a deal.”

He reached out his hand and shook it. “Deal.”

Tag List: CLOSED

Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina @garden-of-gay

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar au #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar steve harrington

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gaysindistress · 7 months ago

Text

A Fool’s Devotion

disclaimer: shoutout to @malsorie for letting me use her stunning art. The center picture as well as the bottom one are her master pieces. All others were found on Pinterest or Google.

pairings: Minthara x f!reader (could be read as gn since I didn’t use pronouns for reader)

Summary: Only a fool would remain faithful to a coward god.

Warnings: bg3 cannon violence

Word count: 2.7k

Bg3 masterlist

A Fool’s Devotion teaser

Drifting through the stale winds of the Underdark on mushroom spores, I have finally found her.

Sitting in a cold and silent room with her chin resting on her closed fist as she watches the city from the window, I have finally found her.

Singing the songs of both her victims and allies, a reckoning begins in the hallows of slit throats and caverns of forgotten hope but I finally found her.

A paladin who’s lost their oath, willfully broken under the pretenses of another’s twisted lies, she sits with the blood of her mother caked into the creases of her hands. A daughter, once sworn to her house and to her goddess, she no longer is but in her place is a creature of darkness.

A wickedly evil thing lives in the mess that Orin made of her mind.

Darkness from the depths of Mykrul’s personal hell has crept into her heart and warped whatever demented love that Drow society left behind.

A soldier for her people, her house, and her goddess has been lost to the wild of Faerun and now only remains a soldier for herself in the haunting study of House Baenre.

Floating through the open window, I watch her stare at a distant fixated point in the city. Alone she has let her guard fall and with it, the look of desired anguish is pulled taunt on her face. The thought of not remembering her time with the Absolute must eat away at her every moment she is awake and those from her childhood must find her at night given the way her brows are pinched together. Within the red of her eyes, dry tears gather but don’t fall down on her lavender cheeks. Her lips are pulled into a tight line and her jaw is set in a similar fashion.

The veil that hides me from her view falls as my boots make contact with the floor. Like the smoke that dances above a dying campfire, I flicker into existence and come to stand beside the window facing her. Her melancholy comes off of her in waves that lap at my feet but from my spot, I’m a safe distance from her sea of emotions.

“You’re here,” her voice cracks for a moment as she speaks to me but continues to stare past me, “I was beginning to wonder when you would make your appearance.”

“There are rules, Minthara.” She interrupts me by waving me off with the hand her chin had been resting on.

“Rules that even you have to follow,” I continue, “and I tried to warn you about what would happen if you broke them. I told you what the consequences would be if you continued down this path of murder and chased a power you would never hold. I sent you all kinds of signs, omens of what your future would hold should you continue to ignore me.”

I feel those exhausted red eyes cut to me, slicing through the leather of my armor and hoping to find a weak spot beneath. When no vein is ripe for her blade, she chooses a different route to maim me.

“A power I would never hold? You are a fool if you think that I haven’t been successful in my efforts to gain whatever it is that I seek.”

A sigh of defeat escapes my lips. I’d hoped that time would ease her determined mind but from what little she’s said, I can tell that it has only made it more rigid.

“Do the consequences of your actions not matter to you? Have you no sense of self preservation?”

Her hand falls to grip the edge of her chair. White strands of hair are disturbed from her movement but flutter back around her shoulders in moments as angry water laps at my feet. I fear that if I look down I would find a stormy wave ready to overtake me so that I may feel her anguish fully.

“Without it, I would have been dead by my mother’s own hand long ago. Self preservation is what has led me to where I am now. It’s been the only thing that has motivated me when all should be lost, when even YOU deserted me.”

The hole where my heart must have once sat clenches at her words; she believes that I deserted her. When all others have left her and deemed her too maniacal for their liking, she doesn’t care because there has always been one person who remained. When everything was stripped from her and she became a plaything for the Absolute and Orin, it didn’t matter what she suffered because her heart still knew there was one person who cared for her. As Tav decided to save her from that prison and make her a part of their camp, she didn’t seek out the companion of the others because she yearned for one person alone. While standing over Orin’s eviscerated corpse, she felt relief at the reality that this monster was gone but grief that she couldn’t share this feeling with one person in particular. When the Nether brain fell and she returned to her city, she searched for this person in every alleyway and noble house alike. Laying awake at night as she tried to ease the tension that unknown horrors had inflicted on her, she prayed to me and asked me to come back to her.

