#he's not a dinosaur but shh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

macfrog · 3 months ago

Note

I miss our beloved scom family. How are they doing this fine day?

god, i miss them too. here's what they probably got up to today.

something blue 3.6k words | series masterlist warnings: y'all know the drill: being a mom.

Sarah leads Ellie, the way she always does, into the kitchen at seven a.m. sharp.

She stops by Joel first, squeezes into his size at the counter, and pushes onto her tiptoes. When he sidesteps to let her see (even though he point-blank refused to let you), she wraps two arms tight around her sister and hoists her up.

“Pancakes!” the three-year-old squeals, and loses her grip on her plastic dinosaur. He falls headfirst into the counter.

“Shh!” Sarah hisses, slinging Joel a disgruntled look. She sighs and swipes the T-Rex from his hand.

“The heck you lookin’ at me for?” he grumbles.

The girls eye you the entire walk over to the table. One as suspicious as the other. Sarah moves smooth, floats over to her spot with her chin skyward.

Ellie thumps at her heels, staring you down and almost stumbling into a chair.

“Careful, Nel,” you whisper, and her poker face cracks. You turn to Sarah. “I know it’s pancakes. It’s the only thing your dad ever figured out how not to burn.”

Joel’s shoulders jump. He swallows the laugh in his chest and says nothing.

Ellie sucks the chocolate clean from her dinosaur’s head. Last week, she decided his name was Bill. You, Joel, and Sarah are still trying to figure out where the hell she came up with it. Whoever he’s named after, she doesn’t like him much – not with the rate she lobs him around.

Kid’s an enigma. She suits it just fine.

She stares at you, still, as Sarah helps her up into her chair. Judders forward with each shove under the table. Comical, the two of them; like Pinky and the fucking Brain, you once told Joel – though you’re still not sure who’s who.

Your eyes drop to a stain on the toddler’s outfit. “You want me to wash that yet, Gagarin?”

She looks down. An arm swishes up to dab at the tangerine splotch. She grins, amused with herself, and shoves the dino back between her gums.

Sarah shakes her head. She turns back to you and flashes a trademark Joel frown. Eight years old and somehow, she manages to encapsulate the same fifty-six-year-old, unimpressed glower.

“Nel,” she turns, uttering between teeth, “You can’t wear dirty clothes today, remember?”

“I don’t think spacesuits are allowed at preschool,” you sigh as you push yourself up. “Much too sophisticated – huh, baby girl?”

Ellie giggles and flings her arms to the ceiling, sending Bill in a somersault across the table. She’s in nothing but pull-ups underneath the onesie – although it’s rare for her to ever be in much more than her pull-ups and, usually, one loose sock.

The suit means she’s feeling fancy. But what the fuck for?

All of Sarah’s leftover chaos, the magic she left in your veins after she was born, seems to have poured into her little sister. Smaller, mightier – more reckless, but not half as savvy.

Rarely seen without one of her prehistoric pals in her fist; evidence of what she had for lunch smeared around her lips. Chasing after Sarah, after Shimmer, after a butterfly that found itself trapped in her bedroom last month.

She scaled a chest of drawers trying to reach it. Joel caught her just in time. Some nights in bed, you can still feel his heart pounding from the scare she gave him.

Chalk and cheese. Sarah and Ellie. The former calm, composed. Candid and levelheaded, book smart and (alarmingly) wise beyond her years.

The latter – well.

It’s her first time on the planet, too, you try to remember.

You wander over to the washer, tossing the suit into the drum. You dig an elbow into Joel’s side and he flinches.

“Can I see yet?”

He turns, shielding whatever’s in front of him with a wide shoulder. “Not yet, baby. Not done.”

“You’re taking fuckin’ forever,” you mumble, pressing the words into his shoulder blade. From the corner of your eye, you watch the girls babbling to each other, scratching Shimmer between her floppy ears.

Joel twists, still hiding with his hands, and dots a tiny kiss on the tip of your nose. He smells like coffee and toothpaste. It still dizzies you every time he’s near enough for you to breathe it in.

“I’m almost done. Promise.”

You steal a kiss from his lips and smirk, stepping away. “Okay,” your eyes drift down to the counter, “If you say s…Alphabet sprinkles?”

His jaw slackens, moves like a bubbling fish. “Uh – they’re for – they’re for somethin’…Duck?” he clears his throat, “Tell your mom what they’re for, would ya?”

Sarah freezes. She stammers just like her dad. She does a lot just like him.

“A…a…a school project,” she says, and stares down at the dog.

“A – a – a school project?”

Your daughter nods. Still fixed on the smudges of sable around Shimmer’s eyes. “Bake sale.”

“You never told me about any bake sale,” you cross your arms, “What’d you make?”

She’s quick as lightning. “Cupcakes. But we haven’t made ‘em yet. Tonight, right, Dad?”

Joel’s voice is hoarse with panic. “Tonight,” he rasps.

You lean back against the counter, eyes shifting to the right. A different tactic. A rogue tactic, that’s for sure, but she has her moments. “…Nel?”

Your youngest looks up from her belly button.

“Not Nel,” Joel pleads, catching your eye for half a second.

“Why not Nel?”

His voice drops. “That kid would spill a state secret if you dangled a marshmallow in front of her.”

You tsk. “That’s mean. And wrong, anyways. The reason they have state secrets is ‘cause of kids like her. We should be proud, Miller.”

Ellie’s clutching the dinosaur when you look back over, chewing on his tail. She blinks back, and you wonder if there’s anything other than mastermind plans of mischief behind her eyes.

Joel says she has the same look in her eye that you do. Like you’re in on something the rest of the world has yet to catch up on. Twins, from the moment she stumbled ass over foot out of your body.

She talks just like you, and acts just like you, and – some nights, chatting sleepy gibberish under the slow turn of her rocket ship nightlight – you figure she must think just like you, too.

The perfect little riot.

Joel nudges you away, whispering, “Go on,” and you snicker, pushing off.

The sun combs through the room, glinting off cutlery and radiating from your daughters’ smiles. They chat and giggle and kick their feet; Sarah blows raspberries and Ellie sprays saliva all over the table when she tries to copy.

This is life, now.

You used to wake up to a silent house, sip your coffee and watch the oven clock count down the minutes until you had to leave for work.

You used to keep the radio on, even when you were out back – just to feel like someone was home with you. You used to sing to yourself as you flicked every light off at the end of the night.

