#fic: bolt in the blue

[valeriianz]

FIC UPDATE: Bolt in the Blue | Chapter 15 | Dream x Hob | E | In-Progress | 123k+

Tags: human au, band au, modern setting, touring, slow burn, pining, sexual tension, slice of life, fluff, hurt/comfort

+ surprise! this fills @dreamlingbingo adoptable square C2: "Touching Foreheads"

Despite riding the high of what happened– spending the night with Morpheus – Hob manages to parse the meaning of Remiel’s words quickly and slips a hand over his neck. Right where he knew at least one hickey was proudly displayed.  Matthew’s eyes widened with a murmured, “Oh my God.” And Hob can see Mazikeen’s head shake from here. “Spill. Who was it?”  Hob looks toward Remiel again, whose green eyes are sparkling with nothing but mischief and interest. Hob chuckles, a hint of nerves to it, as he stands. “A gentleman never tells.” Hob’s lips turn into a smirk, he can feel it plastered on his face like a fresh tattoo, as he swipes his bag and makes his way to the bathroom. “A gentleman made us fifteen minutes late,” Mazikeen mutters darkly, her voice like the calm before a storm.

[Ao3]

[valeriianz]

oh my GOD??!

Pardon this brief Dreamling interlude, but sometimes a fic puts expressions in my head & I simply must make a draw about it.

Bitchy Dream getting called out for bein bitchy over here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42192858/chapters/105931974

by: @valeriianz

[sunsetsandsunshine]

HAIAIAIII !!!

I wanna request a tk fic 😇🫶🏻🫶🏻 so uhmm what about a Ler!Jeanette Ler!Brittany and Lee!Eleanor?? from alvin and the chimpmunks !!

~ 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚟𝚜. 𝙰𝚟𝚊𝚌𝚘𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 ~

🩷💜🩵 𝙵𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢: @giggly-cloud 🩷💜🩵

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙰𝙷𝙷𝙷𝙷𝙷 𝙷𝙸𝙷𝙸𝙷𝙸𝙷𝙸 𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚄𝙳𝙸𝙴!!!!! 𝙰𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙰𝙰𝚃𝙲— 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷𝙴𝙳 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 😭💔! 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘…“𝚝𝚔?” 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 “𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎” 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎 😇💝💗💕💓˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟸,𝟸𝟹𝟺

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙴𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚛 🐿️🩵

𝙻𝚎𝚛’𝚜: 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚢 🐿️🩷 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙹𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 🐿️💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙴𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚜; 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚜. 𝙳𝚘 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕…

𝚆���’𝚁𝙴 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙾𝙶𝙴𝙴𝙴𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁: @shut-up-jo @itzsana-kiddingmenow

@aeinzzzketchup @veryblushyswitch @mysteriouslee

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝙸*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚃𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙰𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚟𝚜 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 (𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚊 ☝🏾🥸)! 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝙸 𝚑𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 :𝟹)

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ 𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚘𝚘𝚢𝚢𝚢𝚢𝚢𝚢𝚢 ˚*•✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“You…do know Billie is better than Taylor, right?” Eleanor said, grinning smugly at her eldest sister on the couch.

The eldest sister in question huffed out a bitter laugh, meeting the smallest chipmunk’s wicked smile with a sharp glare, “Ihi beheg your pardon, Ellie?” 

Although, the tallest of the three just sighed sadly as her sisters continued to bicker (for, like, the millionth time), sinking into the couch seat slightly as she observed WWIII being displayed right in front of her. 

Before all of this…drama, the three preteen sisters figured it would be best to spend as much time with each other as possible and take advantage of the Summer break.

Since school would hit as soon as Autumn started to roll around, they would have to go on tour, and go to school and a whole bunch of mega important stuff that would keep their hands full 24/7…

So, sitting on the couch and watching TV together peacefully was something they initally planned to do.

And it was peaceful! Veeery peaceful in fact. 

That was until Eleanor randomly started boasting about how the movie they were watching would be 100x better if 'Hit Me Hard and Soft' was the soundtrack.

But the thing was, they were currently watching Back to the Future. Which, if you didn’t know, aired in 1985. So it wouldn’t really make all that much sense if one of Billie Eillish’s album’s was the soundtrack…but Jeanette wasn’t one to question (that much anyway). 

The harmless comment caused the tiiiiinest ounce of outrage from Brittany as she went on and ON listing all the album’s Taylor had whilst mocking about the fact that Billie only has three as of right now. 

Petty sibling arguments at its finest…

“Guys, can we please just watch the movie…?” Jeanette meekly offered as her two sisters glared absolute daggers at each other, “I think it’s getting to the really good part…!”

“You said that exact same sentence fifteen minutes ago, Jennie.” The pink cladded chipmunk deadpanned, “Besides, avenging Taylor is wahaaaay more important than any weird time travel space movie.” 

“It’s called Back to the Future…” The tallest chipmunk muttered as she adjusted her purple glasses.

“Whatever.” The blue eyed teen huffed, “Anyway, Ellie…I think you owe Taylor an apology.” 

“AN APOLOGY?!” Eleanor squawked in awe, “The only person who should be apologizing is Taylor herself! There are waaaaaaay too many people on this Earth that deserve a Nobel Prize in Physics but yet she got one by just existing!” 

The purple eyed teen winced at the comment, sinking into the couch deeper as she saw her older sister get gradually more angry. 

“Wehell, I guess you haven’t read her research as the lead scientist of the Large Hadron Collider at CERN.” The elder glared. 

“No, no I haven’t.” The youngest said snarkingly as she crossed her arms, “I have better things to do with my time. Besides, she gives us blonde’s a bad name and I am not here for it.” 

“Heeeeere we go…” The brunette mumbled knowingly as she went on her phone. 

Brittany’s left eye twitched as she stood up on the sofa, putting a hand on her hip, “Well, at least she can keep a consistent hair color! Your emo music artist changed her hair color to every shade on the rainbow!”

“And?” Eleanor pressed on, “At least Billie looks good in every single one! Taylor being a brunette was just not it and you know it.”

“YOU LITTLE—!” Brittany sucked in a breath, exhaling slowly as her icy blue eyes met sassy emerald green. “I know you did nohot just—”

“I just did.” The younger cut off as she stuck her tongue out teasingly, “What are you gonna do about it?” 

“…Why don’t I show you?” The eldest chipmunk grinned, basically pouncing on her youngest sister as the two wrestled to get the upper hand.

And out of context? It honestly looked like a WWE match.

“GEHET OFF OF ME!” The mint cladded chipmunk screeched.

“Not uhuntil you admit Taylor is better.” The blue eyed teen smiled sweetly. 

And to a random stranger, that quote on quote 'sweet smile' probably looked 100% genuine. But to Jeanette and Eleanor…? 

…That smile had a whoooooole different meaning…

“N-NEVER!” The blonde exclaimed as she pushed her hands on the other’s chest. 

“Fine then. Have it your way.” The strawberry blonde giggled as she tickled the youngest’s sides casually and effortlessly. The green eyed chipmunk let out a loud but short scream as she descended into small giggles, hugging herself as she squirmed left and right. 

“B-BriHIHIT! STAhap IHIT!!!” The youngest squealed. 

“Ihi’m barely even tickling you, Ellie. Don’t tell me it’s that bad~!” Brittany snickered as she changed her scribbling to squeezing her sister’s sides mercilessly. “STAHA— squeak YOHOUR MEEHEAN!!” 

The oldest of the three chipmunks dramatically gasped, moving her fingers to knead at Eleanor’s underarms, “Me? Mean? Ohhhhh no no no no no no no. I’m not being mean…you’re just super ticklish.” 

The younger blushed slightly, clamping her arms down almost immediately whilst kicking her legs on the couch, “H-HUHUSH UP! SOHO AHARE YAHA— hic YOHOU!”

The strawberry blonde chuckled fondly at her sibling’s weak rebuttal, sneaking one of her hands out of the other’s underarms to try and tickle her neck but was stopped as Eleanor grabbed her wrist. 

“I know I am but what are you~?” Brittany scoffed lightly as she stopped her tickling altogether, crossing her arms as she raised a very amused brow. 

The two sister’s made eye contact— one completely amused by the very silly turn of events as the other was waiting for her grave to be buried. “Come on and share…since you wanna be all sassy today: share with the class. What are you, little sister~?”

At that tease, the green eyed chipmunk’s sassiness most definitely just went down the drain and into the ocean for sure.

The youngest let out a small, giggly whine, looking at her immediate older sister at the end of the couch in seek for help. But the only response she got was a mere shrug as she gave Eleanor an apologetic smile. 

Eleanor covered her face in embarrassment, her tail softly swishing against the couch cushion as her giggles became more giddy and desperate, “I-Ihim tihicklish…” She muttered out.  

“Sorry…didn’t hear that.” The pink cladded preteen mused.

“I-I-Ihihi’m tihihicklish!!” The youngest tried again. 

“Whaaaaaat?”

“I-Ihi sahahaid Ihi’m t-tihihicklish!!” 

“Sorry…one more time~? I really can’t hear you—“ 

“IHI’M TAHA— squeak IHI’M TIHIHICKLISH!!!” The blonde basically screamed. 

“Pfft— yeah, I know.” The eldest snickered as she kneaded the other’s hips. 

Eleanor let out a large and loud squeal as she weakly hit the other’s arms and hands, bucking and twisting around to at least make Brittany’s grip on her hips loosen a bit. 

But the blue eyed chipmunk just snickered evilly at the action, casually tickling her where the thigh met the hip, leaving the youngest of the three in absolute stitches. 

Jeanette looked away from her phone and directed her attention to her two sister’s silly situation, smiling happily. Well…at least they were bonding instead of tugging at each other’s throats. 

The purple eyed chipmunk looked towards the hallway, rolling her eyes fondly as  she saw a red blur basically sprinting into the living room. 

“Hey guys!” Alvin said quickly, basically jumping up and down where he stood, “Me, Si and Theo are gonna go skateboarding outside and we were wondering if you guys would wanna— uhhhhhh...wow.” 

As the hazel eyed chipmunk became more aware to what was going on in front of him, a small flustered blush appeared on his face as he tried to not look at the pink and mint duo— who didn’t even seem to notice he walked in (which was very rude by the way…) 

The purple cladded chipmunk raised a brow at her little brother’s facial expression, “Alv, you need something? You said you wanted us to—”

“Nope. Nah. Nada. I don’t need aaaaaanything…” Alvin mumbled out quickly and quietly, averting his gaze from the scene displaying in front of him to not worsen the tingly butterfly feeling in his stomach.

“AHALVIN! DOHON’T JUHU— hic JUHU— squeak JUHUST STAHAND THEHEHERE!! HEHELP MEEHEEHEE!” The blonde cried.

“Ehellie…my dear bahahaby sihister whom Ihi adore dearly. I would absoltuely lohove to hehelp yohou with your current…predicament but, uhm…I hahave places to go ahand plahaces to be. Sooooo aaaaanyways gOODLUCKBYELOVEYOUUUU!!!” And with that, the red cladded chipmunk Usain Bolted out of the living room. 

“AHAHALVIN YAHA— squeak COHOME BAHACK hic HEHERE YOHOU TRAITOR!!!” Eleanor squealed, letting out small hiccups and squeaks that bounced off the living room’s walls.

Brittany shared a knowing glance at Jeanette, causing the tallest of the three to nod quietly, sitting next to her little sister as she thrashed around. “Seems like that spot is really bad…” The glasses wielding chipmunk mused. 

“IHIT IHIHIS! YOHOU squeak KNOHOW MY hic HIHIHIPS ARE A BAHAD SPAHA— squeak!!!”

“That’s not the only thing that’s bad~!” The purple eyed chipmunk said as she traced Eleanor’s sides lightly, “With all your thrashing and squirming, I noticed you have one missing rib…” 

“NAHAHA— hic NOHO IHI DAHA— squeak DOHOHON’T!!!”

The tallest giggled of the three giggled, “Ihi just want to check to make sure—”

“NOHOHOHOH!” 

“Just a quick check—”

“N-NOHOHAHA! AHA STAHAP! STOHOP BEING MEAN!” The youngest screeched as she descended into a fit of loud laughter. 

“You’re mean for not letting me tickle your neck.” Brittany mused as she used one hand to scribble the crook of her baby sister’s neck while her other hand continued to squeeze at her hip, “That’s better~!” The eldest sing-songed. 

The mint cladded chipmunk scrunched up her shoulder in a weak attempt to at least cease some of the tickles, but to her dismay…it just made it way worse. The youngest dropped her hands to her sides, her legs weakly kicking underneath Brittany as her tail wagged, “IHIHIT TIHICKLES!! BEEHEE NIHIHICE!!!” 

“I was gonna be nice~!” The eldest sang, “But since you didn't let me get your neck…I'll just tickle your tummy then.” The blue eyed preteen grinned, wiggling her finger’s near the blonde’s stomach teasingly. 

The younger’s eyes widened in panic at the tease/light threat, grabbing her older sister’s wrists in an attempt to stop her, “N-NAHA hic squeak NOHO! IHIHI HAHATE hic hic IHAT THAHA— squeak THEHEHERE!!!” 

“But…I thought you liked it here?” Jeanette said genuinely as she stopped tickling her sister’s sides. The strawberry blonde rolled her eyes fondly for her immediate younger sister’s…compassion for all mankind. 

It was sickening, honestly…

“She does like getting tickled there, Jean. It’s one of her favorite spots…you know this.” Brittany said as she shook her head. 

“But she just said she didn’t!” The purple cladded chipmunk exclaimed. 

The blondie groaned at her two sister’s conversation…

God, would they just tickle her already?! She was dying in anticipation here!!!

Her two sister’s then looked at her— Brittany glanced at Jeanette as if to say 'I told you so'. 

And that’s when the youngest realized she said alllllllll of that out loud…

Eleanor buried her face into her arms, her face heating up as the dreaded ghost tickles got worse and worse. 

“…So you do like it! You just didn’t want to admit it.” The purple eyed chipmunk clarified as she put one on one together, “And earlier…you were taunting and bickering with Britt so she and I would tickle you, right?”

The younger’s face just went as red as a tomato, causing her older sister’s to fall into a giggle fit with her. “That makes so much more sense now.” The tallest grinned, tickling her little sister’s stomach and sides. The youngest of the three covered her mouth, shaking her head.

Oh this was gonna tickle so bad…

“I think you can laugh louder than that~!” Jeanette hummed, blowing a raspberry in the crook of Eleanor’s neck while dancing her fingers all over her stomach.

The eldest huffed out a laugh in triumph, cracking her knuckles teasingly as she kneaded the younger’s hips whilst blowing a raspberry on the other side of her neck. The blonde screamed with laughter, happy tears building up in her eyes. 

“There we go~! Much better. Don’t you agree, Jennie?” The strawberry blonde snickered. 

“Oho I definitely agree.” The brunette said as she nodded in agreement, “Ahhh tickle tickle tickle~!You’re so tickle tickle ticklish, little sis~!”

“BRIHIHIT!! JEHEHE— hic JEHE— squeak!!! GUHUYS PLAHAHEEEEEASE!!!” Eleanor cried. The two sister’s sighed lovingly, stopping their ticklish torment on the youngest as they sat back on the couch. 

The purple cladded chipmunk wrapped her little sister in a soft but protective hug, planting a kiss on her temple, “Are you alright? Me and Britt didn’t go too far, right…?”

“N-Noho I’m hic goohoohood. Yohou two ahare hic mean, thohough…” The youngest said through her giggle fit, resting the back of her head on Jeanette’s chest, “Wahait…dihid the mohovie ehend already…?” 

“Yes it did!” Brittany chuckled, getting up to grab the remote which was on the couch rest, “Whihich is why we are going to be watching Taylor Swift Reputation Stadium Tour!” The eldest squealed, flipping through the channels to go to Netflix. 

Jeanette and Eleanor shared a knowing glance with one another, rolling their eyes as the concert began to play.

Oh well…Eleanor would just have to get her revenge afterwards. 

'Expect the unexpected' is what her brother Alvin would say, anyway. 

And besides! After they’re done watching…maybe she’ll come to like Taylor’s music.

…Maybe.

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[virgo-dream]

the yellow sweater controversy took over the r/endlessband subreddit. user dreamstanning seems to have found evidence of a possible romance between dream and his bass tech, hob.

for @valeriianz’s amazing band au bolt in the blue ⚡️💙

[valeriianz]

FIC UPDATE: Bolt in the Blue | Chapter 13 | Dream x Hob | M | In-Progress

Tags: human au, band au, modern setting, touring, slow burn, pining, sexual tension, slice of life, fluff, hurt/comfort

Morpheus nods, lashes lowering. Hob follows his line of sight and sees their hands laying close together. Hob watches, his pulse singing, as Morpheus inches a finger out, then two, slowly walking them over to Hob’s hand. Hob peeks back up and finds Morpheus already looking at him. He’s so still, as if Morpheus is holding his breath. And Hob, his heart tripping over itself, stretches his pointer finger, meeting Morpheus’ halfway in a gentle touch. 

[Ao3]

[valeriianz]

Pressing the pads of his fingers against the edges of the jewel case, Hob admires the cover art.

It’s a photo of the band bunched together on an antique Victorian couch. The room is well lit and nondescript except for the wallpaper behind them, dark blue with gold leaves and peonies crawling up from the floor. The couch itself is hard to figure out, with so many bodies on it, but Hob can see at least that the fabric has the same shade of gold as the graphics on the wallpaper.