Can you hear my prayers? She cried one night. Can you hear me? Or are you ignoring me, ust-nor?

My answer feels thick on my tongue but there’s nothing else I can tell her, “I didn’t intend to desert you. I had no choice. I’d been called upon and you know that I cannot leave sooner than necessary.”

She lets out a sinister, mocking chuckle as she adjusts in her chair. She’s taken on a more relaxed pose, slouching with her hands folded on her lap although it’s merely a mask. “You reprimand me for making the wrong choices when you have done the same.”

My whole body bristles at her tone, “Minthara.”

She glowers at me with a menacing stare for a moment before sweeping over my appearance. “I suppose that you’re not here for old time’s sake if you’re wearing your armor. You’ve been called here, haven’t you?”

The armor in question is a complex web of leather and spider silk woven by Lolth herself. The chest plate boasts of Her favoritism from small pieces of Her candles that decorate the neckline and to the intricate spider designs carved into the blessed leather. Trousers and boots crafted in the same fashion fit closely to my legs, both blessed by the Spider Queen to grant me advantages in my line of work. However my gloves are the true testament of Lolth’s favor; a rather unassuming set of black leather gloves that grant me the ability to paralyze any creature that I desire. A soft touch to one’s arm in passing is all it would take for the paralytic to take effect in seconds and remain in effect until I release them. They’ve been the envy of many people but Minthara, in particular, has attempted to persuade me into giving them to her numerous times.

I glance down the gloves and flex my fingers to see the lights around us disappear into their black shade.

I allow my voice to fall into a deeper and authoritative one as I ask, “What is the name that people whisper when they speak of me?”

Her eyes narrow at the change before she answers, “Dobluth.”

The outcast.

I nod my head as I move away from the window at last. My boots make small, almost eerily silent sounds as I approach her and fully look at her. Ragged is not a kind word nor is it one she would ever allow someone to call her but it’s too simple of a word to describe the state that she is in. Now that I’m closer, I can see the true extent of her exhaustion and how it has wreaked havoc on her. No longer is she the vibrant and ever imposing Drow successor but in her place is the rotting corpse of a woman who’s witnessed and inflicted far too much evil. Fatigue has dulled her senses to the point that she barely reacts when I remove my cloak and place it on the small table beside her. Crouching before her, I study her face closely when I ghost my hands up her legs and brush them against her fold ones. I take note of the way her eyes almost flutter closed and she lets out a long sigh when I take them into mine.

“Open your eyes and look at me.”

The simple command seems damn near impossible for me as she takes seconds too long to do so. She looks everywhere but my eyes at first and when I squeeze her hands, she finally meets my gaze.

“I’m the first Dobluth, Minthara. I was neither born nor created; I simply have existed since the dawn of time and will continue to exist when all else has perished. I will live in the hearts and minds of all living creatures and will putrefy with them as they take their last breaths. I will feed on the consequences of wrong doings and ease the pain of those who cry out for deaf gods as I do so. I am the devourer of all sin; I absolve souls of their weight and as a consequence, was named the first outcast, the First Dobluth. I am known by everyone yet no one knows who I am.” I keep eye contact with her as I press my lips to the top of her hands and murmur my sacred devotion to her, “No one knows me for who I am but you, Minthara. You may very well be the only person to have said my name in centuries, to know my face, to hear my voice, to have my interest. You’re the solo person who has known who and what I am but yet still chosen to be mine. My heart may no longer beat but it has found sanctuary within yours. My blood may be solidified within my veins but it flows within yours. My body may feel frigid but against yours, it feels alive once more. I may be fundamentally incapable of being anything other than a devourer but I’m sated with you and finally found fulfillment knowing that I am enough for you.”

I cup her face while keeping her hands firmly clasped in the other. Perhaps against her mind’s will, her heart allows her to lean into my hand and savor the feeling of a gentle touch. A lone tear smears against her skin as my thumb catches it and sweeps it across her cheekbone.

“I heard your prayers and I did everything I could to come back to you because without you, my existence would be a blur of fear and loneliness. There’s no reason other than to cause ourselves pain to dwell on what we wish we could change about the past but I need you to know that I never would’ve left had I known what that Bhaalspawn would do. I would’ve fought harder to stay had I known what horrors you would face by her hand. I would’ve slaughtered every cultist and their Chosen myself had I known what I do now.” Her angry waves crashed into me the moment we touched and began to form a hurricane of her emotions and mine within me as I spoke. As more determined tears fall, the hurricane crumbles into a beast of a different nature. Sorrow replaces that anger and tells her that I am here now and that is all that matters.