Now, the laughter lives in the walls. It echoes even when you’re home alone. The oven clock counts down until there’s another pair of smaller hands in yours; until your man’s arms are back around your waist where they belong.

Come nightfall, you pluck odd socks and toy cars from under the couch. You tuck your children into bed, nuzzle your nose into their cheeks. You curl up beside Joel and trace shapes into his palm.

I love you, you write, some nights.

Dickhead, on others.

It takes a village, they all say. And sure, sometimes it does.

Sometimes, though, all it takes is two neighbors, a handshake deal, and a little bump named Duck.

“Woah, Nellie,” Joel chuckles, setting the first plate down. He clicks his teeth and taps a light knuckle on the girls’ hands, locked in a death grip. “Play nice. I got yours here, too, kiddo.”

Ellie straightens immediately. She watches, eyes fixed and glasslike, as her own breakfast is presented to her. And then she breaks into a wide grin, cheeks swelling. Her heels thud thud thud on the legs of her chair.

You lean over, cocking your head to see.

Two stacks of fluffy pancakes – a healthy dollop of chocolate spread on Sarah’s, and Ellie’s drizzled in golden syrup. Shards of strawberry and slices of banana scattered over the towers; blobs of whipped cream like clouds.

And on top of each, in clumsy sprinkle letters: Duckie and Nellie.

Sarah grins, two front teeth brand new and beautiful. She picks up her cutlery and raps them against the table, a nervous jitter about her.

You realize, just as her eyes flicker across yours, that she’s not beaming at her pancakes.

You realize, as he sways over to your side, that she’s beaming at him.

He’s holding two more plates. He sets his own down, a messy crater carved into the chocolate.

Your brows pull. “What happened –?”

“Bill happened,” he scoffs, shooting Ellie daggers.

She’s too busy tearing her stack apart, mixing a paste from syrup and cooked batter. There are few things the kid loves more than food and mess – and nothing she loves more than both at the same time.

She looks out of her mind happy, smothering the glossy mixture all over her cheeks, chewing in contentment.

“Like ‘em?” Joel asks, and you glance up.

“Yeah,” you laugh, eyes welling, “I love them. What’s the occasion, Miller?”

“Just…” his head wobbles as he considers it, “…we wanted to ask you somethin’.”

You turn to Sarah.

She’s still smiling, wider than you’ve ever seen. So bright that you worry she might shatter the glassware on the table.

“We?” you ask, smiling much the same.

She gives nothing away, and yet, at the same time – everything. Her knee bounces with excitement. Her breathing quickens.

“You wanna read yours?” Joel asks, tilting the plate in his hand.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No,” you sniff, “I’m scared.”

He lowers the plate.

The letters blur in and out of focus as you blink.

Red, green, yellow, pink. The second M is an upside-down W. The Rs lean into each other, chocolate pushing from the middle of the letters. A question mark crafted from a C and half of another letter.

Your lungs jump, though you knew it was coming. Though you’ve talked about it for months, now.

Let’s just get it outta the way, make it easier for the girls when we’re older. Few forms to fill out then it’s done. We don’t gotta make a big deal of it.

Can’t afford to make a big deal of it, anyway.

Wouldn’t want to make a big deal of it.

You’ve never been one for big deals.

This is a big deal. This is a big fucking deal, Joel.

All multicolored, flecks of whipped cream on them. Silly little alphabet letters.

Marry me?

Joel kneels as you swivel around to him. He kisses your cheek, takes your hands, rubs his thumbs across your knuckles.

“Look,” he says, voice trembling, “I know we said we wouldn’t make a big deal of it. But…you gotta let me make a big deal of it, honey. You gotta let me make a big deal of you.”

You laugh, tears spilling down the front of your shirt. Your heart is pounding, body alight with nerves or excitement or both, in one lightning bolt of feeling.

It’s everything you ever wanted, and nothing you ever expected.

“Everything I have –” Joel says, “– the kids, the house, the dog – I found it all with you. Because of you. I love you so much, and I can’t – I can’t take another minute that we’re not…”

His hands squeeze yours, and you swear you feel your pulses align. Beating together, two hearts on the same bassline.

He swipes the tears from your cheek, catches them in his palm. “…It don’t have to mean anything, I know that – but you, darlin’…you mean everything. What do you say we go do it?”

It’s the easiest thing in the world. And not just because you knew it was coming, knew to expect it soon enough.

Joel could’ve asked you the minute you found out you were pregnant with Sarah, and you reckon you would’ve said yes.

It’s easy. Loving him is so easy. Being with him is so fucking easy.

Coffee at sunrise, low volume TV in the bedroom. Skin and sheets, marks on your neck and chest and thighs. Laughter for breakfast, homework for dinner. Two bodies squeezing into one tiny shower cubicle, Joel’s hand over your mouth to muffle your giggles.

“Today,” you whisper, cupping his jaw. “I want to do it today.”

“Today?” his eyes flash over your shoulder to his daughters, “We gotta take the girls to –”

“No, we don’t,” your head shakes, “Do we have a marriage license?”

“Got it last week.”

“Then they come with. We get all dressed up, all four of us, and head down to the courthouse. We’re married by the end of the day.”

He laughs, loose and disbelieving. Shakes himself back into the room. “Today,” he repeats. “As in, right now?”

“Right now, baby.”

“Okay. Yeah, alright. Today.”

“Ask me.”

Joel’s cheeks lift. Tears disappear into his beard.

You lean forward, lining your forehead against his. “Ask me, Miller,” you whisper.

It’s no big deal. It’s a regular Wednesday. Packed lunches and dinosaurs with Nutella in their teeth.

It’s no big deal, but when he asks you, time stops.

“Will you marry me?”

“Fuck yeah, I will.”

Sarah takes forty-five minutes to apply your mascara, some powder, and a pink lip. She promises she’s being neat, and you tell her you don’t care – you’ll love it either way.

She says she knows, but she promises she is anyway.

Ellie curls up in your lap and twists your necklace around her fingers. She asks four times if her spacesuit is dry yet.

“Ellie,” Sarah warns – and you know it’s serious when she uses her sister’s real name – “You can’t wear a costume to a wedding.”

“Mama is!”

“No she ain’t! Brides are s’posed to wear white. Mama’s dress ain’t white. What you got on is fine,” she decides.