From left to right, it starts with Dream crushed against the arm rest, one leg crossed over the other and staring off away from his band members. His elbow is on the arm of the couch, his fingers curled and his chin resting upon them, the severity of his sharp nose and chin cutting the air. His other hand is in his lap, fingers sprayed over the bend of his knee. 

He’s wearing, no surprise, the darkest blacks. Smart shoes, pants, a crisp button down shirt under a sharp jacket. The only colors on him are the gold studs in his ears, a few rings on his fingers, and the chain around his neck, with, Hob has to squint, a blood red ruby hanging low on his chest.

After looking his fill, Hob moves on next to Delirium, who is lounging upside down, her legs bent over the back of the couch, crossed at the ankles. Her arms are also crossed, her head hanging off the sofa, so her bright blonde curls cascade to the floor. She has a huge smile on and is staring directly at the camera (she’s also the only one who’s making eye contact, Hob notices).

Shoes without laces cover her feet, fishnets (that are surprisingly not torn) run up her legs going under a red skirt with a gold pattern that is hard to decipher from the angle and folds. She has some semblance of covering on her chest that might just be a bra, with a cropped black leather jacket bunched at her shoulders. There’s also a choker around her neck.

Desire is center, wearing some kind of feathery, off-the-shoulder jumpsuit. Their platinum blond hair is combed back and coiffed high, elegant and severe. They have one arm folded over the back of the couch, the other hand coming across their chest to hold onto their wrist. Their feet were on the couch (red, knee-high boots that the suit is somehow tucked into), one knee bent up to their chest and the other folded down so it’s almost in Death’s lap, who is seated next to Desire.

It’s a pose full of relaxed confidence, legs open and inviting, a fat red belt across Desire’s waist with a gold buckle pulls the viewer’s attention in immediately. Their eyes are half-lidded, long lashes nearly brushing their cheekbones, chin high, and looking off camera, like Desire doesn’t have to give us their regard, doesn’t even need to. They’d be right, of course. Their position alone takes up the most space on the couch. Desire is the front person, after all. The loudest personality, and the favorite amongst fans. 

Though Hob has a sneaking suspicion Dream is catching up fast, with all the buzz circulating about him coming out of his shell.

Death has both feet firmly planted on the floor, hands on the seat of the couch on either side of her hips, and leaning forward slightly. Her smile is quiet and private, looking down the line of the couch, watching her bandmates. She’s wearing a black, sleeveless top with a sweetheart neckline that sparkles under a matching blazer. Golden yellow pools in her lap in the form of a lacy skirt, layered and sheer with pleats, long enough just to cover her knees. Death is accessorized in a simple gold bracelet and a red headband pushing her hair back, and pointy stilettos. 

Hob considers Death’s expression, finding only fondness, with underlying amusement in her eyes. There’s also pride there, like a mother looking at her children on graduation day.

Finally, seated cross-legged on the floor, back against the couch and brushing Death’s legs, is Despair.

It’s an odd placement, but also one that works so well that Hob doesn’t even question it. Next to Dream, Despair cares very little for attention and Hob could see them personally requesting to stand out in a mundane way. To be a contradiction. 

And Despair’s clothes look like something that shouldn’t be sat on the floor with. A short gold, long sleeve dress with a black belt over her midsection, with some kind of sleeveless black coat over her shoulders and thick black leggings and boots. Her hair is in an intricate half up and half down style, teased at the back and tumbling down her chest. It’s the most elegant Hob has seen her, which is funny considering the piercings in her face and her bored expression, her chin resting on the palm of her hand, supported by her knee. 

She is the opposite of Dream, physically in her positioning in the photo but also looking off to the right, while he’s looking left. 

Hob’s gaze sweeps avidly over the cover again, taking them all in as a group. Every one of them stands out individually, but they still look like a set, working together as a group. The color coordination is obvious but done well, making each band member stand out in their own unique way.

In simple, thin text at the bottom center of the album cover is “Endless.” Self titled.

--Chapter 6

X

Bolt in the blue

[pedrospatch]

call it what it is

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: A disagreement over patrol duty leads to declarations that have been long overdue.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. established relationship. HEFTY AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and joel is 56). ellie and joel are fine bc i said so and they deserve nothing less. reader handles a rifle, joel’s a little too overprotective and almost seems controlling, but i promise he is not. well, maybe just a smidge. arguing, admission of feelings, joel miller says i love you (yes this is ooc, no i do not care bc i need this old man to tell me he loves me). angst, fluff. quite a bit of side character interaction before we get to joel and reader in the second half. the only physical description of reader is that she is shorter than joel. fair warning, i am quite rusty.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: hi hello. i have not shared a wip in over 2 months. i was going back and forth on whether or not i wanted to share a fic with so much going on but decided i wanted to get back to doing what i enjoy. that and ofc that new footage was a boost of inspo. i am sending so, so much love to anyone who happens to see this author note, whether you read this fic or just happen to see this note in passing whilst scrolling. i know things have been tough, but i am here with you. <3

Joel wakes with a gentle start. Yawning, he rolls over from his side onto his back, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as warm, golden sunlight filters into the bedroom through the sheer, white linen curtains drawn over the window. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing slow, steady, and even. He’s still getting used to it, it seems. Waking this calmly, with a tranquil peace he had been so certain he would never in his life feel again. He knew it couldn’t be a mere coincidence the nightmares had all but stopped tormenting him in his sleep when the two of you stopped doing that awkward little tap dance around one another and began sharing a bed, a home, a life.

No more bolting upright in sheer panic in the middle of the night, heart pounding and drenched head to toe in a cold sweat. No more believing he’s failing in his sleep. No more waking up feeling like he’s lost something.

Even his dreams about Sarah had become so, so much more pleasant. Images of her in that field on that night were replaced by different memories, like watching her teammates dogpile her after she’d scored the winning goal in their soccer tournament, or the big, triumphant grin she’d flashed him over her chocolate milkshake as the pair sat in their usual corner booth at their favorite fifties-themed diner in Austin—much to Joel’s surprise, Sarah had politely declined her teammates’ invitation for pizza once the match ended, choosing to celebrate her victory with him. Just the two of them.

“Y’sure you don’t wanna go with your friends, kiddo?” he’d asked, raising an eyebrow. He had been certain she was approaching the age where she would start spending less and less time with her old man. “I wouldn’t mind, y’know.”

“Positive,” she had reassured him with a smile, looping her arm through his and leading him off the pitch. “I’d much rather be with you, dad.”

Rather than smelling metallic in his slumber, he smells the grass that stained her white and blue striped jersey. Her cheeks are smeared with dirt, not with crimson.

Stifling another loud yawn, Joel stretches his arm out over towards your side of the bed, his calloused fingers seeking the warmth and softness of your naked body—instead, all they find are empty sheets, cold and long abandoned. He turns his head, and as suspected, you are not laying there beside him. That’s hardly out of the ordinary. Out of the two of you, you were the early riser, up before the neighbors’ rooster even had the chance to sound the alarm. Joel knows how much you treasure your quiet mornings lounging on the porch swing he’d built for you as you watched the sunrise with a hot cup of coffee in hand. He often made a genuine effort to get up and join you, but lately, his patrol rotations had been all over the place thanks to a shortage of patrolmen. He found himself sleeping in whenever he had the chance, seeing as he never knew when he might have to work a damn double. Or maybe it was just his age catching up with him.

He checks the time and then rolls out of bed, groaning when his sore knees and his aching lower back protest his movement.

After taking a quick shower using whatever hot water the kid had left for him after her own shower—much to his annoyance, it was not very much—Joel brushes his teeth and gets dressed for the day before pulling on his boots and heading downstairs into the kitchen where he finds the culprit responsible for the cold downpour he’d been forced to wash himself under. Ellie’s sitting at the table, absentmindedly stirring her oatmeal around her bowl with her spoon as she flips through one of her comic books. Just as he’s about to greet her, he spots the clean, empty coffee pot on the kitchen counter and frowns. You hadn’t even made coffee yet?

Now, that—that is out of the ordinary.

“Where is she?” he asks.

“Well, good morning to you too, old man. Oh, I slept great, thanks for asking,” Ellie quips without looking up at him as she flips the page. She mumbles something under her breath he doesn’t quite catch, something like, and you get on my ass about my manners?

Rolling his eyes, Joel snorts in response and pads over to the coffee maker on the counter. He spoons in some of the grounds he’d traded for earlier that week into the reusable filter, pours in water from the tap, and turns it on to brew. He grabs two ceramic mugs from the wire dish rack beside the sink and sets them down on the counter. “She out back?” he questions, yanking the refrigerator door open—he tries to remember the little things, like how you enjoyed your coffee with a bit of milk as well as a dash of cinnamon, if you had the rations, or something to trade for the precious spice. He always made sure that you did.

“Nope.” Ellie shovels a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and adds thickly, “She went to get some eggs.”

Joel shoots her a look of disgust over his shoulder. “Jesus, Ellie! How many times do I gotta tell you? Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s bad manners,” he scolds her, shaking his head. He turns his attention back to the refrigerator. As he reaches for the glass bottle of milk, he pauses and his eyebrows pull together in confusion when he sees the wicker basket on the top shelf. “Wait a minute.” He feels her stiffen in her chair. “Why the hell would she go get eggs when we’ve got a full basket of ‘em right here in the fridge?”

She clears her throat. “Oh, uh, my bad. I got confused. Think she said she was gonna go get more honey? Uh, I used the last of it to make my breakfast this morning and she, uh—she wanted some for her toast. You know, ‘cause she really likes putting honey on her toast,” she rambles before piling more oatmeal into her mouth.

Closing the refrigerator door, he turns to her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as uneasiness settles deep in the pit of his stomach. “Ellie?”

There’s a momentary pause. “...yeah?”

This time, Joel doesn’t bother to chastise the teenager for talking with her mouth full. “Where is she?”

Ellie nervously swallows her food and holds up both of her hands. “Hey, I already fucking told you, man.”

“Look, I know you like the back of my own hand, kiddo. And I know damn good and well when you’re lying to me.” Joel crosses his arms over his chest. “Now tell me the truth. What do you know that I don’t?”

Groaning, Ellie sits back in her chair. “Ugh. She made me swear not to tell you! She’ll fucking strangle me if I do—”

“Yeah, well, not if I fuckin’ strangle you first myself,” he threatens her. “M’Serious, Ellie. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

“Alright, alright! Jesus,” she huffs. “She’s with Tommy. He’s been taking her out of town to do target practice in the mornings, just the two of them. She usually gets back to the house before you get up,” she admits.

Joel’s arms fall back to his sides, his shoulders tense. “And how long has this been goin’ on?” he asks, rigidly. There’s a sudden tightness inside his chest, a feeling he hasn’t felt it in a while, but is still all too familiar to him.

After Tommy spread the word around town that more people were needed for patrol duties, you’d expressed an interest in the role, but Joel had been all too quick to shut you down, telling you he didn’t want you stepping foot outside the community’s gates.

“No,” he’d said. “Not happenin’. S’too dangerous.”

“But Joel—”

“I said,” he lowered his voice. “No.”

He hadn’t offered you an explanation as to why he was against it, refused to give you one good, solid reason as to why it was acceptable for him to risk his own life to protect Jackson, but it wasn’t acceptable for you to do the same.

Joel hadn’t known how to tell you the truth. How he needed you far, far more than you needed him, how the mere thought of losing you, the best fucking thing that could have possibly happened to him since the world ended, made him feel like his heart was going to stop.

A few weeks had passed since then, and thankfully, you never brought it up to him again. You had lost interest in patrol duty. Or so he’d thought.

“How long has this been going on?” he repeats after a minute.

“C’mon, man! Haven’t I already snitched enough?”

“Ellie,” Joel bites out her name. “Tell me. How long?”

She sighs in defeat. “Two weeks? Maybe three?” When she notices the muscle in his jaw tick, she grimaces. “You do realize why she didn’t fucking tell you, right?”

“Don’t,” he warns her, sharply.

“I’m just saying,” Ellie mutters, peering down into her bowl.

Without another word, Joel angrily storms past her and straight out the front door, snatching up his rifle on the way. He heads straight for the stables, trying to ignore the anxiety flaring inside of his chest.

Focus.

Now, breathe in. And breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe...

You exhale as you slowly squeeze the trigger.

Y’squeeze it like you love it, you had been told by your reluctant instructor.

The round fires off into the distance and you swiftly grab the bolt handle, bringing it up, back, forward, and then down again. You pull the trigger once more, then repeat and continue firing one shot after the other for a total of five rounds.

The rifle’s recoil nearly sends you flying backwards, but a strong hand on your back keeps you nice and steady. That same hand then moves to your shoulder and gives you three firm taps.

“Alright, alright! Christ,” Tommy laughs. He withdraws his arm from around you and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ calm down, Annie Oakley.”

Picking up his binoculars, he rises to his feet and looks through the lens at the makeshift targets that he’d set up for you, three empty soup cans lined up in a row on top of a wooden fence about twenty-five yards away—your longest shooting distance to date.

“Well?” You don’t even bother masking your impatience as you lower the rifle, carefully propping the weapon up against the tree stump you’re perched behind. Rubbing your sore shoulder, you hope the kickback won’t leave a bruise. You wouldn’t know how to explain that to Joel. “How did I do?”

His response comes in the form of a long, low whistle.

There is no telling if that had been good whistle, or if it had been a bad one. You groan. Now was not the time for him to dick around. “Please tell me I got at least one of them?”

“You got ‘em all, actually.” Tommy replies, lowering the binoculars and peering down at you. There’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Good job, kid.”

Kid? Not exactly a nickname one wants to be called by the brother of the much, much older man that they are romantically involved with. It’d taken Tommy months to accept your relationship with Joel, especially when you moved your things out of your unit and into his over the summer. Part of you wonders if him referring to you as a kid is simply his own subtle way of telling you—no, of reminding you, that he’s still not comfortable with it.

And perhaps he never would be.

After all, you had still been a teenager when you first arrived to Jackson a few years ago, stumbling upon the town just a few months shy of the twentieth birthday you weren’t sure you would survive long enough to see.

You were indeed a kid when you’d met Tommy Miller.

Were.

Scowling up at him, you snap, “I told you to stop calling me that. I’m not nineteen anymore, Tommy.”

Having read your mind, he gives you a small smile and acknowledges, “Yeah, you’re right. You definitely ain’t a kid anymore.” He offers you his hand and hoists you up to your feet. Before dropping your hand, he gives it an apologetic squeeze.

You relax a little and smile back at him. “Did I really get all three?”

Tommy nods. “You sure did. You’re a damn good shot. I gotta be honest with you—I didn’t expect you to be this fuckin’ good,” he admits sheepishly.

Chuckling, you scoff, “Thanks. I think.”

“It’s a compliment, sugar.” He winks and flashes you a lopsided grin. “In fact, I’d say my work here is done.”

“Great! So when are you putting me on the roster?”

His grin instantly vanishes. “Uh, listen. About that....”

He trails off, and your heart sinks a little.

Tommy wouldn’t back out of this now—would he?

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare go back on your word, Miller,” you say, lightly poking him in the chest. “We had a deal. You said if I did well enough, you’d think about it.”

He nods in agreement. “Exactly. Said I’d think about it. And I think that puttin’ you on the roster for patrol ain’t a good idea.”

Your mouth falls open. If he never had any intention of holding up his end of the bargain, then what had been the point of teaching you how to shoot?

You didn’t understand.

“You just said it yourself, I’m a great shot! I’m a good on horseback, too. I’m stealthy. I’m diligent. What more do you fucking need from me, Tommy?”

Tommy’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “Joel would fuckin’ murder me with his bare hands if I even thought about puttin’ you on patrol duty. Hell, he’d murder me just knowin’ we’re out here and I’m teachin’ you how to shoot. It’s a damn fuckin’ miracle he still hasn’t caught onto this, y’know.”

Shocked, your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. “This is about Joel? Are you serious?”

“‘Course it is.” He pauses. “Listen, now I know the three of us had our—differences—when he first told me ‘bout you two. Still takin’ me a bit of gettin’ used to, but I can see he’s real serious about you. I know my brother, and I know he won’t risk losin’ what’s most important to him. Ain’t no way in hell. He doesn’t want you out here and you know that as well as I do.” Tommy shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging as he shuffles his weight from one cowboy boot to the other. “Unless he’s alright with it, I ain’t gonna put you on the roster.”

For a moment, you’re at a complete loss for words.

Upon seeing the crestfallen expression on your face, he makes a suggestion. “You can try talkin’ to him ‘bout it again if it means that much to you. Ask him—”

“Ask?” You want to laugh. You almost do. “I’m an adult, Tommy. I don’t need his permission to do this. Or to do anything for that matter. Joel doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Tommy smiles wryly. “Well then, if that’s the case, why are we sneakin’ around and doin’ this behind his back?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat.

Because the ramifications could be disastrous.

Joel had made his stance on the matter abundantly clear, and yet here you were, deliberately disobeying him.

“Stumped you real good, didn’t I?”

Before you can even start to think about how you can possibly respond to that, you hear the sound of hooves in the dirt behind you, followed by whinny of a horse.

Tommy’s face pales as he glances over your shoulder.

“Shit.”

There’s no need for you to ask. His grimace says it all.

Somehow, you will yourself to turn around just as Joel’s steed comes to a halt beside the mare you and Tommy had ridden out on together. He jumps out of the saddle, grunting at the forceful impact on his knees when his feet hit the ground. His rifle hangs from a worn, brown leather strap slung across his back.