“You failed to answer my question; were you called here?” she murmurs.

It catches me off guard when it shouldn’t.

“I was called by you, ust-nor.”

Disgust twists her face at the pet name, causing her nose to wrinkle and brows to furrow. She pulls her face from my grasp, meanwhile against the leather of gloves, I feel the minuscule twitch of her fingers as she keeps herself from shoving me away entirely. Although I vowed to never bring her harm, she knows all too well what lethal consequences could come from irrational actions right now. A single misunderstood movement from her could result in endless paralysis with no way out.

A moment passes as Minthara presumably considers her next move. She leans down, close enough that her breath washes over my face.

“I will tell you what I told the first Oathbreaker bastard who offered me a chance at redemption; I will never be governed by another again. I will not vow my life to a thankless coward. I will not force myself to live by an oath that does not serve me nor prioritize my wellbeing. I’ve spent too long serving those who don’t care if it is me or some other mindless soldier who returns victorious. I’ve given everything I have and been forced to give even more for a cause that is not my own. I refuse to praise a god for simply allowing me to worship them.”

I wish disappointment had been the emotion that greeted me as she spoke. I wish I could say that I didn’t expect her to react this way or to say the words that she did. I wish I didn’t know her as well as I do so that this unfortunate reunion wouldn’t bring me as much misery as it does.

Sighing, I pull my hands back and rock back onto my knees. With my hands resting on my knees, I stare at her. It’s an act of submission, my stance but for her, I would strip my armor and present my weapons with a bare heart if she asked.

“If you do not wish to retake your oath, our Goddess has been generous enough to offer…”

“Fuck your goddess.”

The silence is astounding.

She gets to her feet and is at the window in one fluid motion it seems. Candle lights dance down the expanse of her back, across the pale strands of her hair and over her void like black dress. In her chair remained the forgotten over layer of her dress; a structured piece that was crafted to strike fear into the hearts of her enemies and allies alike. Pointed shoulders and gold edges give her a towering illusion that matches her confidence. The dress she still wears reminds me of what she lovingly called her at-ease clothes. It almost feels like a call back to a time simpler and much happier than now.

Almost.

“The so-called Spider Queen has no place in House Baenre.” Her voice is steady now, devoid of any previous emotion as she takes a pin from the window’s ledge and twists her hair back into place, “Soon she will find that she has no place in Menzoberranzan at all. Her effigies will be destroyed, her books burned, and her memory scrubbed from history. I had hoped that you would see reason one day and join me as I fight to reclaim the city but there is no place for a bleeding heart in war.”

Once more she has become Minthara, Matron of House Baenre.

Somewhere lost beneath the countless sins of others I have absolved lies a naive soul that yearns to take my place by her side as she becomes the Slayer of Lolth but it is that very same goddess that binds me to the floor now. Her envy and anger crackles with a ferocity I’ve seen only a few times through my body and into the marrow of my bones. Her power seethes and tightens around me when I try to push back, to stand, to move at all. It was one thing to allow me to come and speak to Minthara but Lolth is not the generous type.

“You are dismissed, Y/N.”

I catch a brief look of longing before Lolth retakes me, wrapping me in her spidery webs and dragging me back to her clutches.

“Goodbye alurlssrin.”

#minthara baldurs gate 3 #minthara imagine #minthara baenre x tav #minthara baenre x reader #minthara x reader #minthara bg3 #bg3 minthara #minthara baenre #minthara #minthara x tav #nightwarden minthara #bg3 imagine #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic

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cleo-fox · 9 months ago

Text

As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part III

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which you are found out. Chapter Warnings: Making out, a little bit of groping, teasing, fingering, Loki being a horrendous tease.

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

It’s difficult to return to your life the next day.

You try to be pragmatic about it: you’ve told yourself over and over that what had happened in the garden was a fluke, a once in a lifetime bout of extraordinariness that would not—could not—be repeated. You know this and you accept it.

But the magic of last night lingers in a way that makes you feel a little melancholy and wistful. You’re distracted the whole day, your thoughts wandering back to the feeling of soft lips on yours, warm hands on your waist, the glimmer of emerald green eyes.