Ellie knows better than to keep arguing. She catches her heel in her hands, huffing. “Wanted to be an ass-traut.”

You catch Sarah’s eye. Don’t.

She bites her giggle.

“You are an astronaut,” you squeeze your toddler, “Our astronaut. Whether you’re in your spacesuit, or you got your big bare butt out for us all to see.”

She giggles into herself, a sound sweet enough to convince the sun to rise at dawn. Her baby teeth are small and wonky. She snorts, settles in your arms again, and watches Sarah lean in with the lipstick.

You lift your chin, holding steady. “Is Dad ready?”

She pauses, letting go of her breath. “He says he’s been ready the last half hour,” she mutters, and dabs more color on.

“Is he nervous?”

Her eyes lift. Eyelashes long and thick – black mascara that you made her pinkie swear she’d wipe clean the moment she gets home.

She smirks. It’s like looking in a mirror. “Are you?”

You press your lips together, blending the pink. “Little bit. You think that’s a good sign?”

“Mhm.”

Sarah straightens, capping the lipstick. She smiles at her masterpiece. “You look beautiful, Mama.”

“Well,” your chest fills, “I’m only beautiful ‘cause you made me that way, Duck.”

Joel’s voice sails upstairs and into the little pink room.

“Courthouse is closin’, sun’s almost down, they’re diggin’ my damn grave already. Are we good to go, or what?”

Sarah grins and leaps over an upturned toybox in the middle of her room. She pirouettes out to the landing, pursing and then smacking her lips together.

You fix Ellie’s skirt and lead her out after her sister. “’s go, Nellie.”

“Mama,” she tugs at the fabric, “I gotta…Need…need…”

“Shit,” you whisper, watching the ballerina twirl downstairs to her dad. “Uh…Duckie?”

“Hi, pretty Duck,” Joel calls, catching her in his arms. He spins her around and the skirt of her dress billows.

Her little heels click when he lets her down. She keeps on spinning, watching herself in the mirror.

“Baby?” Joel calls. “Y’all ready?”

“Nel’s gotta go!” you reply.

He scoffs. “She nervous or som’?”

“Or som’,” you sigh, walking the kid into the bathroom.

Ellie takes about as long as a three-year-old should, to be fair to her. It requires an amount of determination that right now, neither of you have the focus to lend it. Potty training doesn’t wait up, even for weddings.

Eventually, she announces with a triumphant shout that she’s done, Mama! – and claps her hands as the toilet flushes.

You carry her downstairs, heels clunking on the solid wood. At the bottom you set her free – and she sprints out to join her sister on the lawn.

The pair run circles around one another. They cartwheel on the grass; they race Shimmer and use the flowerbeds as hurdles. They dirty their dresses – ivory stained with bursts of green – though they look better that way, anyway.

They take turns playing Swingball with the only remaining racket (a mysterious disappearance that neither will own up to, and both are most certainly involved in). Sarah tells Ellie that she won – and the smaller girl throws her fists in the air and roars in victory.

Joel stands on the porch, hands in his pockets, watching. Even from behind, you can see the shape of his cheeks: he’s smiling. He crosses one foot over the other and taps his heel against the wood.

You emerge from the house slowly, quietly. “We didn’t get matching corsages this time,” you say, and he turns.

He starts, as though he glitches for a second. As though his world tilts on its axis, just from looking at you. His expression softens, his lips curve into a smile.

Then he breathes a laugh – a shaky thing, like he’s seventeen again, watching his homecoming date saunter over.

“That’s alright,” he replies, and slips a hand into his suit pocket. He fishes out two white tulips. “Remembered Alice dropped these off the other day. Here.”

Delicately, lighter than the breeze, he tucks the flower behind your ear. He steps back to admire his work, just like his daughter did.

All the best parts of you, you reckon, are the parts that are loved by them.

“How do I look?” you ask.

Joel sucks in a shattered breath. “Beautiful,” he chokes, like it’s all his voice will allow. He sniffs, drags his knuckles across the bottom of his nose, and says, “You ain’t never looked more beautiful.”

“Your turn.”

You take the second tulip from his fingers and drop it into his breast pocket, turning it until it looks perfect. “There,” you pat his chest, “Now we both look beautiful.”

He steps forward, dipping his head to kiss you. Arms around your waist, hands splayed on your back. He laughs against your lips. “Don’t think I don’t know what this is,” he mumbles, tugging at the pale material.

“It still fits!” you say, running a palm down the smooth silk. Flashes of light, a squealing guitar, heated kisses and a thudding bassline. It spins past your eyes as he leans in again.

He tastes the same. Less alcohol, sure – but that same, sweet-as-honey, instantly intoxicating taste. Like you were a goner before you even hit the mattress.

You look back up, and Joel’s eyes are on yours.

“After two kids, it still fits,” you whisper.

“Hm,” he muses, glancing down. His hands slip around your ass. “Looks even better than it did then, Mama.”

You laugh against his lips. “It’s my something blue.”

“Oh, yeah?” He lifts an eyebrow. “What else you got?”

“Well, something borrowed –” you hold your left hand up, a plastic ring glinting in the sunlight, “– Duck gave me some of her finest jewelry. Something new –” you wiggle your earlobe, “– Mother’s Day earrings, and…something old…”

Joel tilts his head. His expression tightens, tightens, tightens – until he understands. He clicks his teeth and steps back. “Funny. You’re so funny, I ever tell you that?”

You giggle, letting him drag you across the porch. “I’m just bein’ realistic, man. What else do I got that’s as old as you?”

He ignores you. It makes you laugh even harder.

It always did.

The wind surfs through silk, lifting your skirt as you stride over the driveway. Your hands stay interlocked – and you know that, secretly, Joel’s as nervous as you.

He whistles and his daughters look up.

“Serena, Venus,” he calls, nodding to the truck. “Get in.”

They skip over. Sarah takes her dad’s hand – the picture of royalty as he aids her up into the backseat – and Ellie swings into your arms.

You strap them in, point fingers to warn them not to bicker, and climb in the front.

The doors slam closed and you exhale slowly. Two kids aren’t any more complicated than one – especially in yours and Joel’s case – but holy shit, they’re tiring.

They compare dresses in the backseat. What color is yours, Duck? Pink, Nel. Is mine’s pink, Duck? Yours is yellow, Nel.