He approaches the two of you looking absolutely livid, and your throat goes dry.

“The hell is goin’ on here?” He breezes right past you, roughly shoving his brother with both hands. “Why the fuck would you bring her out here, Tommy? What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Joel, c’mon. Take it easy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to take it easy!”

“Joel!” You reach for his arm. “Wait, it’s not his fault!”

Joel shoves him again, then takes him by the collar of his shirt and pins him against the ponderosa pine tree behind him. “You’ve been bringin’ her outside the gates behind my fuckin’ back for weeks, asshole?”

The panic begins to set in—he’s taking his anger out on the wrong person, and deep down, he knows this too.

“Joel! Stop! Let him go!” Grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, you try pulling him off of the younger man. “Stop it! It’s not his fault! I asked Tommy to bring me out here!”

He whirls around, his nostrils flared, jaw clenched.

You’ve seen this side of him a handful of times before.

But his anger has never been directed at you.

“What?”

Immediately, you let go of him and take a step back. “I asked Tommy to bring me out here and teach me how to shoot so that I can start working patrol,” you explain, hoping, praying, he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. “This was all my idea, okay? If you’re going to be mad at someone, then be mad at me. Not at him.”

“So you did this after I fuckin’ told you I didn’t want you out here?” Joel seethes. His neck becomes flushed, his tan skin now a deep shade of red.

“Joel—”

He cuts you off. “I had to find out from Ellie? You tried to get her to fuckin’ lie to me? After all the work it took for me and her to—” Stopping mid sentence, he places his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

“Joel. Please.” Behind the anger in his dark brown eyes, you detect something else. A mingle of hurt, concern—fear?

Tommy awkwardly clears his throat. “Well I’m, uh—I’m gonna head back to town,” he says, touching a hand to the back of his neck. “I’ll let the two of you work things out in private.” As he passes Joel, he lightly claps him on the shoulder. “Girl’s a sharp shooter, big brother. I’d reckon she’s almost better than you.”

His effort to lighten the mood fails. Miserably.

Offering you a subtle nod of encouragement, Tommy hops into the saddle of his mare and takes off towards the commune.

Silence falls over the both of you. It feels suffocating.

Unfamiliar.

Finally, you speak. “Joel, please just hear me out—”

“What the hell were you thinkin’? Or were you just not thinkin’ at all?”

“I was thinking I want to pull my weight in Jackson.”

“You already have a fuckin’ job,” Joel reminds you.

“Making sandwiches and serving whiskey at The Tipsy Bison?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I am capable of more than that, Joel. So much more. Don’t you believe I’m capable of doing more?”

“I don’t want you out here,” he grits through his teeth. “Capable or not, I don’t want you outside Jackson’s walls. I don’t want you on patrol and that’s fuckin’ final. You understand me?” Now it’s him who falters, and you wonder if you’re imagining things, or if that’s really a tear you see sliding down the side of his face, disappearing into the salt and pepper scruff of his beard.

“That’s not your decision to make, Joel. It’s mine.”

“M’responsible for you. It’s my job to look after you—to protect you.”

Something about the way he is looking at you, it feels like a punch to the gut, and it’s at that precise moment when you begin to realize that he’s not angry. He’s afraid.

“Joel, I know that all you want to do is protect me,” you sigh, letting your arms fall down to your sides. “I know you do. But you’re doing me no favors by trying to keep me sheltered. By treating me like I’m defenseless. Don’t forget, I’m a survivor too.”

“You already know how fuckin’ dangerous it is out here. Clickers, raiders—”

“I can handle it,” you insist, stubbornly.

“You’d be puttin’ yourself right in harm’s way!”

You shoot back, “You mean, the way you and so many other people put yourselves in harm’s way every single day for the sake of keeping Jackson safe?”

A frustrated growl rumbles through his chest. “Christ, why are you bein’ so fuckin’ foolish? You’re just askin’ to get yourself killed!”

“I can take care of myself!” You realize your hands are shaking and curl them into tight fists at your sides in an effort to hide it. “Just accept it, Joel! Accept that I can take care of myself, alright?”

That is all it takes to tip Joel over the edge he’s been teetering on. “Then what do you fuckin’ need me for?” he shouts, his voice thundering over the quiet plains of Wyoming. “If you can take care of yourself, what’s the point in us bein’ together? Why are you with me?”

“Because I love you!”

As soon as the confession comes tumbling out of your mouth, you take a step back, your wide eyes meeting his own. Until now, neither of you have ever called this what it is, been bold enough to say it’s love.

Loving after so much grief, so much loss, is daunting. It’s something you thought you would never be capable of doing again, not in this lifetime. Not in this world. It’s happened, though.

You love Joel Miller.

And he loves you.

He’s never told you he does, but he’s shown you.

From the way remembers how you take your coffee in the mornings, to the way he laces his fingers with your own, holding your hand when he’s buried inside of you, whispering sweet nothings into your collarbone every single night.

“You—you what?” Joel’s whisper is hardly audible.

You inch your way closer to him, your voice soft. “I love you,” you declare once more. “I’m not with you because of what you can do for me. I’m not with you because you can take care of me.” Closer. “I’m with you because I love you—because I’m in love with you, Joel.” Closer, until your chest brushes against his, and he can smell the subtle scent of your homemade, rosewater soap. “The only thing I need, and have ever needed from you, is your love in return.”

His throat bobs. Before you can utter another word, he lifts his hands and gently takes your face, cradling it in between his large palms, gently. His eyes search yours, immediately finding the sincerity behind your words. Leaning down, he brushes the tip of nose against your own as one of his hands travels down, his long fingers curling around the nape of your neck. His thumb lightly strokes the column of your throat.

“I love you,” Joel says hoarsely. Three words he hadn’t said to anyone in over two decades—it feels foreign to him, they ring strange in his own ears. He tries it again, clearer this time, and with a little more confidence. After all, he’s only saying what he has known from the very start. “I love you.” His other hand moves to your hip, pulling you even closer to him. “M’gonna love you for the rest of my life, baby.”

He leans in further and presses his lips to yours lightly, at first, but he wastes no time in sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip, silently asking for more.

Your mouth parts for him, and he backs you against the ponderosa, kissing you deeply, greedily, like he’s a man starved.

You whimper into him, your hands sliding up his broad chest and past his shoulders until they’re tangled in his soft, graying curls. He breathes you in, like you are the oxygen he needs to stay alive.

It isn’t until you both hear the sound of rustling behind a nearby shrub that you’re forced to pull apart. “Don’t move,” Joel instructs in a hushed voice. He keeps you pinned against the tree, his hand abandoning your hip. He glances around, slowly reaching behind his back for his rifle. His tense shoulders relax when the both of you see a pair of rabbits dart out from one dried bush and straight into another. Exhaling an amused huff, Joel shifts his attention back to you and rests his forehead against yours.

Smiling, you reach up and softly graze his beard with your fingertips. “Guess it’s about time we called this what it is, huh?”

“Guess you’re right, darlin’.” He lifts his chin, brushing a kiss onto your forehead. “M’sorry for raisin’ my voice to you. For talkin’ to you the way I did. S’just, the thought of somethin’ happenin’ to you out here scares shit out of me.” Taking a step back, he pulls the strap of his rifle from around his shoulder. He chews the inside of his cheek and silently stares at the gun in his hands. After a minute, he meets your curious gaze. “Do you really wanna do this, sweet girl?”

You nod. “Yeah. I really do.”

Joel sighs. “Can I put a condition it?”

“Depends on what that condition is.”

“I’m your patrol partner. Every shift. Every rotation.”

You roll your eyes. “Joel.”

“At least for the first few weeks,” he bargains. “Last thing I need is for you to be paired up with some fuckin’ idiot who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doin’.”

Knowing that would be the only way he’d have some peace of mind, you decide to agree. “Fine. We’re patrol partners.”

“Alright then.” Joel nods and hands you the rifle. He flashes you a small grin. “Show me what you got, baby.”

divider credit to @/saradika 💛

for fic notifications please follow @joelsgreysupdates!

[r6eduss]

Would you do a jealous daryl fic? Im pretty open to whatever, I just like it when he gets all riled up.

Play Date.

•Summary: You confess to Daryl, but he doesn’t take it serious, leaving you heartbroken. But when he sees you with Spencer the next day, it sparks jealousy in him he didn’t know he had. (Fem reader)

•Warnings: 18+, No established relationship, angst, fluff

•Word Count: 3.5k

•Setting: Alexandria

•A/N: thank you for the request anon! I’m sorry if you aren’t happy with the results. It took me awhile to write this 🫶🏼 I think if Daryl were actually in a relationship with you, he’d be more trusting so he wouldn’t be as jealous.

The walls of Alexandria were a stark contrast to the world outside. It wasn’t just the literal separation between life and death, safety and chaos; it was the reminder of what life had been before everything fell apart. It wasn’t long ago that the world had been buzzing with electricity, the hum of cities, and the simple luxuries they all took for granted. But now? Now, the very idea of safety felt alien.

You glanced over at the furniture as you walked around the home you had been given, the group clustered around you like a protective herd. You all had been in Alexandria for only a day or two, and even though everyone was supposed to be settling in, there was an air of distrust hanging over the group. Rick, in particular, was on edge, his eyes scanning every corner of the street for unseen threats.

Daryl, meanwhile, looked as out of place as he felt. His clothes were worn and dirty, his hair hanging down over his face, but it wasn’t just his appearance that set him apart from the clean-cut Alexandrians. It was the way he held himself, like a caged animal, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

You’d known Daryl long enough to recognize the signs. He didn’t belong in a place like this, and he knew it. Hell, none of them did. But Daryl? He was different. He’d always been more comfortable in the wild even before the fall, so here, with their pristine houses and manicured lawns, he felt suffocated.

When Deanna invited everyone to the party, Daryl’s reaction was immediate and expected.

“I ain’t goin’,” he grunted, not even looking at you as he adjusted the strap on his crossbow. He was standing on the porch of the house you were all sharing, still on edge about sleeping inside, feeling a need to stay outside and keep watch to protect them from any and all possible dangers.

“Daryl…” you started, your voice soft, knowing that reasoning with him required patience. “It’s just for a little while. We’ve been out there so long, and Deanna’s trying to make us feel at home. I know it’s not what you want, but could you come? For me?”

Daryl stopped, his fingers stilling on the strap, and he turned to look at you, his blue eyes piercing through the shadows of his messy hair. You saw the hesitation in him, the way he always struggled with doing things for others when they weren’t strictly necessary for survival. But you weren’t asking for much—just his presence.

“Fine,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes. “‘But I ain’t puttin’ on no tie.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Deal.”

The party was already in full swing by the time you had arrived. People were mingling, drinks in hand, laughter filling the air in a way that felt foreign to the group that had spent so long fighting for their lives. It was strange, surreal even, to see people acting as though the world outside wasn’t in ruins. You noticed how uncomfortable Daryl looked almost immediately, his broad shoulders hunched in his black button up shirt while his eyes scanned the crowd as if he were looking for an escape route.

Daryl didn’t say much, hovering behind you like a shadow, his discomfort evident in every tense movement. People from Alexandria approached you, eager to learn about the new arrivals. They asked questions—about where your group had came from, how long they’d been on the road, and how you were all adjusting. You answered politely, but there was always a part of you that held back, a part that still didn’t fully trust this place.

Daryl, meanwhile, was grateful that no one spoke to him, even if the reason they didn’t was because they feared him. He stayed quiet, following you from conversation to conversation, his eyes flicking between you and the people who approached. He felt out of place, like he didn’t belong among these clean, well-fed people who seemed oblivious to the horrors faced outside those walls. But he stayed because you, the person he loved, asked him to.

Eventually, Deanna approached, her smile warm as she introduced you and Daryl to her husband, Reg.

“It’s so nice to meet you both.” Reg began, glancing between the two of them with a kind smile. “So, how long have you two been together?”

Your cheeks flushed instantly, and you quickly corrected him, laughing nervously. “Oh, no, we’re not… we’re not together.”

Daryl stayed silent, his heart was racing but he said nothing. He wasn’t sure what to say, anyway. The awkwardness of the moment hung in the air for a second too long before Deanna’s smile widened knowingly.

“Well, you make a good team,” she said before moving on, leaving them both standing there in the midst of the party.

You felt a strange mix of emotions swirl inside you—embarrassment, confusion, and something else you couldn’t quite name. You glanced at Daryl, but his expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Before you could say anything, Spencer appeared, smiling that easy, charming smile of his as he greeted you. Daryl tensed immediately, his eyes narrowing as Spencer completely ignored his presence and focused all his attention on you, like everyone at this party had done.

“Glad to see you’re fitting in,” Spencer said, his tone just a little too smooth. He leaned in slightly, his body language relaxed but… suggestive. You noticed it, but tried to push the thought aside, assuming you were reading too much into it.

You both made small talk for a few minutes, Spencer doing most of the talking while you nodded politely, trying not to let your discomfort show. Daryl, on the other hand, could see right through Spencer’s act. He recognized the way Spencer’s eyes lingered a little too long, the way his smile was just a little too practiced.

His jaw tightened as he watched Spencer flirt with you right in front of him. It wasn’t that he thought you were his—but the way Spencer looked at you, like you were a conquest, made him feel frustrated, made him feel emotions he’s never felt for anyone before, feelings he didn’t think he was capable of feeling.

“I’m gon’ get a drink.” Daryl muttered under his breath, though he had no intention of actually getting one. Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed for the door, needing to get away before he did something stupid. You barely noticed as he walked away, too caught up in Spencer’s conversation. It wasn’t until Spencer asked, “So, do you have a boyfriend?” that your mind shifted to Daryl.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you thought about your feelings for Daryl. You weren’t together, but you couldn’t deny that your heart had long since gravitated toward him.

“No,” you finally answered, voice quiet.

Spencer’s smile widened, and before you could say anything else, he asked, “Then how about we go out sometime?” The question caught you off guard, but you recovered quickly, offering him a polite smile as you shook your head. “I’m not really interested, I’m sorry.” You couldn’t really handle the awkwardness of the conversation, so you began to walk away, but Spencer wasn’t one to take no for an answer. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist a little too tightly, his smile fading into something harder. “Come on,” he said, his tone insistent. “It’s just a date.”

You tensed immediately, your eyes narrowing as you tried to pull your wrist free. “Let go,” you said firmly, your voice was low enough that no one else at the party noticed.

For a moment, Spencer hesitated, his grip tightening. But then he seemed to remember where they were—surrounded by both Alexandrians and people

of Rick’s group—and he released you, his expression shifting back into a smooth, apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that,” he said quickly, but the red mark on your wrist told a different story.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, heading toward the table with the drinks to look for Daryl. But when you got there, he was nowhere to be found. What you did see, though, was Spencer already chatting up Sasha, his flirtatious smile back in full force.

You sighed, feeling a wave of disappointment wash over you. The night wasn’t turning out the way you had hoped. You wanted to enjoy it, to maybe have a quiet moment with Daryl, but instead, it felt like everything was falling apart.

Needing some air, you stepped outside, the cool night breeze brushing against your skin. It didn’t take long to spot Daryl, leaning against a nearby fence, a cigarette between his lips as he stared out into the darkness.

You approached him slowly, your heart still racing from the interaction with Spencer. As you got closer, Daryl’s eyes shifted to you, and the moment he saw the red mark on your wrist, his entire demeanor changed.

“Wha’ happened?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern.

You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, but you knew there was no point in lying to him. “Spencer grabbed me when I tried to leave,” you really didn’t want to already start problems. “It’s fine. He let go.”

Daryl’s expression darkened instantly, his jaw clenching as he tossed the cigarette to the ground, already turning to head back toward the house. “I’m gon’ kill ‘im.”

“Daryl, wait,” quickly, you stepped in front of him and placed a hand on his chest to stop him. “It’s fine. I just… I want to spend the night with you. Not dealing with that. Please.”

He stopped, his fists still clenched, his eyes blazing with barely contained anger. But something about the way you said it—the way you asked him to stay with you—made him pause. He looked down at you, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm the storm inside him.

“If he gets near ya again, I swear…”

You smiled softly, touched by his protectiveness. “I know. But you don’t have to worry. I’ve got you—and the rest of the group—watching out for me. I’m fine.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground as he struggled with the emotions swirling inside him. He wanted to protect you, wanted to make sure no one ever laid a hand on you, but there was something else gnawing at him—something he didn’t quite know how to deal with.

Jealousy.

He didn’t think he had a right to feel it, but it was there, a bitter taste in his mouth. Spencer was younger, cleaner, probably the kind of guy you deserved. And him? He was older, rough around the edges, scarred in more ways than one.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, you spoke again, voice steady. “Daryl… you don’t have to worry about Spencer or anyone else. My heart… it already belongs to you.”

For a moment, Daryl froze, his mind going blank as your words sank in. He looked down at you, his eyes wide with disbelief. You couldn’t be serious. There was no way someone like you—someone strong, kind, beautiful—could feel that way about him.

A defensive scoff escaped his lips as he shook his head while giving your shoulder a playful nudge.

Your smile faltered, and you felt the sting of his actions deep in your chest. You’d laid your heart bare, and he’d brushed it off like it was nothing. But you didn’t let the hurt show. Instead, you forced a small laugh, playing it off like it was a joke.

But inside, your heart was breaking.

Without another word, you turned and began walking back in the direction toward your shared home with the others, your chest tight with the weight of his rejection. You felt like you had taken a leap, only to be pushed away, and now all you wanted to do was disappear.