“Are you well?” Grete asks you that afternoon. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

You force a smile. “I didn’t sleep well,” you say, which isn’t exactly a lie, but also isn’t the full truth. Either way, it’s enough to fool Grete, who returns to her work, chattering about something that happened with Solvi and one of the stablehands.

Even if she wasn’t a gossip, you could never tell Grete what happened in the garden. You could never tell anyone. A sudden, lonely feeling rears its head and there’s an ache in the center of your chest. You’re used to being lonely, but this feels different, sharper in a way you’re not expecting.

It doesn’t seem like it should be possible to miss a life that you never had, but you find yourself consumed with that notion.

Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t gone at all.

You don’t go to the library that night. It’s largely because you don’t want to risk the chance of him recognizing you so close to the masquerade. The more time between you and the masquerade, the better: better that you fade from his memory rather than inadvertently jog it

But it’s also because you’re not sure that you can bear to be in the same room as him when you’re feeling like this. Better to wait until your heart felt a little less tender.

You avoid the library for six days. On the seventh day, you decide that you’ve waited long enough to return.

In hindsight, though, it was the height of hubris to think that you could pull one over on the god of mischief and lies.

In making this bargain with Loki, you were making several assumptions. You had assumed that his memory was imperfect enough to not recognize you without your mask and that your very dull and ordinary life had such a vise grip on you that no force—not even the attention of a handsome and clever prince—could possibly disrupt it.

How very wrong you were.

You’re initially quite relieved when you don’t see him in his usual chair. You’ll be able to fully enjoy yourself without worrying about looking over your shoulder as you wander through the stacks.

You’re feeling rather pleased with yourself and a little giddy with relief and you’re not exactly paying attention as you round a corner in the stacks, a fact that becomes apparent to you when you crash into something rather warm and solid. Hands grab your elbows to keep you from falling and you look up, your mouth half open in an apology.

It is at this point that you begin to process that the warm and solid thing that you’ve bumped into is, in fact, a person.

More specifically: it’s Loki.

For a moment, you think you might be able to wiggle your way out of this particular snag without any problem. But then he locks eyes with you and you immediately, instinctively know that it’s too late: he knows exactly who you are.

His smile is wide and sharp. Predatory—but not in an unappealing way. “Hello, little mouse.”

Your mouth is paper dry and suddenly your legs feel too unsteady to even attempt a clumsy curtsy.

“Your highness, I—” You’re struggling to string a pair of words together and this is made all the more difficult by the fact that he hasn’t let go of you. “Forgive me,” you say, “I can explain.”

You are not entirely sure that you can, to be quite honest, but it seems like the right thing to say.

“You can explain why you thought it clever to lie to your prince?” he says lightly, his voice rich with mirth. He doesn’t look angry—on the contrary, he seems amused. You’re not quite sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“Nothing I said was a lie,” you say. “I only did not tell you who I was.”

“Clever girl,” he says. His voice is low and intimate and it’s doing something delicious to your insides, even as your heart threatens to pound its way out of your chest. “Tell me,” he says, “how does a servant come to be so clever as to read Auber and sneak into libraries and fool princes at masquerades?”

“Perhaps I was not always a servant,” you say and then, before you can stop yourself, you add, “And at any rate, I don’t read Auber when I can avoid him. I’m a sensible person, after all.”

It’s an impertinent thing to say and you’re already in enough trouble as it is. But Loki merely chuckles.

“You have a wicked tongue, my dear,” he says with a catlike smile. “That will get you into trouble someday.”

“One could argue it already has,” you say before you can think better of it.

“Indeed,” he says and his eyes glitter like the edge of a knife. “And now that I’ve found you, I believe you made me a promise.”

You almost want to laugh. The very notion of him still wanting to kiss you is several different kinds of absurd. “Surely you don’t intend to carry on with that game now that you know who I am,” you say.

There again is the catlike smile. “On the contrary, I quite enjoy our merry little chase and I intend to continue it now that I’ve found you.”

“I’m beneath you.”

He gives you a wicked grin. “I’d rather like you to be.”

You’re confronted with two opposing feelings. You can’t deny that you’re flattered: he’s handsome and you’re wildly attracted to him despite the fact that it’s inconvenient, to say the very least. But at the same time, you’re not about to just cede all power to him just because you’re flattered. At the end of the day, he’s a prince and you’re a servant—you won’t let him take advantage of that imbalance.