Joel’s hand slips around your knee. He smiles. Gives your leg a little squeeze. He flicks the radio on, and an Eagles track sways through the cabin. He fixes the tulip in your hair, peppers kisses along your wrist.

His voice is as soft as Henley’s, when he asks –

“Wanna go to a wedding?”

#something of a love letter to ellie williams ig #chats #anon #fic: sweet child o' mine #joel miller ficlet #joel miller #joel miller x reader

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 7 months ago

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hey ari, i’m truly having an awful night. there’s a free pass for anything that involves someone being protective against a shitty guardian/parental figure. i wish jason todd would’ve kicked my dads ass tonight.

Lee took to Alfred much more warmly, peppering him with little boy questions about dinosaurs and oddly enough... piccolos? Which made the butler wonder if there was not a single neurotypical person in the entire family.

Adorable. He was enchanted. All dimples and curls. He'd carried Alfred a mug of tea managing to only spill half of it on the floor for the boxer and the wolf hound. And to get under your feet nearly causing you to fall twice- managing to get exiled to play outside with his dog.

It was a lovely afternoon. Watching Jason be so... soft. So helplessly in love with his wife and his children. Excited to be a new father. He enjoyed doting on his wife and fussing over his kids. He was comfortable in the vintage kitchen and the narrow halls. He liked the routine. Coming home to something stable.

When you started stretching your back in your kitchen chair, Jason smiled a little, "C'mon, let's get you on the couch."

"I'm fine, I just needed to-"

"Let's please not have to take you back to the hospital," Jason coaxed, helping you to your feet. "I'll tell Lee he needs to run in sight of the bay window every so often."

You snort and let him help you, grateful that he's strong enough to catch you if you need him to. It's comforting. He's comforting. Between his bulk beside you and Boris behind you. By the time he has you on the sofa you already feel better. At least until your phone rang.

"Hello?"

Jason frowned. He could tell from the look on your face who it was and he got Alfred seated listening with half an ear. Your biological father wanted money. Again. Either to have it put on his books or your sisters.

It hardly mattered. The divorce happened. Battle lines got drawn. You chose mom Mandy chose dad. Now you raised Mandy's kids and got "everything handed to you" as far as she could tell. Never mind trusts and adoptions. Or love. Or duty.

He gave Alfred a meaningful look and took a deep breath. Your biological dad and your sister were both banned. They both had no contact orders. And the second they upset you he'd be hanging up.

Your voice cracked. And tears fell.

And gently but firmly Jason plucked the phone from your hand, "If you're that fucking worried about Mandy's books use store brand instead of name brand for your meth and cut costs. Figure it out. Call here again and I'll report you to your PO." But before he could reply he hung up.

"Jay-"

"Shh," he soothed, "don't cry baby girl."

"God I hate it."

"I know," he hummed, wrapping his arms around you. "But you're doing good. Just breathe." He broke off and wiped your face, kissing your forehead, "I can't get you a shot but I can get the baby a snack," he teased, "what do they want?"

"Milk chocolate sea salt caramel truffles," you tell him.

He grinned and kissed your nose before standing up, "Alfred, did you feel up to going to the store with me or do you want to stay and keep Y/N company?"

"Well obviously," Alfred said sipping a fresh cup of tea, "I'm going to stay here and be nosey."

"Ky it is," Jason said, "I'll take a kid and a grocery list... then maybe we won't come home with half the cereal aisle."

"We hope," you tell him smiling.

"Shh," Jason said. "Be nice to me and I'll buy more than one bag of truffles."

"You should probably do that anyway," Alfred observed. "For practical reasons."

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #disowned!verse

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wnobin · 10 months ago

Text

dinosaurs and bears 🦕

childhood crush! anton x fem! reader

genre: fluff, slightly suggestive

chapter synopsis: anton’s friends get tired of neither of you making a move on each other.

intro | part one | part two | part three | part four (final!)

“shh shut the- shut the fuck up, okay?”

“she’s gonna hear us—”

you awoke to the sound of muffled bickering, rubbing your eyes tiredly as you looked around for anton. you both had fallen asleep on each other after a long night of catching up and now he was nowhere to be found. you begrudgingly got out of bed, still half asleep and barely processing the voices on the other side of the door. opening the door slightly, you peeked out with bleary eyes to see anton and two other guys, one with long hair and one wearing a beanie.

anton hadn’t noticed that you were awake already, still busy trying to shush and get the other boys to leave. just then, you made eye contact with the male with long hair, his eyes widening when he saw you as he let out an audible gasp, finger lifting to point in your direction. anton whipped his head around and met your eyes, his cheeks red and he was clearly flustered. you hid behind the door awkwardly, still disheveled from just waking up, dressed in one of anton’s oversized shirts and a pair of his shorts. now all three boys had their eyes on you. “is that y/n?!” the male with the beanie excitedly waved to you, about to start approaching you but was quickly stopped by anton placing his palm against his chest. “sohee, no.” sohee pouted as you shyly waved to him, still feeling out of place in the entire situation. you weren’t sure what exactly you were supposed to do so you slowly closed the door and went to sit back down on anton’s bed, waiting for him to kick his friends out. you covered your face with your hands, embarrassed by the whole situation.

oh my god why did i close the door, i should’ve gone out to say hi. your cheeks were burning and you fidgeted with your fingers as you anxiously waited for him to return.

“hey…” anton finally came back after what seemed like hours, his cheeks still red. his hair was still messy and it seemed like he woke up not long before you did. he looks pretty even when he just wakes up.

“soooo…”

“so… my friends came to borrow a charger and they have this bad habit of barging into my apartment�� fuckin’ wonbin…”

you couldn’t help but to giggle at how anton put his head in his hands, groaning as he fell back onto the bed. you patted his thigh, reassuring him that it was okay. “they’re probably used to seeing girls in your dorm, huh?”

“dummy. you’re the first and only girl that’s been inside my dorm.” anton pulled his hands away, turning to look at you with a boyish grin, pulling your arm to make you fall back and lay with him. “anyways. they said they wanna get to know you so… do you wanna hang out with us? totally fine if you don’t want to and i can get you a ride home or something—”

“i want to go. i promise. and it would be better if i got a chance to introduce myself when i’m not half awake with drool on my cheeks.” anton giggled and swiped his thumb on your cheek while you whined and tried to push him away.