Daryl watched you go as he lit another cigarette, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t untangle. His jealously, his feelings for you, things he’d never discuss out loud.

After arriving, you realized you were alone in the house. Everyone was still at the party and the silence was too deafening, leaving you unable to shake the pit in your stomach. The night stretched on endlessly as you rested on the worn-out couch, staring at the ceiling, the events of what happened playing on a loop in your mind.

Rejection. The taste of it still burned in your chest. You had put your heart on the line, and Daryl didn’t seem to notice. It had felt like a punch to the gut, leaving you winded and second-guessing everything. He hadn’t even said anything real—just brushed it off like you were joking, and now, the quiet gnawed at you, making you feel smaller by the minute. Maybe he didn’t feel the same, and that thought consumed you throughout the night.

The next day passed in a blur. You barely caught a glimpse of Daryl, knowing he was out with Aaron, who had given him a new job as a recruiting partner after he had invited him over for dinner. Every step he took away from you felt like another brick in the wall that was forming between you two. You wrestled with your feelings, considering maybe it was time to let loose.

And maybe it was time to open your options with someone else.

That afternoon, while you sat on the porch, a warm breeze brushing against your skin, Spencer appeared, looking sheepish. “Hey, about yesterday...” His voice was shaky, unsure. He shifted on his feet, his gaze darting to the ground before he finally met your eyes. “I’m really sorry for grabbing your wrist like that. I had too much to drink and I was way out of line.”

You remembered the incident from the party—the way he had grabbed you, too rough, too desperate. But now, seeing the guilt in his eyes, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pity.

“It’s fine,” you forced a small smile. “You were buzzed. I totally get it.”

Relief washed over his face, and he grinned, more confident now. “So... what about that date?”

You hesitated for a moment, your heart still aching for someone else, but the thought of moving on, of trying to distract yourself from the pain, seemed tempting. Maybe you could use Spencer to forget Daryl. “Sure,” you replied, surprising yourself with the ease in your voice.

The date was... fine. That was the best word to describe it. Spencer talked a lot about himself—his job before the fall, his family, the world he missed. He asked you questions too, seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, but as much as you tried, you couldn’t really care. His words barely made a dent in your thoughts, because they were always somewhere else—on Daryl.

But Spencer, oblivious to your disinterest, seemed to think it was a success. He walked you home afterward, his arm brushing yours every now and then. You found yourself laughing at some of the things he said, more out of politeness than anything else, but for a moment, it almost felt normal. Almost.

As you approached the front porch, you failed to notice Daryl.

He stood there, not far from the house, just returning from his run with Aaron. He froze, his eyes locked on you and Spencer, his face hardening into something unreadable. Daryl just watched, hands clenched at his sides with his jaw tight.

By the time you reached the porch, you felt tired in more ways than one. As Spencer gave you a final, confident smirk, promising to see you again soon, he finally left. You were lost in thought. The silence wrapped around you, and for a while, you almost forgot about the strange encounter—until you spotted Daryl walking right towards you.

“Hey, Dary—”

Before you could finish, Daryl’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to pull you toward him. His face was a storm of anger, jealousy, and something else you couldn’t quite place. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, like he was barely keeping it together. He dragged you into the house, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the frame. “The hell ya doin’ with tha’ asshole?” he spat, his voice low and accent thick, filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean? We were just talking.”

Daryl scoffed, pacing like a caged animal. “Talkin’? That son’of a bitch touched ya, now yer walkin’ ‘round with him like it didn’t mean nothin’.”

You crossed your arms, defensiveness rising in your chest. “He apologized. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

His eyes flashed, and you could see the fury bubbling just beneath the surface. “Not a big deal? He hurt ya!” His voice was louder now, frustration pouring out of him.

And then it hit you—why he was acting this way. Was he... jealous? The realization made your blood boil. After he brushed you off, now he wanted to care? Now he wanted to feel something?

You snapped, your voice laced with anger. “So what? It wasn’t nearly as bad as you hurt me! So stop acting like we’re together when you clearly don’t care!”

Your words hung in the air, cutting through him like a knife. You watched as Daryl’s expression shifted from anger to confusion. “What?” His voice was quieter now, unsure.

Your heart clenched, the weight of everything you’d been holding in finally crashing down on you. “Last night,” you began, your voice was softer now, but still trembling with emotion. “When I told you my heart belonged to you... you acted like it was a joke.”

His breath caught in his throat. He remembered. The way he had shrugged it off, laughed it away, thinking you were just messing around. He had never thought, not in a million years, that you could feel that way about him. A girl like you? Loving a guy like him? It was laughable.

But now, seeing the pain in your eyes, it wasn’t funny at all.

“I... I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick with regret. “Thought ya were just messin’ ‘round.” He trailed off, unable to find the right words.

You sighed, the tension slowly ebbing away as you took in the sight of him—this man who had built up walls so high, he couldn’t even see when someone was trying to climb them. “Why would I joke about something like that, Daryl?” you asked, almost pleading. Maybe he was used to Carol’s humor, or maybe he didn’t think he deserved you.

He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Dunno,” he muttered. “Didn’t think redneck trash would be worth yer time.”

His words hit you harder than you expected. The way he saw himself, the way he spoke of himself—it hurt. But in this moment, the vulnerability in his voice, the way he couldn’t even look at you... it was endearing.

“Daryl...” you called softly, stepping closer, your heart pounding in your chest. You reached out, gently placing your index finger and your thumb under his chin, tilting his face up until his eyes met yours. The closeness between you made the air crackle with anticipation.

His eyes flickered between your gaze and your lips, nervous, unsure. He bit the inside of his lip, fidgeting with his fingers, and you knew—he was waiting for your next move.

With a steady breath, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, it deepened. When you finally pulled away, you stayed close, your lips brushing his as you whispered, “Of course you’re worth my time.”

Daryl’s eyes were wide, his breath shallow. For a long moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to convince himself that this was real. Then, in a quiet manner, he cleared his throat. “I love ya.” The words left his mouth in a very subtle whisper as you felt his breath against your lips.

Your heart stopped, the world seeming to freeze for just a second. He... loved you?

“I love you too, Daryl,” you whispered back, smiling before leaning in to kiss him again.

After a long, tender moment, you pulled back, and Daryl glanced away, embarrassed. “Ya still gon’ hang out with tha’ guy?” he asked, his voice gruff but his tone soft.

You laughed, completely forgetting about Spencer. “No,” you cupped Daryl’s cheek gently, making him revert his gaze back to you. “I have you. That’s all I need.”

@vampiresluv

[lady-ashfade]

Hello. I saw that your wishes for Percy Jackson were clear. I wonder if you can write for yandere son percy jackson and mother reader?

Yandere Percy Jackson x Mom!reader (platonic obv)

-£ hope you don’t mind this being short! I have a lot of Fics to work on but I needed to make you something!

-£ warnings: Yandere behavior, being protective, and violent behavior.

Percy only likes your attention to be solely on him and no one else. Of for some reasons you are interacting with another kid he gets angry and starts to throw a fit to get you to pay attention. And you’d offend get calls from the school about Percy “pushing” or “biting” another child.

He’s a very needy child. Needing to be held by you, needs to play toys with you, even sometimes plays the hero to save you.

When you enrolled him in school you didn’t know how he would react. He would cause trouble to get sent home, do anything he could even finding a way to sneak out of the school. He was a trouble making.

It took some convincing to actually get him to stay in school

When he is slightly older he doesn’t acted out as much. He is hiding his actions away from you.

But expect percy to glare at any man he sees talking to you or even sending a glance your way.

Helping you with the groceries and refusing to let you carry a lot.

“Mama” he peeks his head into the kitchen, “I need help with this question.” and you of course help him. even tho he understood the small question.

Lets say what happened to Sally happened to you instead? He would actually go crazy. Killing the minotaur? The monster should be glad it died before he could stab it over and over again.

“Father if you are hearing this,” he spoke as he placed the blue jellybean into the fire while closing his eyes, “You failed to save the one person who I cared about. If you need my help, consider me out. I could careless about your war, or you.”

He didn’t want to be in camp at all, until he found out that you were alive.

Of course he jumped on that quest to safe you and didn’t even care if he got the lightning bolt. You could still be alive and that’s all he needed to hear.

He would tear Olympus down brick by brick and have the gods begging for mercy if he need to.

(If you catch my slight quote from the second book hats off to you)

[reallyromealone]

Sebastian michaelis x demon/vampire butler reader? Omegaverse perhaps?

Title: a bit bitey

Fandom:black butler

Characters: Ciel, Sebastian

Fic type: fluff, omegaverse, suggestive content

Pairings:

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, fluff, suggestive themes, vampire reader

Notes: IM BAAAAAACK >:)

Summary: Reader is a vampire who drinks the blood of alphas who fall for his charms and gets mistaken for Jack the Ripper and gets chased by Sebastian and offered a position be can't refuse

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It was said that when a demon bedded a witch that it would create something truly unholy that would walk the earth craving human flesh, unable to touch the sun.

It's why (name) found his home in London, a lovely home with his centuries accumulated wealth and all his trinkets over the years scattered around, like a museum of his immortality.

"I was so hungry..." (Name) Sighed, the Omega watching as the man dropped to the ground, body drained of all blood and (name) licked his lips, a bit of blood on his top lip. A sense of euphoria washed over the Omega who let out a sigh before stepping over the dead alpha, seeing a wanted poster for Jack the Ripper, whoever that guy was sure made feedings easy...

It was the dead of night, no one really in the streets and the oil lamps lighting his path home, a pep in his step and soft humming could be heard.

He was always so happy after a good feeding.

"There he is! Sebastian, get him!" A child's voice could be heard and (name) turned to lock eyes with a deep red pair... A demon.

(Name) Immediately bolted, the young blue eyed boy going into his carriage to wait while his demon stalked down the street.

Running through alleyways and corners, (name) was thankful for his speed and lack of footsteps, slipping into his bedroom door and closing it with a sigh.

Safe.

"Fu--" (name) was pinned to the ground by the black haired alpha, arms pinned to his side "you know, people would typically take one on a romantic stroll or maybe a dinner before doing something like this" (name) snarled at the alpha who wasn't even remotely phased "you have been causing problems..." Sebastian said casually, eyeing the Omega who huffed "I'm simply having dinner" (name) didn't particularly care for the humans, really seeing them as food "you killed five prostitutes"

Huh?

"My apologies but I don't pursue other omegas" (name) said simply "I pursue alphas, they're easier" Sebastian stared him down, looking for any trade if a lie but when he found nothing he let go of his wrists but stayed on the vampires hips "is there anything else I can assist you with Sbeastian?" Remembering the name the boy called the demon "are you looking for employment?" Sebastian asked curiously, (name) raising an eyebrow at the question.

"What are you on about?"

"I can offer you something, an exchange"

"What could you possibly offer me?"

"Demon blood in exchange for employment" (name) didn't need money, he didn't need items or anything material as he lived for centuries and had an Elizabethan era outfit in a chest in the attic of his home. "You are willing to give me your blood?" (Name)s eyes were blown out while moving to touch the others cold neck, right around his jugular "no more attacking humans, work under me and you get demonic blood" demonic blood was like a fine wine to a vampire, addictive and delicious.

Sebastian could smell the omegas pharamones even when masked, biting his lips "do you know what you're asking of me, alpha?"

"I am well aware of what in asking, Omega" Sebastian whispered, getting closer to the other "I'm half human, do you think you can handle my mortal emotions? I am very high maintenance" (name) didn't flinch, the twos lips barely touching and eyes locking "I think I can manage, humans are needy creatures"

"Half human"

"Ah yes, like a mutt"

(Name) Glared "my my what a charmer, can you please kindly get your flat bottom off me alpha?" (Name) Batted his eyes "don't you have your child to tend to?"

"Do you accept my offer?"

"I suppose I will become your mate..." (Name) Huffed, looking at the alpha who was now his mate "my heat is in two weeks, I will be having it here and I will be keeping my residence for such matters or if you annoy me too much"

Sebastian silently chuckled at the Omega he chose, a snarky vampire who didn't care for silly human traditions on being an Omega.

This was going to be fun.

[saintobio]

ACT I. THE LADY

amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.

♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader

♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au

♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), slight mentions of gore

♱ notes. 6.5k wc, unedited. again, for anyone who missed my small announcement, the ‘juliet’ from my megumi r+j fic has a name here for narration purposes. she remains as you or yn in the original fic tho :) feedback would be highly appreciated!

series masterlist ♱ act two.

“I humbly beg your pardon, Your Imperial Highness. The lady declines any audience at this time.”

Throughout his princely life, Satoru had never before faced rejection from any of his subjects, let alone one of his own citizens. No one ever dared to deny the Crown Prince as they were aware of the consequences of offending a member of the imperial family, let alone the future Emperor of Caelum. 

So, how could this mere daughter of a duke summon the courage to refuse his audience? 

It was baffling to him. Were you not the one who had written him a lovestruck letter requesting a meeting? As one of the eligible brides for the Crown Prince and a strong contender for the position of Crown Princess, it was only natural for you to vie for his affection and secure your spot on the imperial throne. You had it all; the status, the power, the wit. You had quite the face, too. This would have been an opportune moment for you to ensnare his favor and win him over. Yet, what reason could you possibly have now to suddenly decline his audience?

“On what grounds did she refuse?” Satoru maintained a stern demeanor as he stood beside his white horse, scrutinizing the servant from the De Roma estate who trembled before the prince. His blue velvet cloak and imperial insignia added to the overall intimidation of his presence. 

The maid, mindful of the perils that may befall her for the actions of her master, spake with evident apprehension. “The lady offered no explanation, Your Highness. She simply wishes to remain in her chamber.”

Needless to say, he felt a mixture of amusement and intrigue at this situation. The same noble lady who had previously been forward in her advances and infatuation towards him was now avoiding an opportunity to get acquainted? And to think, he had believed he was doing you a favor by granting you a chance to spend time with him this noontide. 

“Very well.” The prince gazed down at the servant with a stern expression, raking his slender fingers through his arctic white hair before mounting his war horse. “Remind the lady that there are consequences for denying the rights of the imperial family. Each slight she casts is an arrow to her neck. Let her know that there shall not be another chance such as this.”

He sensed the maid’s fear after she offered him a curtsy, yet he could not fathom how she remained steadfast in her refusal to grant him access to your drawing room despite his clearly spoken warning. She was guarding the entrance to the estate as though she would face greater consequences for letting the crown prince in than for keeping him out. Were you truly so stringent in maintaining your distance from him?

So be it. If that was your game, then let it be played. In fact, you might be trying to seem hard-to-get after the stunts you had pulled at the hunting expedition two weeks hence. If his memory served him right, you were the one who sabotaged Lady Anastasia’s crossbow and led her in her near-fatal experience. You see, you might have gotten away with it, but Satoru was a witness to your deliberate crime. He had seen you tampering with Lady Anastasia’s weapon, replacing her regular bolts with ones laced with fast-acting poison, which left the poor lady paralyzed in the middle of a dangerous hunt. Had it not been for Satoru, Lady de Florentine would have likely been mauled by a wild boar. 

Yet, his intervention only seemed to stoke your ire even more. Your jealousy after seeing him save Anastasia’s life only made you see red, almost revealing yourself the true perpetrator for the obvious expressions you had displayed. Still, he chose to remain silent about your malicious actions, pretending to be oblivious to your cunning ways and dismissing any suspicions of foul play in the incident. In a way, Satoru had saved your life more than you realized. Not only that, he had also safeguarded your reputation and standing in high society without your knowledge, as he understood that your animosity towards Lady Anastasia only stemmed from the way he had interacted with her, speaking in close proximity and kissing her hand prior to the hunting game.  

Ha! What a devious little viper you were. What a brazenly proud woman. By declining to meet the Crown Prince, you had only ironically succeeded in piquing his interest even more.  

“Is everything in order, Your Highness?” It was his close friend and personal knight, Suguru, who snapped him out of his reverie as they rode their horses back toward the capital. Three more of the prince’s knights trailed behind them. Suguru’s question hinted at concern for the prince’s sanity, given that he had been observed laughing to himself despite the insult he had faced just half an hour ago.

“It is rather amusing, is it not?” Satoru pondered, his hands firmly gripping the reins as he guided his horse along the uneven path. “Lady Y/N might seem out of her wits, but she is astute. I see through her tactics. She obviously desires my attention, which is why she is behaving this way.”

The long-haired knight chuckled with unease. “I fear that may not be her intention.”

The notion appeared absurd to him. “Not her intention? Grant her but a moment, and she shall trail after me once more like a shadow. This is a blessing, if anything. I am now spared the need to endure that lady’s temperament during formal events.”

Did you realize? Despite numerous instances where Satoru overlooked your transgressions, if you were to provoke his ire, he could surely publicly enumerate each offense. The stained dress incident involving Lady Serena? Your handiwork. The scandalous rumors regarding Lady Franchetta? Also your doing. Not to mention your mistreatment of maids and commoners out of mere boredom. Your actions would have easily rendered you an unsuitable candidate as the Crown Prince’s bride, yet he remained silent and never reported such occurrences to his father, the emperor. More than that, he should be relieved that you had chosen to avoid him and spared him further entanglements with you.

However, Satoru’s words contradicted his own sentiments, and he refused to acknowledge his hypocrisy. Although he claimed satisfaction with your decision to keep your distance, why did thoughts of you arise foremost when he passed by a jewel shop that showcased its newest collections? He and his men were traversing the city square when his sky blue eyes caught sight of a necklace with a large, deep-red garnet as its centerpiece, surrounded by intricate gold filigrees, and a single teardrop-shaped pearl dangling at the bottom. The overall design was bold and commanding, yet undeniably elegant. A befitting accessory for Caelum’s next crown princess.