“I won’t be your conquest of the week,” you say sharply, using a tone that most would consider inappropriate for addressing someone of his status. “I’m some toy you can play with and discard when you tire of me.”

You expect him to reprimand you, to remind you of your place, but instead he laughs. The sound surprises you, even as it does shameful things to your insides. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says.

You’re skeptical of this and your expression shows it. He registers this and he becomes a bit more serious. “Darling,” he says, placing his hands on the shelves behind you and casually cageing you in, “I’m not letting you go that easily. You have my undivided attention.”

The prospect of receiving his undivided attention sends a shiver up your spine—it’s as intimidating as it is appealing.

“Now,” he says, his voice lowering as his fingertips graze the curve of your jaw, “I’d like to collect on a promise.”

Your breath stutters in your throat as both of his hands cup your cheeks. He looks down at you, his eyes hooded and focused on your lips. He waits one long, agonizing moment, and you remind yourself to breathe and forget the instruction a moment later when his lips brush lightly against yours. Were it not for the heavy, coiling heat he was summoning in your hips, it would almost seem chaste. You feel him take a breath and then his mouth is opening against yours, his tongue tracing your lower lip and then sliding smoothly past it.

That last kiss was supposed to last you a lifetime—you were not expecting another one ever, let alone so soon. You feel drunk on the taste of his lips and his tongue has you thinking wicked thoughts. The longer it goes on, the more your knees wobble and the more breathless you feel.

You catch his lower lip between your teeth and tug on it gently; he inhales sharply and presses against you like he has half a mind to take you right there up against the stacks and stars above, you can’t help but want that just a little.

His thigh slots between your legs and your body sings as you arch against him.

Maybe you want that a lot.

His hands have moved from your cheeks to your waist, pressing you against him, stroking up your back and sides. His thumb barely grazes the underside of one of your breasts and a low whimper escapes the back of your throat.

You lose all sense of time and it feels far too soon when he pulls away from you, even though you can hear the clock chiming midnight. You find that you’re rather gratified and proud of the slight redness in his cheeks, how his breathing is slightly labored. You grip the shelf behind you, knees trembling.

He licks his lips as he surveys you. “This isn’t over, little mouse,” he murmurs.

You’re not quite sure if you want to kiss him or scold him. “What do you mean by that?”

He smirks. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

And with that, he turns on his heel and leaves the library, leaving your head spinning.

You return to the library the next night. There is no reason for this—or, rather, there’s no good reason for this; while you’re enjoying your book well enough, you can’t say that it’s compelling to the point of interrupting your thoughts.

There are other reasons that have been, though.

Well. One reason, if you’re being honest.

Your feet take you to your usual place in the stacks, you find your latest book, but your mind is elsewhere, listening for the telltale tap of a booted foot on the stone floor, the creak of leather.

If someone were to ask you what you were expecting, you wouldn’t know what to say. Obviously, you’re hoping to see him again—and as much as you know it’s not a good idea, you’re also hoping that he’ll kiss you. You’re hesitant to allow yourself to think much farther than that, simply because the fact that he wants to kiss you still seems rather impossible. You learned early on in your days at the palace that daydreaming was almost certain to lead to disappointment. You’re reluctant to allow your mind to stray too far down that path.

It’s easier said than done, though.

You’re not exactly sure how he arrives, just that he suddenly has—there is a presence behind you and when you breathe in deeply, you swear you can catch the faint scent of leather and something wintery and masculine.

“Your highness,” you say coolly, like you haven’t been waiting for him with bated breath.

“Are you really enjoying your book that much?” he says and you have to force yourself not to jump when his voice is much, much closer than you thought he was.

“It’s not Auber, so yes, I should say I am enjoying it,” you say before you can stop yourself.

He chuckles and the sound sends a shiver up your spine. “Always so sharp tongued.”

You force yourself to turn around then and stars , he is so much closer than you thought. You tilt your chin up to look at him. “Why are you here?”

His smile is wide, like he finds you especially amusing. “I am often here late at night. You know this.”

“You do not usually loom over me in the stacks,” you say.

His eyebrows lift. “Is that what I’m doing? Looming?”

“You are standing awfully close.”

Any other person might take a step back: he takes a step closer so that your back is pressed against the shelves, lowering his head so that his lips are right next to your ear. “Perhaps I’m looking for a book,” he says.

Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

He laughs and you feel his breath warm on your neck. “Clever girl.” His lips brush against your collarbone, his teeth nipping lightly at the delicate skin there.

“I don’t understand,” you say, even as your eyes flutter shut and you lean into his embrace. “I’m no one—why are you here?”

“Did I not tell you this wasn’t over?” he says against your neck, allowing his tongue to dip into the hollow of your collarbone, making your knees weak.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you say, but it doesn’t matter because he’s now covering your mouth with his and you can scarcely remember your own name, let alone what you were going to say next. He’s demanding and hungry, one hand tipping your head back, cupping the curve of your jaw, the other sliding to your waist, pressing you flush against him.

You’re not entirely sure what his motivations are or how far he intends to take this, but it’s hard to convince yourself to care when he’s kissing you like this. Fire is racing through your veins, filling you with a kind of reckless wanting that makes your toes curl in your shoes.

His hand slides from your waist, skimming up your side to cup your breast over your dress. He is cautious, seeming to wait for your muffled moan before taking it more firmly in his hand, expertly kneading and squeezing in just the right way until you’re half considering guiding his hand down the front of your dress.

It’s at this precise moment that he steps back from you, his dark pupils and the slight catch in his breath the only indication that you’d exchanged anything more than polite pleasantries. You lean against the shelves panting, your entire body crackling with a strange kind of heat.

“Goodnight,” he says, seemingly unable to resist a smirk as he leaves you once again in the darkness of the library as the clock strikes midnight.

He’s playing a game with you. That much is clear. You’d like to think that you’re sensible enough to know not to take his bait, to stay away from the library after dark, but you appear to be mistaken on that count. You spend most of the next day trying to keep your treacherous mind from wandering too far. You are only moderately successful—you nearly burn an entire batch of biscuits due to a particular daydream that leaves you staring out a window for a minute too long.

He’s waiting for you in the stacks this time, giving you the same smirk he did last night when he left you. You decide to keep your distance for the time being—you’re not sure that you can ever say that you've got the upper hand on him, but you’re more likely to have a chance at it the farther away he is.

“Your highness,” you say.

“My lady.”

You give him a stern look. “You needn’t mock me, I know I’ve no titles.”

“Oh, I’m not mocking you, sweet,” he says and you are fairly certain he’s being sincere. “You are an impressive woman. You ought to have titles.”

“You’re trying to flatter me,” you say, folding your arms over your chest.

“Of course I am. Did I not tell you that I was trying to charm you?” he says, taking a step toward you.

You swallow and stare at him. “You said that when you thought I was someone else.”

Another step. “You seem to think that I ought to have lost interest when I found out who you are. Why is that?”

You tilt your chin up and stare at him defiantly. “When has a noble ever taken a genuine interest in a servant? It’s not done.”

He smirks again and takes another step forward and once again, you’re pressed between him and the bookshelf. “You know my reputation,” he says, his fingertips trailing against your throat. “I care very little for rules.”

His gaze meanders over your face, lingering on your lips, but you hold steady, despite your pounding heart. “So you’re using me to disrupt things because it amuses you.”

“You misunderstand me,” he says, the backs of his fingers stroking your cheek. “I find you enticing. I’m not inclined to be bothered by rules that say I ought not to because it isn’t done.”

You press your lips together and look at him warily. “I don’t know that I should trust you.”

He shouldn’t look like he finds this amusing, but his eyes glitter in the dim light. “And why is that?”

“I know your reputation,” you say. “You are the god of mischief and lies. I ought to stay away from you.”

“And yet, you’ve turned up here for the last three nights and uttered not a word of protest when I’ve kissed you,” he says.

“I said I ought to stay away,” you say. “I never said I would.”

His smile is slow. “Clever girl.”

He kisses you again, slow to start, like he’s giving you an opportunity to turn him away. When you don’t, his movements become hungrier, his tongue tangling with yours, his teeth grazing your lower lip.

His hand slips down the front of your dress and you gasp as his fingers pinch and tease your nipple into a stiff and aching point, igniting a smoldering ache between your legs. You’ve never wanted anyone like this and you resolve in that moment not to say so because telling him is the same as giving him leverage and you’re still fairly certain that that is a bad idea.

His thigh has nudged its way between your legs and you press against him as much as your skirts will allow, shamelessly trying to generate enough friction and pressure to provide yourself some relief.

The clock chimes midnight and he steps away and you wonder how much more of this you’ll be able to take.