“you look cute even with drool on your cheeks.”

here you were, getting ready to meet anton’s group of friends. so far you had met eunseok, wonbin and sohee. you weren’t planning on staying at anton’s for this long so all your outfits were based on what in his closet would fit you. you were wearing one of his hoodies and a pair of his grey sweats. you wondered if you could steal his hoodie and bring it back home with you.

details of that morning ran through anton’s mind, cheeks burning up as he recalled how adorable you looked dressed in his clothes, all sleepy and rubbing your eyes. you look pretty even when you just woke up. he still wasn’t sure how to approach the topic or how he would even confess. sure, sungchan would tell him that you would never reject him and that shooting his shot wouldn’t hurt but what if it did? what if you didn’t feel the same and your friendship was ruined? he didn’t have time to think about it anymore, his friends were gonna arrive soon so he just pushed his thoughts to the back of his head, instead choosing to admire how pretty you looked in his hoodie.

you were fidgeting with the strings of it, looking slightly nervous. anton knew of all your little habits when you got anxious, the way you chew on your bottom lip and it would get all red, and the way you pick at your nails, like how you were doing now. he grabbed your hand, holding it tightly in an attempt to get you to stop. instead of getting flustered over anton holding your hand, you felt comfortable instead. anton always knew exactly how to soothe you and get you to relax.

“i just went to get a charger from him and i opened the door to them cuddled up together!”

“im not lying, i swear she was wearing anton’s clothes!”

wonbin and sohee talked over each other as the group of them walked over to anton’s dorm room, the other boys giggling and coming up with ways to tease anton about it. “i bet she’s wearing his clothes again,” sohee said to the rest as sungchan knocked on the door which swung open to reveal anton in a black hoodie and grey sweats while you wore an almost identical outfit, except with a white hoodie instead. “told you so” sohee mouthed to the boys as they entered anton’s dorm.

you guys ordered in some food and drinks and spent the day watching movies and talking. the boys were particularly interested in what anton was like growing up.

“has he always been this soft spoken?”

“tell us embarrassing stories of younger anton! we’ll tell you about the time he fell into the pool when he was drunk!”

anton would groan and jokingly tell them to shut up or he would kick them out but that only made the guys laugh harder. “what’s anton like when he’s drunk?” you were curious as to what the drunk side of anton looked like, you had never seen him in that state as he only tried drinking when he got to college. it wasn’t something he did often, he just enjoyed drinking with his group of friends during special occasions, like the end of the semester.

“drunk anton is… well it’s not that different from normal anton!” seunghan starts, leaning closer to the focus of the conversation, pinching anton’s cheek. “you would think he gets louder but he’s still as soft spoken! he gets a bit more talkative but he mostly just rambles on about you.” he talks about me when he’s drunk? anton playfully slaps seunghan’s back and pushes him away, mumbling some half-hearted threats about killing him but you didn’t hear it at all. all you could focus on was the fact that you’re on his mind at his most vulnerable. anton’s cheeks and tips of his ears were beginning to turn red and he tried to avoid eye contact with you, who was staring straight at him.

desperately changing the conversation, anton brought up the fact that you would be starting college here next semester and all the attention turned back to you. he mentioned that you would be studying communications, which was the same as sungchan. “i’ll make sure to take good care of her for you,” sungchan joked and patted your back, waiting to see anton’s reaction. anton gave the older male a death stare and made sure sungchan knew that he was glaring at him, not breaking eye contact even when the other giggled and looked away.

“i’m gonna make them get together tonight. trust me.” sungchan whispered to wonbin, confident that his plan would work out.

“$50 if you do manage to do that.”

“deal.”

sungchan believed that he could do it, anton just needed a push. wonbin didn’t think anton could take the first step and would end up waiting for you to do so.

sungchan spent the rest of the day trying to get closer to you in attempt to provoke a reaction out of anton. brushing your arm lightly, stealing your phone and placing it above his head while you struggled to get it back. all while anton glared at him with a clenched jaw, taking your phone back for you. after all, he was still the taller one despite being younger.

what does he think he’s doing? he was the one that said we were perfect for each other. there’s no way you were falling for it anyways. sungchan isn’t your type.

anton remained composed, knowing that sungchan was just trying to tease him. meanwhile, you seemed to barely respond to his actions and wonbin was confident that the $50 would be his and sungchan was beginning to run out of ideas.

“y/n, wanna play spin the bottle?” sungchan held up his empty coke bottle and smirked at you, quickly glancing over at anton who started to get up, snatching the bottle from him and throwing it aside.

“absolutely not.”

anton grabbed your hand and pulled you up, dragging you to his room and closing the door behind you. his grip on you was tight yet still gentle. “sorry, i don’t know why he’s doing that…”

“well, he was just joking, wasn’t he? nothing wrong with that…”

you looked up at anton who had a slight look of annoyance on his face, but it wasn’t directed at you. he was annoyed at sungchan for touching you and teasing you. he was annoyed at himself for getting jealous over you when you weren’t his.

“you don’t get it. he doesn’t get to touch your arm like that or tease you about your height or take your things and make you flustered. that’s my job.” you cocked your head to the side at his words, trying to hold yourself back from blushing and folding. you weren’t going to let him off that easily, you wanted anton to say that he liked you. that you’re his. “why is that your job?”

while you both were stood in anton’s room, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, the boys had their ears pressed to the wall, shushing each other. “sohee, shut up and stop giggling, i can’t hear anything!”

anton took a step closer to you, heart banging against his ribs as he took a deep breath. he knew that you were trying to get a specific response from him and he was gathering his courage to say it.

“it’s my job to take care of you and tease you and make you blush because i like you. it’s always been you. there hasn’t been anyone else in my heart since you stepped into my life.”

his hands were cupping your cheeks now, and you had no other choice but to look into his eyes as he confessed to you. your mouth went dry and you swear your heart was beating so loudly that anton could hear it. “i like you too. i’ve liked you for years and there’s no one else i wanted to be with except for you. i studied so hard just so we could be in the same college and we wouldn’t have to be apart. i love you, anton.”

all hesitance and nervousness ceased from anton’s face, the corners of his lips turning into a small smile. he pressed his lips to your forehead, thumbs gently swiping over the apples of your cheeks. “believe me when i say that i love you more.”

you felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. you no longer had to pretend like anton’s mere existence didn’t make you crumble. you were in love with him and he was just as in love as you were.

“told you i could do it, wonbin.”

“ugh, fine! can i get an installment plan for that $50.”