“Would you care to inspect the jewel shop, my lord?” proposed one of his knights. “That necklace could serve as a splendid gift for Lady Serena, who is soon to celebrate her birthday banquet.”

The prince saw his reflection in the shop’s window, his white steed poised gracefully while he gazed at the jewelry on display. A smirk unanticipatedly graced his lips as he envisioned a particular scenario in his head. “Indeed.” 

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Milena was cinching your corset when your father abruptly entered your chamber, his visage bearing a questioning mien as his footsteps loudened each second. You already anticipated the nature of his visit, for nothing else would prompt such urgency unless it pertained to your reputation. In retrospect, you remembered him having knowledge of your misdeeds against the other debutantes currying favor with the crown prince, and he was well aware of the details of your crafty schemes and all the deliberate sabotage you had orchestrated. And although your father often covered for you out of paternal pride, he still chastised you for your actions in private. The latter assuredly was the purpose of his visit now.

Well, dear father, your daughter is no longer the same. 

“Maid,” commanded the duke, “Leave us for a while.” 

Milena immediately bowed at your father. “Yes, Your Grace—”

“No, Milena. You will not take a single step out of this chamber.” Your order somehow surprised the both of them as though you had never sounded so authoritative before, like you had the imperial power and position to be issuing commands greater than your father’s. Ah, right. You were not an empress anymore. Or yet. None of these people were your subjects, and living in the past would really take some time getting used to. In an effort to conceal your years of imperial presence, you looked at your father with a gaze that suggested naivety. “What is the matter, father?”

Duke de Roma appeared visibly strained by his youngest child. “Y/N, is it true that you declined a visit from Crown Prince Satoru?”

You felt the urge to scoff, but opted against it. “Rejection is an understatement, Your Grace. My interest in His Highness has simply waned.” 

“So soon?” The elderly man was perplexed by your assertion, considering your reputation as a notorious obsessive lover of the prince. You were perceived by all as the erratic woman who would engage in conflict with any rival who dared to court his affections. “What sudden change prompts you to speak ill of him? Were you not striving to win his favor?"

Yes, but that was before. That was the version of yourself who sacrificed everything for someone incapable of reciprocating the love you sought. Things have altered now, and you recognized it was wiser not to pursue Satoru after knowing and personally experiencing the peril it posed to both yourself and the empire. He would only seek to exploit your family’s military influence to stage a coup against his parents, beguile you with his false affections, and make use of you until you were no longer serving him any purpose. You refused to be complicit in his ambitions any longer. Not in this life, no. 

“Rather,” you began with a voice of confidence, “I would choose being in a convent than to wed a man like His Highness.” 

Your father nearly fainted from your words. “By Saint Peter’s keys! I cannot understand the youth of today. Tell me, is there another suitor who has captured your interest? Have you found another man more noble than a prince?” 

With a smile, you looked at yourself in the mirror and prepared for the day ahead. “No, Father. On the contrary, I seek a life of solitude. If I could remain unwed for the entirety of my days, I would gladly embrace it.” 

This, you believed, was the surest way to distance yourself from trouble and seek redemption for your past transgressions. A life without Crown Prince Satoru was the road to attaining highest virtue. Your love for him was the reason you had committed such sins in the past, so the best thing to do in this life was to steer yourself clear from his path at all cost. Otherwise, the thought of facing the piercing gaze of Archangel Raphael again was too daunting to bear.

“What folly is this?” Duke de Roma questioned your words incredulously. “Did you not aspire to become the most powerful lady in the empire? Pursuing the Crown Prince is the path to becoming an empress. Cease this nonsensical talk and continue your efforts to win his favor!”

Once he departed, you were left alone in your chamber, feeling a mixture of relief and frustration. You were tempted to let out a groan of exasperation, but with Milena present, you had to maintain your composure. It was crucial for her to witness your changed mindset. Gone was the vicious lady she had served in her previous life. Though you could not offer a direct apology for the role you played in her demise before, you were determined to ensure her comfort and well-being in this new life.

As for your father, you were uncertain what to do with him yet. He was coming from a place of concern, knowing that your decision to enter a convent would ultimately make his investments futile. He had invested heavily in your upbringing, providing you with every luxury, the finest education, and the resources necessary to secure a prominent place in high society. His aspirations for you to become an empress were not solely driven by paternal pride, but also by the anticipation of reaping the rewards of his investment. Losing such an asset would undoubtedly be a significant blow to his plans and ambitions. Yet, he had no single idea what suffering you had actually endured in your past life after becoming Satoru’s wife for 10 agonizing years. 

Well, in that case, you had an alternative plan—one that promised to secure the De Roma family’s status and elevate its wealth to unreachable heights without necessitating your ascent to the imperial throne.

“Milena,” you said, walking towards your window, “Prepare the carriage. We have somewhere to be.” 

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“Fifty celestas?!” Milena questioned in disbelief, her hooded cloak framing her face as she confronted the artist before you. Today, both of you dressed down, adopting a guise that would allow you to blend seamlessly with the throng of commoners in the outskirts of the capital. “Signor, are you not asking for an exorbitant sum? You are exploiting My Lady merely because she is the daughter of Duke de Roma.”

It was a mistake bringing Milena with you, but it also served as a good signifier that the artist, Giancarlo di Firenze, was still operating in an era where his talent and skill as a sculptor had yet to be recognized. In the eyes of others, he was a struggling artist whose work warranted no more than a few trinkets. However, you possessed the advantage of foresight, bestowed upon you by your gift of clairvoyance (or in layman’s terms, a cheat sheet into the future due to your regression). You knew that Maestro Giancarlo’s sculptures would eventually gain widespread acclaim, particularly after they were displayed at the Veneran Museum, and he would be the most sought after artist in the continent with pieces worth thousands. Even your then-husband, the emperor himself, commissioned him for the notable Star Crossed Lovers sculpture for the ten year death anniversary of the prince and princess of the Astheryn and Caelum Empires. The 50 celestas Signor Giancarlo demanded now paled in comparison to the immense resale value his works would command in a decade’s time. This would be one of your best investments as a mere lady with no imperial wealth. 

“Fifty celestas for this Apollo and Daphne sculpture seems a fair price,” you mused, scrutinizing each exquisite detail of the remarkable artwork. The sculpture was truly a masterpiece and very much deserving of admiration, which was why in your past life, it was highly coveted by The Venera for its sheer magnificence. However, you refrained from showering the Signor with excessive praise. To do so would only awaken him to the true value of his creations, and he could potentially inflate his prices beyond your budget. Thus, you maintained an air of indifference as you regarded the middle-aged sculptor. “It would make a suitable addition to our garden,” you casually added. “I shall purchase it.”

“My Lady!” protested Milena, but you silenced her with a gesture.

“In addition, I would like to acquire the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa and a selection of your cherubic sculptures,” you continued, disregarding Milena’s objections and the delighted expression on Maestro Giancarlo's face. “Pray, how much would the entire collection amount to?”

It was as if he had stumbled upon a treasure trove. The Signor’s eyes glistened with tears of joy as he responded to you. “Lady de Roma! What a blessing you have bestowed upon me,” he exclaimed, leaving you sympathetic towards his years of unacknowledged artistry. “The collection would fetch two-hundred celestas.”

Your maid, filled with concern, cried out in protest. “Preposterous! This is a swindle!”

Again, 200 celestas was a trifling sum compared to its prospective worth. Moreover, it was a price that would not significantly dent your finances as a noble lady. However, if you acquiesced to his initial offer without negotiation, he might infer that you would readily purchase any of his other works at its highest prices.

It was a simple game of chess, and he was merely one of your pawns.

“A hundred and fifty celestas,” you countered, maintaining a steely gaze on Maestro Giancarlo as you made your bargain. “Take it or leave it.”

The man voiced his objection, nonetheless. “But My Lady, I have dedicated weeks to crafting each piece.”

Being ten steps ahead, you already anticipated his response, so you offered a compromise. “Yes, yet two hundred for a handful of pieces seems excessive. I will increase it to a hundred and seventy-five. Do we have an accord?”

“But—”

“Two hundred celestas,” you declared firmly, “on the condition that you add a few more cherubim to my collection.”

In the end, he agreed to your offer with an air of triumph as if he had hit the jackpot. He penned your receipt with a sense of satisfaction, believing he had outwitted you with his inflated price when, unbeknownst to him, he had just sold pieces worth roughly two-hundred thousand celestas. The clear winner in this exchange was you, though you kept that fact strictly concealed. Your strategy to amass personal wealth would remain a secret to all, even if Milena thought you had lost your mind paying such a sum for the work of a struggling artist.

And you did not plan to stop there. Your next task was to visit Pietro De Luca, a renowned painter from your past life who had risen to prominence during your time as empress. Like the sculptor, this man was yet to achieve fame during the future period of artistic renaissance. He was the one who painted you and your husband’s infamous portrait at the palace. Unfortunately, though, luck was not on your side when you visited the painter that day, as the man had apparently journeyed to Constantia and would not return for another fortnight.

Ah, well. There would always be another opportunity.

“My Lady,” spoke Milena, standing beside you as your father’s men loaded the sculptures into the spare carriage. “I never imagined the day would come when you would take an interest in sculptures. When did you develop an eye for art?”

To tell her the truth, you cared little for its artistic merit. Your sole concern was its value and the wealth it would bring you in a decade’s time. You could never reveal that fact to Milena, so you offered an excuse instead. “They make for lovely decorations, do they not? They would certainly add to the opulence of the estate.”

Your sentence was abruptly interrupted as a pair of playing children collided with you, causing your hood to slip down and reveal your face. The mother of the children, instead of offering an apology, was too stunned to realize that you were a noblewoman from the capital. They were clearly of lower status than commoners; they were beggars, clad in tattered garments and bearing grimy faces. Your heart twinged with pity, especially upon seeing the mother cradling a baby in her arms.

A poor infant. Almost instinctively, your hand flew to your belly as memories flooded your mind of the baby you nearly had in your past life. It was Satoru’s child, the future emperor of the empire, the sole heir to the imperial Gojou lineage. Yet, he refused to acknowledge it as his own. What would have happened to your child if he had lived? The bittersweet recollection clenched at your gut. 

“Please, my lady,” pleaded the impoverished woman, “Any food or clothing would be a blessing.”

To think of it, in your past life, you realized that the commoners harbored resentment towards you for your extravagant lifestyle. None of the luxuries you enjoyed as empress were shared with the masses of the Caelum Empire. They remained trapped in poverty while you reveled in comfort, completely disconnected from their reality. It was no wonder you had incurred the wrath of Goddess Fortuna and Archangel Raphael.

And now, overwhelmed by compassion, you motioned for Milena to offer 50 celestas to the woman, who graciously accepted your gift. The sum would suffice for six months' worth of food supplies. Though you wished you could give more, your wealth was not infinite as the daughter of a duke. Nevertheless, it was the gesture that mattered, was it not?

As you and Milena continued to stroll through the plaza, you could sense the incredulous glances she would cast your way. It must have been strange for her to witness your kindness towards commoners, let alone your act of charity by giving away months worth of allowance to strangers.

“Is it the tea I served you the other morning, my lady?” she inquired, concerned. “You seem to be behaving differently, as if you have transformed into a completely different person.”

In your previous life, Milena’s straightforward comments would have resulted in punishment from you. However, in this timeline, you merely chuckled with her. “Life’s too fleeting to be evil all the time.”

Like an eager puppy, she nodded enthusiastically. “Indeed, my lady. Indeed! It brings me joy to see you embracing life in a different manner.”

If only she knew the hardships you had endured in the past, molding you into someone who viewed the world through a different lens in this present time. She would have been glad to see you become an empress, but she would be horrified to know the amount of souls that died by your hands alone. 

You were lost in contemplation throughout the afternoon, and you wandered aimlessly around the city, immersing yourself fully in the lives of the common folk until dusk began to descend. Just as you were about to make your way back to your carriage, a larger one passed by, adorned in white and blue with the imperial insignia proudly displayed.

Today heralded the return of Princess Savina from The Providence. She was the sister of Crown Prince Satoru and the infamous Caelum princess who had tragically perished alongside her lover, Prince Megumi of Astheryn.

Her tragic demise was also the beginning of Satoru’s descent to tyranny. 

That could only mean one thing: the true story was just about to unfold. 

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You felt unsettled. 

Princess Savina’s return marked not only a significant turning point, but also served as a stark reminder of the events that had unfolded in your previous life. Her tragic death had set off a chain reaction of calamities. After her illicit romance with an Astherean prince was exposed, a devastating war broke out and claimed the deaths of innocent citizens. Shortly after, the prince and princess' dead bodies were discovered in the Sistine Chapel. While the conflict might have concluded with an armistice, it was also the catalyst for Satoru’s path to seizing the throne with your helping hand. It was this very moment that laid the groundwork for Satoru's eventual usurpation of the throne. 

Soon after, Satoru’s ascension to power would be imminent, with you standing by his side as his chosen empress. He would eliminate every traitor you had identified, while you exacted vengeance upon those who had wronged you prior to your rise to an imperial status. Yet, despite your unwavering loyalty and dedication, Satoru never truly trusted or loved you as his wife, ultimately leading to his betrayal in the end.

How could you stand still and watch history repeat itself? 

You had to have a plan. You had to devise a scheme wise enough to change the course of your life. And perhaps, befriending Savina might be the key. She might have a chance to live if her affair with the Astherean prince remained undiscovered, averting the tragic chain of events that led to her demise. That way, Satoru would not harbor the desperation to usurp his parents. He would not ask you to orchestrate a coup, and make you his pathetic empress in return. In this life, you resolved to be repulsive enough in Satoru's eyes that he would be utterly disinterested in you, even if you were the last person on Earth. 

The plan seemed logical, yet simultaneously absurd. In your past life, you had strived with all your might to become Satoru's wife, yet now, you were doing everything in your power to avoid such a fate. Is this naught but a cruel game? You could not suppress a wry chuckle as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, the bright moonlight casting an illuminated glow upon you. It was enchanting yet horrifying at the same time to see a faint scar encircling your neck, a grim mark that reminded you of your previous fate as a beheaded empress. You were still uncertain whether you were the only one who could see the scar, but Milena had never seemed to notice it during your bathing rituals. Perhaps the scar would only manifest as a visible reminder of sin, and would fade with virtuous deeds. Your recent act of generosity towards the beggar, however, seemed to carry no weight in mitigating your previous unethical dealings with Maestro Giancarlo. It appeared that genuine acts of kindness were only truly rewarded when performed with sincerity, while any hint of selfishness nullified their positive effects.

You acknowledged that virtuousness was not inherently ingrained within you. While avoiding marriage to Satoru was your primary objective, the prospect of a life dedicated to serving the common people was not your desired path. As long as you refrained from inflicting suffering upon others, you saw no necessity in accumulating merits through good deeds. After all, your sole task, as directed by Archangel Raphael, was to atone for your sins, not to become a paragon of virtue. You were no saint. 

Three days had quickly passed since that night, and this day held a special occasion that had your heart pumping heavily the morning you woke up. Today, as accurate as your previous life, was the day of The Mass of Annunciation—a holy Catholic mass to celebrate when Archangel Gabriel appeared to the Virgin Mary and announced to her that she would conceive and give birth to the son of God, Jesus. 

The grandeur of the event was undeniable, and attendance was obligatory for all noble families of Caelum, given the devout nature of the empire’s populace. Moreover, the presence of the imperial Gojou family ensured the importance of the occasion. Yet, for you, stepping into Saint Peter's Basilica once more stirred nerves as memories flooded back from your time as an empress. Now, as a 20-year-old daughter of a duke, you entered the basilica beside your brother, Aristide, whose pompous demeanor drew the gaze of all noble ladies present. After all, he was the empire’s second most eligible bachelor after Satoru himself. In your first life, your brother had wed Lady Serena, and your relationship had soured when you declared him a traitor and accused him of treachery against your then-husband. Although Satoru had spared his life, he had decreed Aristide’s eventual exile, wary of the threat posed by a brother-in-law with ambitions for the throne.

The stark contrast between your current standing and your former eminence as an empress was palpable as you made your first public appearance in high society since your regression. No longer did heads turn and knees bend at the sight of you. Instead, you were regarded as a mere noblewoman, approaching the age where marriage prospects dwindled, and whispered rumors branded you as a woman with an unsavory fixation on the crown prince. It was a humbling experience, to say the least, and a reminder of the depths to which your reputation had fallen.

Despite no longer holding the title of empress, you spared no effort in your attire. You carried yourself with the same regal air, a testament to your upbringing and the lavish lifestyle afforded by your father. Your family not only produced the bravest knights, but also supported a prosperous weaponry business, which reflected your ostentatious way of life. That was why you had the means to wear a sumptuous gown of rich burgundy brocade, intricately woven with gold thread and adorned with delicate floral embroidery. You made certain that the modest neckline gracefully covered your neck to hide your revolting scar, while layers of sheer chiffon formed a voluminous skirt that cascades to your feet. Your hair was secured in a crespine, a delicate net-like veil adorned with lustrous pearls and sparkling gemstones, while around your neck hung a simple yet elegant silver cross pendant to add a touch of reverence.