He’s late the next night—so late, in fact, that you almost give up and leave because you think he’s not coming. You try not to dwell upon the disappointed little twinge that blooms in your chest when you think this is the case.

But then you hear soft footsteps in the quiet of the library and you look up and find him leaning against the end of the stacks, looking far more comfortable than he has any right to be.

“You’re late,” you say before you can think about it.

“Did you think I wasn’t coming?” he asks with the slightest of smirks. “Were you disappointed?”

You attempt to keep your expression cool and composed. “I didn’t think anything.”

He chuckles. “You tell such pretty lies, my dear.”

You want to deny it outright, but that feels like playing right into his hands. You consider your next moves as he approaches you, again backing you up against the stacks.

“Do you know what I think?” he says, his hands sliding to your hips. “I think you’re rather fond of these little interludes.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting with a kind of mischief that makes you press your thighs together. “Shall we find out how fond?”

You’re fairly certain you know what he’s implying, but you’re also fairly certain that he’s not going to actually go through with it. It’s one thing to kiss you like he has been, but it’s another thing entirely to actually touch you. Surely he’s not that bold.

His left hand slides from your hip over the curve of your ass and then along your thigh, raising your leg to hook around his waist. You grab his shoulders, still certain that he’s bluffing even as he pushes the hem of your skirt up.

His hand trails along the inside of your thigh, expertly navigating your petticoats and undergarments. He watches your face intently as his hand inches up your thigh, seemingly cataloging every time your breath hitches, every time you bite your lip in anticipation. You try to keep yourself contained and calm, even as you can feel the slickness between your thighs growing with every passing second.

You realize that he’s not bluffing precisely when his fingers part your dripping sex. You gasp as his fingers lightly brush against your clit and you catch his greedy, triumphant smile as your head tips back against the shelf.

“Oh yes,” he breathes, sliding one finger inside you as his thumb presses against your swollen clit. “What filthy thoughts have left you so wet and wanting, my pretty little kitchen maid?”

This should bother you: you’re not his and you’re more than a kitchen maid. Instead, your body seems focused on its mission to betray you, as his words only make you whimper and tense around his slowly thrusting finger.

“I could make you come right here,” he says, his eyes raking over your body with a raw hunger. “Would you like that?”

“Please,” leaves your lips before you can ask yourself what you’re thinking.

“So polite,” he breathes into your ear. “Had I known it was this easy to tame that sharp tongue of yours, I would have buried my face between your thighs in the garden.”

Your cheeks burn, though you’re not sure if it’s from his fingers or his words. “I would not claim that victory yet, highness.”

His eyes flash and his hips press against you when you use his title—you file that little fact away for later.

You can’t even pretend that there’s not going to be a later.

“If my hand slowed, you would beg for me,” he says with a smirk that is slightly too self-assured.

You tilt your chin up, staring at him defiantly. “You flatter yourself.”

His smirk widens as his hand slows and you immediately regret challenging him. He slides his hand away from you, holding your gaze. He pauses for a beat and when you continue your silence, he raises his fingers to his lips and slowly draws them into his mouth. You catch a glimpse of the pink tip of his tongue as he carefully licks your essence from his forefinger and thumb, closing his eyes like he’s tasting something divine. It’s indecent—everything about this is indecent—but you can’t look away.

Your resolve crumbles abruptly and completely. “Please,” you whisper.

He releases his fingers and gives you a lazy smile. “Can you be quiet like a good girl?”

You nod fervently. “Yes. I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

He leans in and kisses you. “That’s a shame,” he murmurs against your lips, “because I want to hear you scream for me. And we can’t very well do that in the library.”

He draws back, smirking, and you suddenly know that you’ve lost another point in this strange game that you’re playing.

“Come to my chambers tomorrow night after dark,” he says.

Stars above, you’re going to kill him.

“You’re an ass,” you say.

He chuckles and kisses you again. “I’ll make it worth the wait.”

You hate how much of an effect that has on you, but you’re reasonably certain that you’ve managed to hide most of that from him.

“Your confidence is inspiring,” you say.

“And your tongue is wicked,” he says, stepping away from you and it takes every ounce of pride you have not to reach for him and pull him back to you. He takes your hand and brushes his lips against your knuckles, his emerald eyes never leaving yours and somehow it feels just as intimate as what had just happened. “Until tomorrow,” he says before dropping your hand and walking away, leaving you with your heart pounding.

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