#anton fluff #anton imagines #anton lee #riize #riize anton x reader #riize fluff #riize imagines #riize x reader #riize anton

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w2soneshots · 5 months ago

Text

My boy -Angry ginge

words: 0.6k+

warnings: none.

summary: you and Ginge spend a fluffy day together as boyfriend and girlfriend, along with him being absolutely whipped.

notes: hello loves! I’ve had so many people ask for more angry ginge fics so here you go🫶🏼. I hope you enjoy!!🙂💓 (also send in requests because I’ve just written them all!)

"Morning beautiful." Morgan whispered as my eyes fluttered open. I smiled. "Good morning." My voice was croaky as I had just woken up. "How'd you sleep?" He asked, playing with my hair as he stared into my eyes. I sighed contently. "Like a baby." He smiled, pulling me into him so that my head was buried into his chest. I wrapped my arms around him. "We should really get up." He spoke quietly into my ear. "Mhm- five more minutes." I sleepily groaned. He chuckled.

Ten minutes later we got up. "I'm gonna take a shower. Care to join me?" I turned to him. He smirked. I walked towards the bathroom and he followed swiftly behind. I got undressed out of my pyjamas and he did the same. Now both completely naked we got into the shower. I turned around to grab the body wash and sponge. I poured some of the coconut scented soap onto the sponge then proceeded to glide it across my body. "Here let me do that." He smiled at me. It wasn't sexual at all just a boyfriend taking care of his girlfriend.

Once we were finished I wrapped myself in a towel and he did the same, tying it around his hips. "What do you wanna do today?" He asked as I plopped back down on the bed. He sat next to me, putting his arm around my shoulders. "Um- that new restaurant just opened down the road, fancy going there for lunch?" I turned my head up to look at him. "Yeah! Let's do that."

I slowly got ready. Drying and styling my hair, applying some makeup and picking out one of my favourite outfits. "Wow. You look lovely." He held both of my hands as he admired me, making a rose coloured blush spread across my cheeks. "Don't look too bad yourself." He was wearing a simple white t-shirt with some black pants. I moved past him, going to put on my shoes. Soon we were headed out the door and getting into his car.

When we arrived at the restaurant we got a table and sat down. The waitress came over to ask what we wanted to drink. "A coke please." Morgan said. "Yeah, I'll have the same. Thank you." She smiled politely then walked away. "Do you know what you want?" I asked as we scanned the menus. "I want whatever that guys got over there, it looks bangin." I followed his eye line to see a man eating a beef burger. I laughed. "You're so predictable."

After choosing what we wanted the waitress came back over and we ordered. "Do you remember when we first started dating and I took you too that dinosaur museum?" I chuckled. "Yeah I do. That's the day I knew that I loved you." I replied. "What? Really?" "Mhm. You got so excited about the keychains and I was watching you thinking 'I wanna be with that man for the rest of my life'" we smiled wildly at each other. "I thought it was when you saw my massive hog." My eyes widened. "Morgan! Shh." I giggled.

Once we'd finished eating our food and Morgan payed the bill, we left. He held my hand as we walked to the car, rushing to open my door for me when we got there. "Such a gentleman!" I pecked his lips then slid into the passenger seat. We were home within minutes and I kicked my shoes off.

We sat on the couch, scrolling through our phones. His head rested on my stomach. Every day was amazing with Morgan, we didn't have to do anything crazy because my favourite moments are when we're doing nothing but enjoying each other's company.

#angry ginge #angryginge13 #ginge #morgan burtwistle #angry ginge x reader #ginge x reader #youtuber x reader #british youtubers #fanfic #image #oneshot #x fem!reader #x female reader #x y/n #x you #x reader #fluff

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ashwhowrites · 1 year ago

Note

From the prompt list for fluff can I request 21 and 22?

Did you just call me sweetheart?”

“I can keep you company till you fall asleep”

Of course! I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting <3

Bedtime Angel

Eddie didn't like to admit to anyone he struggled to sleep after the events he faced in the upside down. His body was covered in scars, along with his brain. He couldn't sleep in the dark, he felt embarrassed when he bought a night light. The cashier eyed him weirdly as she scanned the small dinosaur light.

But that small light brought him so much relief. He had it right next to his bed, the bright white light lit up his room. He removed the doors in his closet, he needed to see exactly what was on the inside. He kept all corners of his room clean, he made sure nothing was able to hide in his room.

Wayne wasn't sure where his nephew disappeared too, but he understood he went through some type of trauma. Wayne supplied more night lights throughout their new trailer. He kept the bathroom light on always, he didn't care how expensive the electricity bill was. He'd do anything to make Eddie feel safe again.

After the events, Eddie found himself needing one person only. Y/N, someone he had no idea existed until the gang brought her as a backup in the upside down. She was gorgeous and fearless. She was supposed to bike with Dustin back to the trailer for safety, but once Eddie went down she froze. She screamed at Dustin to get the group while she raced back to Eddie.

Eddie was prepared to die, and he accepted that. He didn't have anything to live for. And dying a hero sounded comforting enough to let go. As he bled out, and scrunched his eyes shut he felt hands on his body. Someone cradled his head as a piece of fabric was pushed against his cuts. The bats left, it was just him and her.

"Go." He mumbled, his eyes peered up. Her worried eyes were focused on keeping him alive.

"Shh, it's okay. Dustin is getting help. I'm not leaving you. I'm Y/N." She said she wanted to get his mind off the pain, she knew introducing herself sounded dumb but she didn't want to be a stranger to him. She wasn't sure if he'd survive and she wanted him to die with a friend.

Eddie remembered her voice trialing in and out as he tried to stay awake. She talked about herself, her likes and dislikes. In a way, it was comforting for Eddie. He felt like he was meeting someone and getting to know them. He didn't feel like he was lying on the ground, seconds away from death. In a way, he felt alive.