In your eyes, you considered yourself a modest and conservative lady who was hesitant to reveal too much skin. However, your brother found it laughable, jesting that you might as well become a nun given how covered your chest and neckline were. He remarked that it was unusual for you to dress in such a reserved manner, as you had previously taken the initiative to wear attire that would attract Satoru’s manly gaze.

“Announcing the arrival of His and Her Imperial Highness, followed by His and Her Imperial Majesties—the luminaries of our empire.”  

As the imperial family arrived at the basilica, a hushed anticipation suddenly fell over the gathered crowd. The air was filled with a palpable sense of reverence and awe as the imposing façade of the basilica welcomed the presence of the empire’s highest authority.

First to enter were Princess Savina and Crown Prince Satoru, the heir and heiress to the throne, their regal presence commanding attention as they made their way down the grand procession. Princess Savina was resplendent in a gown of shimmering silk and a coronet as her headdress, while there he came… Your then-husband. Your ex-lover. Your betrayer. Crown Prince Satoru, clad in a tailored doublet of rich blue velvet, projecting an air of quiet strength and authority as he stared straight ahead towards the altar like he did in your past life. You had almost forgotten how princely handsome he was when he was younger, and you could not stop your frenzied heart as you felt somersaults in your stomach. No, you must not! It was all in the mind. It was all a matter of mind games, and this might be the first time you had seen Satoru again in real life after your regression, but he was still a man who had ordered to kill you. You should never be fooled by his luscious white hair and sky blue eyes. 

“In love?” whispered your brother, a smirk visible on his face. 

“Out of love,” you corrected and remained resolute in your goal not to get swayed by Satoru’s charm again. “I feel not a single thing.” 

Aristide scoffed at that. “Yet your eyes shine at the sight of him?” 

As the imperial siblings took their places at the head of the procession, the assembled congregation bowed their heads in deference as the imperial family proceeded to their seats and their every movement watched with rapt attention by the gathered nobility. Following closely behind were the Emperor and Empress, the reigning monarchs of the empire, their presence heralded by the sound of trumpets and the swell of sacred music.

You chose not to bicker with your brother throughout the holy mass, although there were times you were tempted to cuss him out. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, ridiculing your attire and insisting that Satoru would never pay you any attention. He took great pleasure in reminding you of the prince’s supposed revulsion towards your obsession, when little did your foolish brother know, you would be glad if that was in fact true. 

And the ironic thing was, in your previous life, you had done Aristide a great favor by marrying Satoru. This freed up Lady Serena for marriage, despite her supposed status as the crown prince’s favorite. You used to despise Serena out of sheer jealousy, while Aristide had always desired her, which was why your brother had urged you to win Satoru's affections to pave the way for him to marry the lady he so coveted.

In this life, you decided not to interfere in any potential relationship between Satoru and Serena, regardless of your brother’s wishes. You acknowledged that Serena would make a far superior empress than yourself, as she possessed enough empathy in her to prioritize the welfare of her people and avoid endangering them. She was not the type of person who would willingly bring about the destruction of an entire nation, nor would she welcome the spread of plague out of mere vengeance against her husband. 

With Satoru out of your plans, Savina then came into the picture. You had to speak and get close to her—close enough for her to trust you and befriend you, but not attached enough for you to act like her older sister. You would only be here to guide her and avoid her from the path of her downfall in order to save yourself. Savina was the key. 

Savina… Savina would be the one to save you in this life. Savina was your only hope. 

As the mass concluded, some of the nobles began to disperse, while others congregated in a corner to converse with the Archbishop. Your sole intention at that moment was to approach Savina, allowing your feet to lead you to the direction of where she was. But just before you reached her, you stumbled upon a very significant individual who had played a pivotal role in bringing about your suffering in your previous life.

It was none other than Satoru’s advisor, Lord Maximillian. 

“Lady Y/N, it is a delight to see you,” the man greeted, but you could see right through him. He never liked you now and in the past. In fact, his hatred stemmed from his peculiar fixation towards the imperial family. He may look younger presently, but he was still an old and rotten base-born cur. 

Maximilian was the one responsible for introducing Satoru to the prophecy, and he was also the individual who whispered your demise into your husband's ears. Given his role in your past suffering, why should you afford him any respect?

“It is rather surprising you had not burned inside the church,” you remarked acerbically, eliciting widened eyes from the nobleman. “Yet it does beg the question, Lord Maximilian, what brings a heretic like yourself inside a Catholic church?”

Within the confines of the basilica, or at least the space surrounding you, a variety of reactions unfolded. A noble lady shot you a disapproving stare for your perceived rudeness towards a man of higher nobility, while your brother regarded you with a mixture of astonishment and concern as if you had gone mad. Conversely, a young nobleman appeared impressed by your audacity.

As for Maximilian, it was rather amusing to observe the crimson hue that spread across his face. You anticipated his retort and braced yourself for his comeback. “Why, you foul-mouthed wench!” he exclaimed, his voice laden with indignation. “Who do you think you are speaking to?!”

You grinned triumphantly at your success in offending him. “You should be ashamed to show yourself in front of God—” you began, relishing the opportunity to further provoke him, but was cut short when a formidable presence appeared before you. 

The arctic white hair, the crystal blue eyes, the smooth ivory skin, the towering build from years of training… 

“Your Highness,” Maximilian immediately curtsied before the prince, while you remained frozen in place. Like a statue. “Your Highness, this young lady is preposterous!” 

On one hand, Satoru’s eyes bathed in humor as he observed the interaction between you and Maximilian. This was the first time you two had faced each other since the regression, and the emotions stirred within you were still raw. You were husband and wife when you last saw each other. You could still remember the last time you saw him the night before your execution, when he visited you in the West Tower and asked you to live a solitary life in the countryside as his mistress. Your heart seemed to constrict in your chest, yet simultaneously, it pounded loudly with anticipation. 

“Max, it seems the lady has labeled you a heretic,” the Crown Prince remarked, his gaze unwavering as he focused on you. “Can you substantiate your accusations, Lady Y/N?” he inquired, prompting you to defend your claims.

Satoru, you fool. If you were to reveal what happened in your previous life, he would be an accomplice to the crime. He carried the highest position in the empire at the time, yet he was a supporter of heresy himself. That alone would have brought him into Inquisition. 

You could not think straight. Oh for heaven’s sake! You could not focus. Could not breathe. Could not speak. Your thoughts were flooded by memories of your past life; of Satoru claiming you were useless for being barren, of him refusing to acknowledge your child, of him planning to wed another woman after the years you had devoted to him, of him ruthlessly ordering your execution. 

Of him never saying he loved you. 

Before you realized it, tears welled up in your eyes. You were utterly unprepared to encounter him today, let alone engage in conversation, especially while the wounds from your past were still so raw. Some wounds had yet to heal, and the mere sight of him brought them flooding back.

And with your unexpected reaction, his expression softened and morphed into one of genuine concern. Why? Why was he suddenly concerned now when he spent years of being an ungrateful husband? His smile had long vanished, replaced by a look of worry after seeing you on the verge of breaking down. However, before the tears could spill, you turned and fled, unable to bear the thought of crying in front of a man like him.

“Hold on, Lady Y/N—!”

His voice called out to you, but you refused to look back. No, you were determined to only keep moving forward, to distance yourself from the man who had caused you so much pain. Therefore, you hastily fled the basilica, seeking solace amidst the throng of nobles who were crowding outside. 

As you ran, tears streamed down your face unchecked, yet you let it be. The ache in your heart was unbearable, knowing that the man you had once loved so deeply now had the power to hurt you all over again. Only when you found a secluded spot beneath a stone pine tree did you collapse, clutching your chest as you recalled the face of the man who had caused you so much anguish.

I despise you, Satoru. 

“How could you betray me like that?” you murmured, tears staining your cheeks as you sobbed beneath the tree, feeling utterly pathetic.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over you, and as you looked up, you saw a man with dark hair clad in shining armor. His smile was gentle as he approached and crouched down beside you.

“My lady.” It was the Knight Commander, Yuuta, offering you his handkerchief. “Is everything alright?”

[lovebugism]

grinding against virgin!eddie cock until he cums. skin to skin.

i love a good sinful request hahah hope you like it angel! — the one where you ride eddie for the first time (new-ish relationship, l-bomb, smut 18+, 1.6k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

A summer breeze billows through an opened window. The evening air cools your burning, bare skin when it kisses your sweat-slicked bodies. It feels almost like silk. Nowhere near as soft as you are.

Eddie sits on the edge of his bed while you ride him. You’re made exactly of velvet and honey as you roll your hips in rhythmic motions over his thighs. Your warm cunt sucks him impossibly further in and in and in.

The slick drooling from your pulsating walls drenches his aching cock and the bushy thatch of pubic hair below it. You grow somehow tighter every time your sensitive clit drags across the coarse patch of his happy trail. You tilt your head back and exhale a gentle moan at the ceiling — as pretty as a wolf howling at the moon. 

Eddie so desperately wants to kiss the newly displayed skin of your neck. His lips ache to suckle at the tendons you bear to him, to find your racing pulse point and bite you softly there. He might’ve —  if only he could tear his eyes away from you for a fraction of a second.

This isn’t the first time he’s fucked you, but it’s the first time you’ve been on top of him like this.

His chest swells with the same burning pleasure you gave him the first time he slipped inside you. His cock is equally as sensitive, though maybe more so with the newfound sensation of the steady rise and fall of your velvety cunt.

His hands are still as unsure of themselves. They fidget with the urge to hug you tightly to him, though he's distantly fearful of touching such art at the same time.

You notice it rather quickly — the way his fingers idle on the outsides of your knee in a featherlight touch. 

You can tell he wants to touch you, that he just doesn’t know how to.

He’s still scared of making the wrong move with you, still feeling the need to impress you in some way. Unsure of how he got you in the first place, he’s worried his inadequacy will ultimately lead to his heartache.

“You don’t have to be afraid to touch me, Eds,” you tell him, breathless, as you sink down to the base of his cock.

You still and linger there, exhaling a gentle moan from your nose at the combined feeling of him twitching inside you and your delicate button rolling across his lap.

Eddie feels close to exploding, both at how good you feel and how overwhelmed you’re making him.

Your trembling hands rise from his shoulders to cup his jaw. Your thumb swipes over his flushed skin as you force him to keep his eyes on you.

Your heavy-lidded stare pierces somewhere deep in his soul, a bolt of blue lightning he can feel down to his sensitive, bulbous head. 

He wants to move, but his brain short circuits. You’ve effectively paralyzed him, it seems.

“C’mon…” you lilt when you notice him hesitating. A wavering smile quirks the edges of your swollen, kiss-bitten mouth. 

Even though you’re not moving, you’re still suffocated by your own pleasure. He’s reaching a whole different angle inside you with this new position you’re in. You have no choice but to feel him everywhere. 

“Touch me, Eddie… Need to feel you…”

Eddie’s never denied you of anything before. He’d be an idiot to start now.

With uncertain hands, he reaches for your waist. His palms are wide and warm as they settle there, pale palms smoothing over your skin and holding firmly at the soft pudge on your sides.

Even with his stern grip, his touch is not the least bit directing of you. His hands are obediently still — all-consuming with the love he holds within them.

The feeling of him in such an innocent way makes you sigh a pretty moan.

A pathetic whine sounds from Eddie’s throat when your velvet walls clench around him. He doesn’t have too long now — not with how intently you’re gripping his sensitive cock. 

He grits his teeth and leans his head his back, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to fend off his inevitable orgasm. 

It’s damn near impossible, he finds. He can feel you everywhere.

You’re on his dick and drenching his lap. Your damp skin presses against his, the slick between you all but adhering you to him. Your hands feel like slinking vines as they leave his jaw to curl into his hair. Your fingers twist in the sweaty tendrils at the back of his neck. 

He feels the lightning strike of your touch in a tingle that shoots down his spine. Or perhaps it’s the growing need to fill you with everything he’s got to give.

Now, you’re the one that can’t stop looking at him.

His lips are pinker than usual with how keenly you’ve kissed them. The color pairs so nicely with the red splotching his pale skin — the apples of his cheeks, his jaw, the bottom of his neck, and the top of his chest.

You get too easily distracted by how pretty he is to worry about your own pleasure. 

Your clit swells with every pass over his lap, but you can only think about making him feel good. You don’t want him to stop making such pretty little noises for you.

You want to hear him moan for you when he comes. You want to feel him shake like a leaf beneath you when you keep riding him through his high. You want to hear him beg you to stop when he gets too sensitive to function properly.

Surely, that isn’t too much to ask.

You need Eddie to come more than you need it for yourself.

With a knowing smirk hinting at the edges of your lip, you roll your hips over his thighs once more and clench tighter around him. A soft sigh spills from your mouth at the feeling of his cock quivering within your delicate walls. 

Your smile grows when it makes Eddie moan, though it sounds more like a feeble sob in his chest.

“Doing so good for me, Eds,” you whisper as you drag your hips back again. You bring them forward a moment later, not stilling until your stomach is pressed against the soft pudge of his. “Making me feel so good.”

“Don’t talk like that,” he pleads through gritted teeth.

“Why?” you wonder with a breathless giggle.

“‘Cause it’s gonna make me come…”

“What if I want you to?”

His closed eyes squeeze further shut as a whine sounds in his throat, muffled through his clenched jaw.

Your hips fall slowly over his thighs again at a pace as steady as it is slow. They come forward again, unrushed and undemanding. The way you still and clench around him is obviously measured. It pushes him closer to the edge.

“You’re always so pretty for me when you come,” you confess, voice wavering as your own orgasm creeps up your spine. “Always makes me come so hard…”

Eddie whines again, louder this time, as he buries his face in your shoulder. He seeks solace there, with his nose smushed against your damp skin. He hides his moans there, too.

Your pace quickens over his lap, and he groans into your neck. Spurred on by his pretty sounds and his hands rising up your back, you keen and wrap your arms around his neck. 

The two of you hug each other in a rather sinful embrace.

You bury your nose into his wild curls and push through the burning orange embers simmering in your clit and the pit of your stomach.

Eddie holds you tightly against him while his cock trembles relentlessly inside your satin walls, like he’s drowning in an ocean of pleasure and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.

That’s what it feels like, anyway.

That’s what it feels like to be with you, too — in ways more innocent than this wicked one. 

He’s too often lost, too innocent in his way. Still stuck in his boyhood, he rarely ever feels good enough — for life, for you.

He gravitates to you like a focal point, a reminder that he’s still alive when he feels like life is strangling him. 

He doesn’t deserve you.

He doesn’t deserve to feel as good as you make him feel. 

His chest swells with the very thought. It’s an empty, wet feeling that makes him feel like he might cry. And, god, what an idiot he’d be to get all emotional the first time his girlfriend rides him.

He can’t help it, though. He’s a lucky schmuck who managed to woo you into his bed — he’s owed a small sob of victory, he figures.

“Fucking love you like this,” Eddie babbles into your neck, fueled by his impending orgasm. “Love fucking you, baby… Love you all the time... Love you so fucking much, you know that? I fucking love you.”

Even though you’re distantly shocked by his words, you don’t stop riding him. You don’t plan on stopping until he’s begging you to.

You figure he’s too pussy drunk to understand what he’s saying, to know how meaningful his words really are. But he keeps on saying them — “Love you. I love you. I love you so goddamn much—”

Maybe he’s too overwhelmed by his impending orgasm, and his brain has short-circuited accordingly. Maybe he really does love you, and it took a good fucking to finally tell you.

You’re not quite sure.

You’ll ask him about it when all this is over — when his cock is softening on his thigh and his come is seeping out of you while he holds you in his arms. 

But for now, you press your cheek against his burning one and whisper in his ear. “I love you, too.”

[kayewrite]

Blue Sticky Note

straykids fic wherein a mysterious note confession appears in your binder. Unsure of who left it, you embark on an investigation among your eight close friends, each with their own quirks and possibilities.

genre: Fluff. and fluff

ot8 x reader! stray kids x reader!! word count: 3.3k

AN: i want to make a fic with multiple members in it but i might make more of it after i finished all individual members. btw can you teach me how tumblr works? i might pin a masterlist soon hehe

You just got back to your apartment after a long day of classes. Exhausted from wrestling with numbers and equations, you flopped down on your bed and closed your eyes.

But your moment of peace was interrupted by the sudden ringing of your phone.

“Hey,” your friend Seungmin’s voice greeted you through the speaker.

Used to how he always greeted you, you sighed and listened as he continued, your tiredness making it hard to focus.

“You didn’t turn in your literature assignment. I’m on my way to your building,” he said, causing you to bolt upright in surprise.

You had forgotten to give it to him during class earlier. Glad he reminded you. And you were glad to be friends with him because he was the class representative. You enjoyed a lot of benefits from being his friend.

“Okay, thanks for the reminder. No need to come up—I’ll meet you downstairs,” you replied before ending the call.

Grateful for Seungmin’s help, you quickly gathered your things and checked your binder for the assignment. You sighed in relief when you found it. “I thought I lost you.”

As you were about to close your binder, a flash of blue caught your eye. A blue sticky note on the front page—one that you definitely didn’t own.

You pulled it out and read the message, which made your heart skip a beat: “I like you. But i you only see me as a friend.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d received a confession, but this note felt different. There was a mystery to it that intrigued you.

Confusion swirled in your mind as you tried to piece together who might have left this note. The message was neatly written in capital letters, offering no clues about the writer's identity.

Who could it be?

You had a lot of friends, but who might have done this?

You had male friends, all of whom felt like brothers to you. Could it be one of them? But they were like family.