"It was nice to meet you Y/N." He said, her smile faded as the blackness took over his vision.

~~~

Ever since then, he called her all the time. She was his angel. He truly felt like she saved him that night. Even though the events happened two months ago, she answered every time. She came over and talked to him throughout the day. They gained a friendship, and along the way, he felt a crush forming on her.

She always left at bedtime, believing all this time Eddie was getting the rest he needed. No idea he tossed and turned, his eyes afraid to close.

But too many restless nights showed. His face was pale, and his eyes were sunken in. Big purple bags underneath his red eyes.

"Eddie, have you been sleeping?" She asked, dropping her coat on the floor as she walked back over to him. She was prepared to leave, at the same time as always. But she couldn't help but feel like Eddie needed her.

"No." He said honestly, too exhausted to lie.

"Are you scared?" She asked. She wasn't teasing or mocking him. Her voice was soft and worried. She generally was asking and Eddie felt like a little kid with their mom. What a way to impress a girl he liked.

She could sense Eddie didn't want to answer. His embarrassed face and eyes faced down to his bed.

"Oh, sweetheart!" She cooed, she crawled into the bed, sitting up against his headboard. She patted her lap, and he silently followed her direction. He moved his body to rest against her, his head on her lap as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“I can keep you company till you fall asleep," she said, Eddie was too tired to answer. He allowed his body to melt into his bed. His brain shut off as her hands rubbed his head. Her nails scratched through his curls in the most calming way he'd ever felt.

"Did you just call me sweetheart?” he mumbled, a tired yawn leaving his lips.

"Yes." She said, and she had no shame about it.

His stomach fluttered and a tiny smile stretched across his lips.

For once, he wasn't afraid to go to sleep.

The bright dinosaur nightlight shined throughout his room. He was surrounded by light and his angel.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson fluff x female reader #eddie munson fluff blurb #eddie munson fluff #ashwhowrites

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kitkatscabinet · 1 year ago

Text

The greatest reward

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F! reader

Summary: With a four year old son and a sick baby there's little time to rest, especially when your husband's been so busy with work.

Word count: 721

"Being a parent was the greatest reward in the world" Whoever had coined that statement had obviously never been awoken at 2 in the morning to the dissatisfied screams of a baby.

A broken sob left your throat at the sound, vision blurring as you attempted to get out of bed to rectify the situation. The creaking of your door and a tired little voice alerting you to a new presence, "Mum, the baby's crying again." Your son's voice was as tiredly frustrated as you felt and nearly drew another sob from your lips.

Usually, your little Emilia slept through the night but she'd been suffering from a particularly stubborn ear infection lately. Miguel had been so busy with the swarm of anomalies recently that you'd been left to shoulder most of the burden the past few days.

Just as you reached the threshold of your bedroom door, hand reaching for your son, your vision was obscured by your husband's bulk.

"Miguel" your voice cracked, face scrunching up in a desperate attempt to stop the flow of tears.

"Papa!" your son shouted, all tiredness abruptly gone at the return of the father that had been absent the past few days. Miguel didn't even flinch at the sudden armful of four-year-old he had. You all but fell into Miguel's arms after that, the dam broken.

A warm kiss was pressed into your hairline as a large hand caressed the side of your face. Letting out a shaky exhale, you leaned further into his touch, closing your eyes as you tried to savour the moment.

Emilia's cries quickly shattered the moment forcing a whine to escape from your lips, however, before you could take another step Miguel was gently pushing you back to bed.

"Shh my vida, go back to sleep."

"But-" you were quickly cut off by a gentle hand pushing your shoulders back down and pulling the blanket over your form.

"No, rest. You've done more than enough, it's my turn now." With those words, the little fight you still possessed was drained. You barely had the sense to offer a grateful smile before you were pulled into slumber.

You don't notice the next time Emilia starts to cry, or the time after that. The rest of your night and well into the next afternoon you spend nearly catatonic. When you do wake to an empty room and silent house you panic, darting upright and bursting into the living room blindly.

"Mama!" the call is the only warning you get before it's your turn to receive an arm full of toddler. This was quickly followed by Miguel's admonishing voice.

"Carlos, let your mother breathe." Your son pouts but is quick to stop squeezing you, walking back over to try and entice his little sister into playing with the toy dinosaurs scattered across the floor.

Slinking across the room, you fall into your husband's open embrace, letting out a sigh of contentment. "Sorry for sleeping in so long. You should've woken me" you murmured, wrapping your arms around his waist, voice slightly muffled from where your face buried itself in his thigh.

"Nonsense. I should be apologising, leaving you here all alone." You shake your head, still too sleepy to properly respond. The warm circles Miguel was drawing over your back not helping your battle to stay awake. Your silence stretched on, only interrupted by the nonsensical babbles of your son.

"Mama!" the peace is broken by the excited call, as you sit up abruptly in shock. Glancing at where your children were playing you were met with the sight of your daughter, making grabby hands your way.

"Did she just-" you were cut off once more by the repeated call.

"Mama!" Immediately you were laughing in joy, bouncing to your feet and bundling her in your arms. Her shrieks of laughter joined your own as you peppered her face in little kisses. Miguel wasn't far behind, scooping both you and Emilia up into his arms with a twirl. The laughter was interrupted once more by the little voice. "Pa!"

Seeing the awed look of adoration on your husband's face at that instantly made all the sleepless nights worth it. All the screaming, crying and doctor's visit. They were all worth it. Especially with a man like Miguel O'Hara by your side.

#x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara

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hyunjins-orange-slice-too · 7 months ago

Text

pairing: soft dom/needy/chan x implied chubby/fem reader

genre: a little bit of fluff- a little bit of smut

word count: ~1.5k

synopsis: Chan gets home late from the studio to find you sleeping, but he needs you.

warnings: somnophilia?- pet names- very brief oral (f. receiving)- unprotected sex- mentions of masturbation-

masterlist

Chan was finally done at the studio. Everyone knew he was a workaholic but even he felt like he overdid it tonight. He had texted you earlier in the evening to apologize and let you know he would be home late. But late, was an understatement. It was 4am and he was just now getting in the car to head home to you. He was exhausted and was so ready to see you and wrap you up in his arms. He was so stressed about the impending comeback, and all of his deadlines, but you took that stress away from him. He had to force himself to put you out of his mind tonight, he had to get his work done. But now that he was in the back of the car, being driven home, he let his mind think of you again. He wondered if you had a good night, wondered if you had eaten, what had you done before bed? Had you watched that kdrama you were so invested in? He couldn’t wait to hear you talk all about the new episode. Had you showered before bed? Or had you taken a hot bath? He loved the smell of your skin after a bath, he could smell it in his nose even now, it smelled like eucalyptus. But thinking of you in the bath, rubbing your body wash into your soft skin, up your stomach and around your breasts, he had a tent in his pants. He adjusted himself discreetly in the back seat. Had you thought about him while you were in the bath? Had you touched yourself? His mind conjured an image of you, bubbles all around, your hand in between your legs rubbing soft circles. He closed his eyes and reclined his head on the headrest. Imaginary you had your eyes tightly shut as you chased your high, soft moans of his name falling from your lips. His erection was growing painful. He needed to get home to you, now.