The note was a sweet but outdated way to confess—charming in its own way but not something you’d expect from anyone in particular. You read it again and again, hoping to find a hint about who it might be from. But aside from the neat handwriting on a blue sticky note, you found nothing.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. You immediately sprang out of bed, remembering Seungmin.

“I’m sorry,” you said, peeking through the door.

“It’s okay,” he smiled reassuringly. “I know you were tired, so I decided to come up.”

“Oh, thanks,” you replied, quickly picking up some clothes that were strewn on the floor. You grabbed your assignment and saw the sticky note again, hastily hiding it by placing a book on top.

As you handed over your paper, you decided to test the waters, curious about who the note could be from. “Do you own any sticky notes?” you asked casually.

Seungmin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“I was taking notes and thought I might need some,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“You have plenty already,” he said, gesturing to the stack of colorful sticky notes on your study table. “And no, I don’t have any. I keep running out of them. I should buy more.”

He glanced at his watch and then looked back at you, his eyes full of concern. “I should go now. You should continue resting, and don’t forget to eat.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. President,” you said, a playful tone in your voice.

“No problem. Take care and always lock your doors. Bye, see you tomorrow.”

Before he left, Seungmin ruffled your hair affectionately.

As the door closed behind him, you found yourself staring at the sticky note again, your mind racing. If it was Seungmin who left the note, did he feel that way about you? His caring nature and playful attitude seemed to match the tone of the note, but could he really be the one?

Then again, what if it wasn’t him? You couldn’t jump to conclusions based solely on a sticky note.

You took a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts aside. Until you had more evidence, you couldn’t be certain. You needed to consider all possibilities before drawing any conclusions.

Sticky notes and neat penmanship alone weren’t enough to figure out who left the note. Everyone in your class had decent handwriting, and blue sticky notes were too common to offer any real clue. They were practically identical—anyone could have bought them. It wasn't unique, not even close.

So who could it be?

"What are you thinking about?"

You were lost in thought when a voice pulled you back to reality. You looked up to see who it was.

"Uh, nothing," you replied, somewhat startled.

It was Changbin.

He was a friend of yours, though vastly different from Seungmin. If Seungmin was a green flag, then Changbin was the complete opposite—a walking red flag who had a reputation for playing with people’s hearts.

"Let me copy your physics assignment," he demanded more than asked, flashing you a grin that was both charming and mischievous.

Changbin had that bad-boy aura, and you sometimes wondered how you two even became friends. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t be the one who left that sticky note in your binder. When Changbin liked someone, he didn’t shy away from telling them directly. He would flirt openly, not leave anonymous notes.

So no, it wasn’t him.

"Why should I?" you replied nonchalantly. You were used to his antics, which might be one of the reasons why you were friends.

"Because I’m cute, and after class, I’ll buy you your favorite toothpaste-flavored ice cream," he teased.

"It’s not toothpaste! It’s mint chocolate!" you corrected, rolling your eyes.

"My bad," he smirked, unfazed. "Now, let me copy."

Too tired to argue further, you handed him your assignment. Changbin eagerly started copying, his focus entirely on the task at hand.

As you watched him scribble down your answers, you noticed his messy handwriting. There was no way it could have been him—the note’s handwriting was neat and careful, the opposite of his chaotic scrawl.

"You really have terrible handwriting. What are you, a kid? It looks like a storm blew through it," you teased, watching him.

"If I had more time, I could make it look like it was printed with a font," he shot back, not looking up. "But since the prof will be here in a few minutes, I don’t care what you say. Now, shush."

You let him finish copying, trying not to overthink the situation again, when suddenly he pulled out a blue sticky note from his bag.

"I almost forgot to give this to you," he said, handing it to you slowly. "It’s the address for the party this weekend. You should come. If I don’t see even a glimpse of you, I won’t enjoy it."

Surprised, you stared at the sticky note in his hand. It was the same color and size as the one you found in your binder. Why would he have this?

Seeing that you weren’t taking it, he grinned mischievously and stuck it to your forehead, laughing at your shocked expression.

Could it be him?

But…

You glanced at the two sticky notes in your hand, comparing them as you strolled through the expansive university yard.

Confessing like this wasn’t his style.

So it couldn’t be, right?

But the sticky notes were identical—the same length, the same height. Plain as they were, they were unmistakably the same.

Yet, you remembered how he would laugh if he knew someone confessed like this. He’d call it plain, boring, and probably mock the person as weak.

You shook off the thought, placing the sticky notes back in your binder and hugging it to your chest, forcing your mind to focus on your lessons.

"Hey, monkey!" You halted mid-step, rolling your eyes at the familiar voice and nickname.

"What?" you snapped, turning to face him.

"So you really accept now that you’re a monkey?" he teased, laughing. It was Minho.

Your friend (well, sort of?). In your group, you were like a cat and dog—he was the cat, and according to him, you were the dog because your face reminded him of one.

Despite the constant teasing, you appreciated how he looked out for you and was always there when you needed him.

But what did he just say?

"I'm not in the mood to fight with you," you muttered. On a normal day, you would have started bickering with him, refusing to back down until he surrendered (yes, like kids). "What are you, a chicken?"

"Oh, you noticed my hair. Do you like it?" he winked.

"You look like a rooster." His hair was dyed orange, and although he didn’t look like a rooster, you wanted to get back at him.

"That's better than being a monkey," he grinned.

"Crazy."

The two of you walked together, talking about random things with the usual bickering sprinkled in. Then, you remembered the sticky note. You knew it wasn’t from him because, well, why would it be?

Still, you decided to show it to him.

"Who do you think did this?" you asked, handing him the note.

He read it aloud, the words dripping with sarcasm, "That’s the cringiest thing I’ve ever read in my whole life."

Just as you expected.

"You shouldn’t say that! He must’ve gathered a lot of courage to do this."

"Why wouldn’t he just tell you in person? Is he weak?" Minho scoffed, lowering his voice when he saw you weren’t amused.

"Maybe he didn’t want to ruin our friendship."

"Then he shouldn’t have liked you in the first place."

"Can we control our feelings? It’s hard, you know!" You rolled your eyes. "Why am I even telling you this? You don’t understand anything," you mumbled, though loud enough for him to hear. "Anyway, I should go. I have something to do at the library."

"I like you."

You froze in your tracks at his words.

"That’s what he should do! It’s really easy, you know," he said, smirking before suddenly sprinting off in the opposite direction.

What was that?

Confused by Minho's words, you made your way to the library, replaying the conversation in your mind.

"What was that? Does he like me, or was he just using it as an example?"

You tried to shrug off the thought as you arrived at the library. The familiar scent of books enveloped you, a comforting distraction.

At the librarian's desk, you spotted Han, your friend who worked there as a student assistant.

"Oh, what brings you here?" he greeted you with a smile, lowering his voice in contrast to Minho’s usual volume.

"Hello. I’m returning this book." You handed him the physics book you had been hugging to your chest.

"Already? Are you sure you’re done with it? It’s okay if you missed the deadline. You know I can always talk to the senior librarian for you," Han offered, his tone warm and reassuring.

If you were to consider another suspect in your mystery investigation, Han would be a possibility. You’d never questioned how he took care of you before, but now, as you tried to solve this puzzle, you began to wonder.

Could he like you?

Or were you just overthinking things?

No, you shouldn’t read too much into Han’s actions. Like Seungmin, he was someone who genuinely cared for the people he loved.

"No, it’s okay. I’m done with it. Thank you, Han. And thanks for the offer—I might take you up on that one day and maybe never return the book," you joked, earning a laugh from him.

"Now I should go. I need to meet Hyunjin—he asked me for a favor."

"Sure! Take care!"

"Thanks. You too."

As you left the library, you felt a hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. Turning around, you saw Han, slightly out of breath.

"Hey, was this yours? You forgot it," he said, handing you the sticky note.

You didn’t know how it ended up with him, but you quickly took it and placed it in your binder.

"Oh, thanks."

"No worries. That was a cute confession," he said, still catching his breath, then laughed. "I should get back—lots of work to do."

You nodded, watching as he returned to the library.

A question formed in your mind: Was it Han?

Why didn’t he ask who wrote it?

Why wasn’t he curious?

But then, he did ask if it was yours, as if he didn’t know.

So maybe… it wasn’t him.

"You literally owe me for this one," you whined, though you knew you didn’t have much of a choice as you glanced at your friend Hyunjin, a med student with an ever-present smile.

"Yes, I promise I'll buy you whatever you want," he said, clasping his hands together in gratitude, his eyes gleaming with a sincerity that made it hard to stay annoyed. You sighed, relenting, and extended your arm.

He needed a blood sample for one of his "you-don’t-know-the-details" assignments, and apparently, you were exactly what he needed.

Like a seasoned pro, he pricked the needle into your skin and attached a small hose to collect your blood. It wasn’t the first time you’d been his willing guinea pig, but you couldn’t say no to Hyunjin.

"Thank you," he said earnestly after he was done.

"Right. You should be thankful," you retorted with a mock glare, though you couldn’t help but smile when he laughed.

Hyunjin had the most stereotypical 'doctor-y' penmanship you’d ever seen—impossible to decipher, even as you watched him scribble something in his records.

"By the way, I left a note before in your binder," he said casually.

His words rang in your ears. "What note?"

He smirked, clearly enjoying the suspense. "A note about how you should remember to take the vitamins I gave you."

Oh.

Seeing you internalize his words, he added, "And I noticed another note in there." He adjusted his white coat, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "And I know who put it there."

You looked up at him, curiosity written all over your face as he towered over you.

"And you should find that out on your own," he teased, winking before walking away, leaving you with more questions than answers.

"Why’d you call me here?" Jeongin asked as he walked into the coffee shop, a guitar slung over his back.

"Because I promised to buy you coffee," you replied with a smile.

Jeongin was a year younger than you, a music major who could play practically any instrument, though piano was his favorite.

"Really? But I’m not craving coffee right now. You should buy me a meal. I’m hungry," he said, not even trying to be cute but somehow managing to be utterly adorable.

As per his request, the two of you headed to a nearby restaurant. You let him order whatever he wanted and watched as he dug into his food.

"You must’ve been really hungry," you remarked.

"I didn’t have lunch or dinner yet," he admitted between bites.

"You shouldn’t skip meals like that! Our bodies are our main investment. We need to take care of them," you scolded, playing the role of the older sibling.

"I know, Mom," he teased.

"Good son," you laughed.

"Are you going to Changbin’s party?" he asked after stuffing more food into his mouth. You took a sip of your strawberry latte, considering your answer.

"I don’t know. I’m kinda busy."

He got back to eating, and you hesitated, feeling a question bubbling up inside you. It felt awkward, but you knew you wouldn’t be at peace until you asked.

"Uh, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"You're already doing it," he said, his mouth still half-full.

"Let me finish!," you squinted at him. "This question is kinda weird, but…"

"Faster! I’m curious!" He leaned in slightly, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Uh, do you know if anyone who’s close to us… erm…" You coughed, trying to find the right words. "…likes me? I mean, like, likes me?"

Jeongin looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "I don’t know who, but I know everyone loves you."

Well, that much was true—friendship came naturally with your group.

"And me too. I love you," he added casually.

"Aw, thank you. I love you too."

He didn’t reply, just smiled at you for a moment before turning back to his meal, leaving you with a warm feeling that was hard to shake.

"I'm so tired of that neighbor of mine!" Felix, a friend who lived three floors above you, burst into your apartment wearing pajamas and hugging his pillow.

"You can’t sleep again?" you asked, watching as he plopped down onto your sofa bed with a dramatic sigh.

"I don’t know what the hell he’s doing in the middle of the night! Was he doing construction or something?" he whined, making himself comfortable. "Oh, this is so comfortable. Let me crash here."

It wasn’t the first time he’d crashed at your place, so you were used to it. You didn’t mind at all.

"Did I bother you?" he asked, his head still buried in the pillow.

"Never."

"I should really move to this floor. It’s so peaceful."

"You could always move into my apartment and be my roommate," you suggested, a plan you’d considered before.

"No way. Someone might get angry."

"Who would that be?"

Felix didn’t answer, his silence leaving the question hanging in the air. You thought he might be teasing, but his continued silence suggested otherwise.

"And I don’t think I could handle living with you," he added.

"Why’s that?"

Once again, he didn’t respond.

"You should get some sleep. It’s past midnight," you said, heading toward your room.

As you were about to close the door, Felix called out, "I know about the blue sticky note in your binder."

You stopped in your tracks.

"Keep it, okay?" he said with a knowing smile before burying himself back into the pillow.

You wanted to ask more, but Felix seemed to be done with the conversation. With a curious mind, you went to bed, pondering over his cryptic words.

“Chan, did you really make this?” you asked, your voice brimming with excitement as you listened intently.

He nodded, a broad grin spreading across his face as he observed your reaction.

“This is the best music I’ve ever heard!” you exclaimed, pressing the earphones deeper into your ears.

“Oh, of course you’d say that because I’m your friend,” Chan said with a chuckle.

“No, I’m serious!” you replied, though you could only read his lips. The music’s high volume made it difficult to hear clearly. “This is amazing!”

“Yeah, that’s Han in the background and Changbin rapping.”

You bobbed your head along with the beats, completely immersed in the music Chan had created.

“Was Jeongin in it?” you asked, recognizing a familiar voice.

“Yes, and Hyunjin, Felix, Minho, and Seungmi—”

“This part is definitely Seungmin!” you shouted, and Chan laughed at your enthusiasm.

You continued listening, enjoying every note until the very last one, which was a soft piano melody.

“Wow, that was beautiful! I still can’t believe my friend created this. It’s a masterpiece.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s a great compliment from the person the song was inspired by,” Chan said with a knowing smile.

You didn’t catch that last part, too absorbed in the music to fully register his words.

“What’s the title of the song?” you asked, still in awe.

“Blue Sticky Note.”

The title made you stop dead in your tracks. Chan’s gaze lingered on you with an unreadable expression, as if he knew something you didn’t.

The realization hit you—the lyrics, the melody, everything about the song—

We’ve been friends for so long, shared laughter and tears,

But there’s something more inside, I’ve held back for years.

So I turned our feelings into a song, hoping you’d see,

How much you mean to me, how much you mean to me.

Oh, blue sticky note, you’re my secret, my confession,

Wrapped in notes and beats, my heart’s true expression.

In every verse, in every line, it’s you I adore,

From a simple blue sticky note to a melody I’m pouring out.

it was all connected to the note you had hidden in your binder.

part 2 here!

[virgo-dream]

Safety Net: A Bolt in the Blue Story

teen and up / dreamling / rock band au / mutual pining / 3,1k words

summary: Endless is in the middle of its first headline tour, and Dream has been doing his best to hold his own in the ever changing routine of touring. After one particularly intense concert, Dream finds himself extremely overwhelmed, and relies on the help of his trusted bass tech, Hob Gadling, to ground himself again. In the process, he finds that a few feelings have become impossible to ignore. this fic is set in the universe of @valeriianz's amazing rock band au, so if you haven't read that, this miiiight not make a lot of sense. I hope you like this Kris!! big thanks to literal love of my life @littledreamling for the superb beta work. this would be illegible without him. read here or on ao3

Endless were 6 shows into their first tour. Something that felt like a far off hope had become reality for the passion project Dream and Death had started in the garage of their father's home. They'd been signed onto a record label, released an album, and now had a proper fanbase to keep things moving. Their music was no longer a monologue echoed in their own rehearsals, but a continuous conversation with listeners, who felt seen by the lyrics, touched by the melodies and enthralled by the harmonies. They had, for all intents and purposes, made it. 

Dream had taken surprisingly well to touring life. The constant change of scenery was becoming less disorienting with every new city they visited, and travel was becoming a pattern he was slowly adapting to. He'd settled into his own personal rhythm, creating a routine to guide himself by for the duration of the tour. As long as he was able to find an anchor, Dream knew he could perform to the best of his ability. Performing a 90 minute set was akin to running a marathon, and Dream was as disciplined as any athlete would  be. And so, his new routine became a ritual, a multiple step plan to successfully get through every moment before and after going on stage, then repeating it all for the next concert. 

He'd broken down his pre-show routine in ten steps: Endless would arrive at their stop maybe one or two days before a show. Dream would get settled into his hotel room and have some time to decompress properly. They'd go around town, maybe eat at a local restaurant. The day of the concert, Dream would arrive at the venue and get acquainted with the layout of the backstage area. He'd then do soundcheck, making sure to know what to expect during the show. Once he'd done everything in his usual ritual, he'd retreat back to the greenroom, finding somewhere comfortable to sit. He'd  then review the setlist, taking notes in his journal, and finally, with his noise cancelling headphones on, Dream would listen to their songs on loop, grounding himself as much as possible before going on stage. The moment he got on stage, everything else was nonexistent.

Still, no matter how diligent Dream was in doing his part, the further they got into the tour, the more unpredictable things were becoming. When they went out to go sightseeing or simply grab a meal, fans would stop them for videos and photos. They'd given interviews to local news a couple of times now, and the amount of invites to events happening in town before or right after their shows was becoming more and more difficult for Dream to avoid. While Desire and Delirium were more than happy to go to whatever after-party they'd gotten invited to, and Death was terrific at interviews and dealing with the public, Dream was steadily growing in popularity with their fans. People had questions for him, wanted his autograph, to see him at the after parties. It was getting harder and harder to turn down every single invite, and even though his mysterious persona was what had drawn people to him in the first place, now, as any up and coming artist was bound to experience, people felt entitled to his privacy. It wasn't enough to be mysterious: he was now required to perform mystery rather than live it. Needless to say, Dream did not take well to that. 

One by one, all of Dream's fixed points became unpredictable, his anxiety rising every time they arrived somewhere new. All of them but one: Hob Gadling.

The longer the tour went on, the more grateful Dream was to have Hob around. He seemed to be able to read Dream's minuscule shifts in expression better than even Death could. Hob was hired as Dream's bass tech, but at that point he was performing multiple functions; He'd fetch Dream whatever he needed to self-regulate. Hob knew where Dream kept his journal, and what pens to bring him to take notes with. He knew that Dream needed his headphones close by if he got too overwhelmed, and was constantly bringing him snacks to make sure Dream wasn't working on an empty stomach. Sometimes, Hob would even act as his bodyguard. When fans started swarming them when they were about to leave the venues they'd just played, Hob wouldn't let anyone touch him or put cameras in Dream's face. 

Hob was slowly becoming the one person that brought Dream comfort, and the realisation sometimes felt too overwhelming to face. It was good having someone look out for him, and the more demands Dream had, the more did Hob pick up the things that Dream couldn't focus on anymore. It had become second nature for Dream to look at Hob right before the concerts started, or to hold onto Hob's arm as he stepped off stage, oftentimes shaking and slightly dizzy from the rush of adrenaline. Dream knew that if he reached out, Hob would know exactly what to bring him, even if it was just the reassurance that he was close by. 

They didn't talk about it. Dream didn't know how to bring it up, the tightening in his chest whenever he looked around and didn't immediately spot Hob's gentle brown eyes, the comfort of feeling the strong muscles of his arm when Hob helped him off stage. The first thing Dream would think of when feeling nervous was how Hob wrapped his scarf around his neck outside the New Inn, even though Hob clearly felt much colder than Dream did. How Hob would listen to him for hours on end as he explained music theory to him. How he'd heard Hob try a few shy cords on his bass during lunch breaks, and Dream surprised himself by feeling an enormous sense of pride and fondness, instead of being angry at Hob for even touching his bass outside of what was required. 

They would not talk about it. It was easier to not mention it. Easier to just let things flow, to let them improvise the next few bars of this easy duet between the two of them. They'd fallen into a comfortable synchronicity, one that brought Dream comfort unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. He did not want to ruin that.

–––––––

Endless was halfway into the last song of their set. The crowd had been particularly warm towards them, with Desire being able to banter with fans and get big reactions, and singing along to all of their songs. It was a bit of a surreal feeling for Dream, hearing people sing his own words back at him, sing with him, because now he too sang in their shows. The feeling was infectious, as if Dream had become all powerful during the 90 minutes of their performance. The lights were bright and the people were loud, but he was in control of it all: he and Despair dictated the pace of the entire show, bass and drums guiding the heartbeats of band members and audience alike. On stage, Dream was in control. 

The spell only broke when the song ended. As the sound of the audience cheering became louder than the instruments on stage and they took their last bow, the atmosphere shifted dramatically, like the volatile pressure on a plane getting ready to land. Dream's rational mind began to make its way back to him, the roaring applause nearly a shock to his ears. It felt like time was dilating around him, stretching the last second into eternity. Actually leaving the stage happened on autopilot. One moment, he was watching the crowd chant their names; the next, he was nearly tumbling down the stairs to exit the stage.

"Careful–" Hob's voice was the only sound Dream could identify in the large sonorous mass that dampened his hearing. Everything else was hard to pick apart, but Hob's voice was very present, as were the strong muscles on his arm as he bracketed Dream's fall, helping him lean against Hob's side. Dream could feel as Hob let his arm wrap around his back, and as his feet found  balance again, all he could do was look at Hob. 

"Dream, you here with me?"

Dream blinked a few times, and while he could tell Death and Desire were around too, he couldn't particularly focus on what they were saying. Dream focused on Hob's voice, now directed at them, somehow cutting through the noise while remaining calm. "We just need to get him out of here– I'm going to take him straight to the van, we'll wait for the rest of you there. Leta, can you grab the duffel bag under the vanity in the greenroom? Dessi, a couple of water bottles would be fantastic, hand it all over to Mazikeen. She'll know what to do."

Desire was a little freaked out by the whole situation, and seemed to break out of their usual persona into a more vulnerable one, brows furrowing in worry as they looked at Dream for a moment. "Yes sir!" was all they managed to say, while Death grabbed them by the arm so they could do as Hob had instructed.

Dream raised his hands to his ears, trying to muffle the increasing loudness of their surroundings. Hob was quick to notice his discomfort, readjusting his arm around Dream's back. The only thing that made sense was Hob, and the entire world seemed to be crashing around him. "...loud." 

It was met with Hob's usual kind and calm eyes, and a feeling of absolute trust and safety seemed to wash over Dream, like he could give up control now. Hob had him.  "–hey, we're getting out of here. I'm gonna get you out of here, okay? Leta is getting your headphones." He raised his free hand to cover Dream's ear, helping him to rest his head on Hob's shoulder as they walked.

Hob was careful as he guided Dream through the backstage area of the venue. As they walked past corridors lit with neon lights and filled with smoke from both the fog machines used on stage and a few cigarettes now resting on ashtrays, he made sure to cover Dream's eyes when needed, quickly walking past anyone who so much as thought of stopping them. Dream was thankful for Hob's care: he could see how gentle Hob was whenever he deliberately had to touch Dream, or how relentless he was as they walked through a large group of fans waiting outside the backdoor, heading directly into the van the venue had provided to transport the band back to the hotel. 

When they finally made it into the van, Mazikeen was right behind them with the duffel bag and the water bottles. Hob helped Dream sit down on the last row of seats at the back of the van, closing the door behind them. They would only have to wait for the other band members to arrive, and then they'd head to the hotel. For now, it was good that they were alone.

Dream's body fell limp as Hob sat him down. He was still out of it, trying to find his way back. Hob was quick to grab the noise cancelling headphones from the bag, placing them over Dream's ears carefully. The relief Dream felt from the silence was nearly as overwhelming as the noise had been. All emotions felt awfully big now. Still, this was just one small part of everything that he needed to get grounded. Thankfully for him, Hob was quicker than he was, unscrewing the lid on the plastic bottle and taking it to Dream's lips, holding it there for him until Dream was ready to hold the bottle on his own. He nearly downed the entire bottle in one go, taking in a big gulp of air as he finished drinking, then letting all the air out in one long, relieved sigh.

"Hey. Good to have you back." Hob's muffled voice commanded Dream's attention, who now looked at him as if Hob had hung the moon and personally selected the placement of every star in the night sky. "How are you feeling?"

Dream took a moment to consider. Words still felt a little difficult, but he knew he had to try, not to rush his recovery, but to not give in to the lethargy threatening to take over his very exhausted mind. "...better. Um. It was. A lot."

"I know, I've never seen a crowd like that. You held your own really well." How Hob always knew the right things to say was beyond Dream's understanding. Maybe it was because he didn't, really. But he cared to try, and that was already all Dream could possibly ask for. "If I were in your shoes I don't think I would have made it past the intro."

Hob's words made Dream let out a chuckle, unable to hide the tiny smile forming in his lips. Somehow, the silences between them were comfortable. It was safe to let loose, even if just a little. "I must admit I was taken aback. When they sang along to "The Fates". It was… the words evade me."

"Yeah, that was really something. But I gotta admit, I was a little jealous."

Something shot to the centre of Dream's heart, making it skip a beat as his chest tightened. He tilted his head to the side slightly, and his breath catched for a moment. "...whatever for?"

Hob looked away for a moment, lifting a hand to tug at his earlobe. He did that often when they talked, and Dream found it incredibly endearing. "Well, that's my favourite song off the album. Now a bunch of other people are gonna claim it's their favourite too. I feel like one of those grumpy hipsters saying "I knew about it first."

"Your regard for it means more to me than theirs." 

Dream was caught by surprise at his own words, but not as much as Hob seemed to be. When he smiled, it was so big and bright that his eyes crinkled at the corners. It felt like looking directly into the sun. "I bet you say that to all the bass techs."

Hob's words gave Dream the urge to explain himself. It was a known fact that he didn't have a nice working relationship with his last tech. Then, it dawned on him that Hob’s words must have been a joke, and he was relieved to understand  it quickly enough that he didn't go on a tangent explaining why that didn't make any sense. He decided to try a joke of his own in return. "...only the ones I'm unable to make quit the job."

When Hob laughed, it made him want to write music to the melody of it. To break down every note his voice travelled through, to play it over and over again. To know how to tell jokes that will always make him laugh. It made Dream's chest tighten again, and it must’ve shown in his face, because Hob immediately looked at him with worried eyes again. "Everything okay there?"

It took Dream a while to be able to come up with an answer. He was lost in Hob's expression for a moment, in how quickly it switched from joy to worry, all because Dream didn't seem well. "Ah, yes. I'm just. Tired." It was all he could think to say, blinking a couple of times, as if basic bodily functions had become too tiresome to perform.

"It's a bit of a long drive back to the hotel. Plenty of time to take a good nap." Hob smiled again, now a more reserved, small smile. It was beautiful all the same. He stood from his seat, and Dream was overcome by a feeling of profound loss. "I'm gonna let you lay down here–"

"Stay here." Dream's body acted faster than his mind could prevent, and he grabbed him by the arm. His heart felt like it was beating in his throat. Hob blinked, surprised, and sat next to Dream again. "...someone else might sit here. I wouldn't want to have to. Talk. If they did."

"Oh, got it. Don't worry."

Hob didn’t even question him. Didn’t make him explain, nor judged him for his needs. Of course he didn’t want someone else to sit next to him. That was okay. As Hob settled next to him, Dream rested his head on Hob's shoulder, closing his eyes. Once again, Hob didn’t question him. Allowed him to take whatever he wanted or needed. In the silence provided by Hob's care, Dream let the exhaustion take over, and fell asleep almost instantly.

–––––––

When Dream woke up again, he was laying down in his hotel room bed. He blinked his eyes open a few times, taking a moment to take in his surroundings. He didn’t remember getting there, but he could tell he’d changed into his pyjamas. Dream panicked for a moment, sitting up to look at the clock on the bedside table. 5:27am. Then, he noticed a note on the first page of the small hotel notepad. 

You seemed really tired so I didn't wake you.  Don't worry, Leta changed your clothes. I only brought you up to bed. I hope you're feeling better. If you need anything, send a raven. I feel like you would know how to. ;-) - Hob (your favourite bass tech)

Dream looked at the note in awe. How could there be so much poetry contained in so little words? How could Hob be so kind? How was that even possible? He set the notepad back on the table, and took a moment to process everything that was going through his head. It was a lot. Definitely a lot more than he'd ever dealt with before. The urge to reach for his journal to write about it was immense, but the wave of sleepiness that hit him was even more so, and he was forced to lay back down again. 

He let his hand slide under his pillow, and was relieved to find the scarf was still hidden under there. The scarf Hob had given him that night before Christmas at the New Inn. He pulled the scarf from under the pillow, bringing it up to his face to take in the scent of it. He could still smell Hob in it, even if just faintly. Dream closed his eyes, and imagined he was still sitting on the van with his head resting on Hob's shoulder.

He fell asleep nearly instantly.

[valeriianz]

For the fic writer asks:

4. Obviously you did research for BitB. I'd love you to ramble about it if you like I'm sure you've got STORIES

5. Did you outline it?

7. How'd you decide it would be Hob's pov?

25-27 I'd love to know a/some favorite lines, details, and any lore you might want to share

omg TJ what wonderful questions! thank you!! this is going to get LONG!

4: Rambling about research!

do you wanna see a screen shot of my bookmarks under my "band au" folder?

man, and that's only what could fit on the screen.

there is... SO MUCH i chose to ignore for this fic. ideas that i had to drop, lines or extra details about the other band members equipment. more logistics, what Lucienne actually does, what Mervyn has to put up with as the new touring stage manager... i realized very early on that i couldn't possibly cram all this (super cool and eye opening) information into the fic and still keep reader's interest and, most importantly, to not stray away from the fact that this is a dreamling fic. whenever i felt myself getting carried away with a side character or job or even social media numbers, gossip, outside POVs, i had to reign myself in and get back on track. there will be time for exploring everything i missed in side stories after BitB is finished. i just hope i still have the energy to write it all.

once, i was so deep into research that after publishing chapter 2, i went into work and when my chef asked what "GA" meant on my prep list, i answered with full confidence, "general admission."

(it means "get ahead.")

the worst part of this entire writing process is im still learning new shit. i havent rewatched or read a lot of what i've saved because, to be very honest, i was feeling a little burnt out. it's why we're kinda full steam dreamling now. it's why ive been glossing over a lot of technical stuff and being vague about conversations amongst the crew/not including it at all. i don't prefer ignoring my research, but at the end of the day i want to still enjoy writing this fic and finish it. even if i can't be as descriptive and detailed and nuanced as i used to be.

5: Did you outline the fic?

(also asked by @hardly-an-escape!)

i wouldn't call what i have a proper "outline," it's more like a 20k word document filled to the brim with notes that i skim at least a dozen times while i'm writing a new chapter (being in my brain is literally hell). i live multichapter life very dangerously. i copy and paste lines or sections (always scattered, never together! augh!) that are meant to go together and plop them in a new document titled "band au ch.#" and then i structure the chapter around what i want to happen.

but to answer this question in the plainest of terms: yeah. i know exactly what's going to happen up until the very end. even if its all in my head and the only concrete shit that's written down are beats/plot points. i'll figure out the rest later!

7: How'd you decide it would be Hob's POV?

i actually never even considered writing it from Dream's POV. this was my first fic in the fandom (which is so nuts to think about lol) and writing in Dream's POV sounded so scary lol. i also just thought Hob's would be easier because i have worked a few backstage shows, back in my college years. i figured eh, i can make this work. and i loved exploring how weird and mysterious musicians can be, from a normie's POV. making Hob a fan first and having him worry about developing a parasocial relationship... it was fun to explore.

25: Share your favorite line

oh god, i have so many haha.

“What are you thinking about?” starting in ch.2 and onward lmao

“It’s–” Dream laughs quietly, bitterly. “I don’t like change.” He says each word with emphasis, eyes trailing down to fixate somewhere past Hob. “And I still hold onto the things I can control, like my instruments–” his eyes swing up to regard Hob apologetically. “Or my clothes or my–” he brings a hand up and wiggles his fingers around his head. “My hair.” ch.4

"His majesty is pleased." ch.5

“You are obsessive,” he states, slow and cool and with a quiet smile cracking through his composure. “Just like me.” ch.7

“You look good.” Hob has to lean in to say so, unwilling to raise his voice amongst the roar of the fans. ch.11

“Del looks like porcelain, but she’s actually made of steel.” Desire swirls the contents of their glass before pushing their shoulders back with a deep breath. “She's tougher than all of us.” ch.11

“Everything. I want…” his fingers tighten in Hob’s hair, pulling him closer, speaking against his lips. “…Everything.” ch.14

26: Share your favorite detail

how intentionally coy Dream behaves. i love keeping him a mystery and deciding when and how much to allow his intentions to peek through has been so fun lol.

Despair is in fact covered in tattoos and piercings! i say this because i feel like sometimes i forget lmao. (but also her and Hob don't interact much so. my bad haha).

Delirium's constant explosion of color in the way she dresses <3

Hob's dedication to his job, Dream, and the people he cares about the most. i don't care if people think i'm making him too soft and good, im gonna project on that man and make him a sweet, sweet simp lmao

and ah, this doesn't matter anymore, and i kinda regret doing it but. i originally had Dream's favorite bass all black but the pickguard was white. so it actually looked like Jessamy. not gonna lie when @designtheendless drew it all black i decided i liked it better that way. and truly i do. that's when i went back to ch.1 and changed it haha. to actually see the guitar with Dream, all done up sparkling black and purple flecks... gosh it's just so him. but then i got up to the reveal that the guitar's name was Jessamy and i was like, "oh, right." lmao. no one seems to care so i'll leave it be.

27: Share a piece of lore you made up for the story

i have a lot lmao. and this post is already so long... im hoping i can get to some if not all of it in side fics in the future. but for now, here's some that's more like headcanons but:

Dream hates flying. he can full on go into panic attacks on the plane if he allows himself to get into his own head.

this was mentioned briefly in ch.4, while Dream was discussing the formation of the band, but Despair was in another band before joining Endless. she is the only character in the fic who gets to keep her English roots (lol sorry) and is the oldest in the band (30).

all of the band members ages: Dream, Desire, and Death are all 28 and Delirium is 22.

Dream can experience subdrop after going too hard during a performance.

Dream paints his own nails, it's very therapeutic.

as an exercise, i explored my own headcanons for Dream in this verse in a word doc, and one thing i will share from it that you might find interesting: If I were to ever give Dream a theological values, I would describe him as a satanist. He is a physical and pragmatic person, nonconforming, and although he is introverted, he enjoys being a part of a community (he loves his band).

also found this in my notes: How Desire and Dream got along was Death making them fight it out. Hob raises an eyebrow “like in a brawl?” He couldn't imagine Desire throwing hands. “No, in a pillow fight that escalated in hair pulling and verbal taunts.”

fic writer asks

[valeriianz]

this is so funny lol. look, i got Despair on the drums and Dream on the bass correct!

@ that one fic where theyre in a band…

Found this amongst the art compilation thing that they put at the end of every book, this one’s at the end of book 3.