He knew when he got there that you would be asleep. You always tried to stay up and wait for him, even when he asked you not to, but you always failed. He unlocked the door and entered the apartment to find you slumped over on the couch, snoring softly. You were so cute. But you looked terribly uncomfortable. He approached you and took a moment to just look at you. You were so sweet. Your hair was a mess, splayed across the couch cushion. You had your arm tucked under you, supporting your head. You wore one of his tshirts and it just about swallowed you whole. He could see your dinosaur printed sleep shorts peeking out from under the hem of the shirt and he smiled. He loved you so much. You shorts were barely shorts though, and your ass was practically hanging out. He was reminded of his predicament. He palmed himself through his pants. He bent down and scooped you up into his arms, carrying you to the bedroom. You curled involuntarily into his chest, snuggling up under his chin. His heart gave a squeeze. He carefully placed you on the bed and your sweet eyes fluttered open.

"Channie?" You mumbled, sleepily.

"Shh shh baby, go back to sleep." He gave your head a few pets before placing a kiss on your forehead.

Your shirt had ridden up, exposing your soft tummy to him. He removed his clothing before he crawled on the bed, straddling your drowsy frame. He slowly ran his hands up your thighs, over your sleep shorts and wrapped them around your waist. He gave you a gentle squeeze, thumbs stroking softly across your bare skin. He let his hands wander further up, disappearing under your shirt, fingertips grazing the underside of your breast. He inhaled sharply as his cock twitched, standing at attention and leaking precum from the tip. He lifted your shirt up to your chin, exposing your chest. He would never get tired of seeing your full tits, nipples hard from the sudden exposure to the air. He leaned down and kissed the left one, leaving a little trail of kisses down to your nipple, which he gave a soft lick.

You stirred. "Mm." You moaned. You eyes fluttered open again, gazing down at Chan. "Missed you Channie." You said quietly, words slurring together with sleep, eyes falling back shut.

He smiled that beautiful, bright smile of his. "I missed you too baby." He kissed your right breast now. "I need you, sweetheart." He pulled your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. You let out another mmm but your eyes remained closed. "So sleepy, huh baby?" You weakly nodded. "That’s okay, just let me use you, yeah?" He asked, returning to sucking on your nipple. "Let me use your little pussy, I’ve had a long day. Let me release some tension." He kissed down your soft, cushiony body, bringing his face to your pelvis. He pulled your shorts down your legs and discarded them on the floor, revealing your leaking pussy. "Always so wet and ready for me, princess." He whispered. "Such a good girl, even ready in her sleep. Anytime I want you, yeah?" He licked a stripe through your folds, relishing in the taste of you. It only made his cock angrier.

"Fuck.." he moaned to himself. He would have to taste you more later. Right now, he couldn’t wait any longer. He lined himself up with your entrance and looked up at your peaceful face. You were so beautiful, your slow breathing gently raising your tits higher for him, you nipples still hard. He lightly squeezed them. You turned your head to the other side, eyes still closed, cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted. He leaned down and kissed your neck, before slowly sliding himself inside you. You were so tight. He groaned quietly. Fuck, he needed this. Needed to completely loose himself in his baby. He grabbed your soft hips and started pumping in and out of you.

Your hands, that were relaxed at your sides moments ago, now gripped the sheets. He hated waking you when you were so sweet and peaceful, but he needed this so bad. Needed you so bad. He needed this release, needed your sweet body wrapped around him. You soft thighs wrapped around his waist now, and your eyes slowly opened. The sight above you was one you were always grateful to wake up to. His hands on either side of your head, his veiny arms forming a cage around you. His abdominal muscles flexed and relaxed with each thrust he made. His cock pumping in and out of you at a dangerous pace. He was covered in a light sheen of sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. His beautiful brown eyes were focused on you, filled with so much love and need. His mouth hung open in bliss as he used you, your name sweetly falling from his lips.

"Y/n, baby, fuck." He panted. "Needed this."

"I know, Channie. Feels so good." You told him, bringing your hands to his muscular chest. You let your fingertips roam his body, appreciating his fitness.

He placed a small kiss on your collarbone and then licked all the way up to your ear. You shivered. "You’re such a good girl" he whispered. "Letting me use you like this. Such a good little slut, fuck." His thrusts were getting messy now and you knew he was going to cum soon. But so were you. You could feel your core tightening, your pussy fluttering around his cock.

"Gonna fill you up, baby."

"Yes. Please, Channie." You whimpered.

"That’s it, princess. Beg for it." He growled.

"Please cum in me. Please, sir. I’m your good little cum slut."

And that’s all it took for him to find his release, his head thrown back in ecstasy, moaning your name desperately and repeatedly.

The feeling of his cock twitching inside of you caused you to cum all around him. A seemingly endless stream of ‘thank you’s falling from your lips.

He looked down at you, lovingly. His head slumped, chin against his chest, as he caught his breath. "I should be the one thanking you, angel." He said.

You hummed in response, your eyes already closed once again.

He slowly pulled out of you and climbed off of the bed, disappearing briefly into the bathroom to get a wet cloth. When he returned, he kissed your love handles before gently cleaning you up. He tossed the cloth into the hamper and crawled into bed next to you. He pulled you tight against his chest, kissing the top of your head.

"I love you, so much honey." He whispered against your hair.

You wrapped your arm around his chest, squeezing softly, the most you could do in your sleepy state. "Love you, Channie." You mumbled.

🚨reminder: this blog is 18+ only. i’ve been getting a lot of new followers (which i greatly appreciate) but if there’s no age identifier on your blog, i’m blocking you no questions asked. (for my own sanity and peace of mind.) ik some people don’t actually go to my page to read the warnings, so im going to start attaching a warning at the bottom of all my posts. thanks for understanding. 💕

#stray kids #bang chan #stray kids x reader #bang chan stray kids #bang chan x reader #stray kids bang chan #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #hyunjins orange slice too

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cocoagenie · 1 year ago

Text

𝙄ñ𝙖𝙠𝙞 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙛𝙚𝙢 | 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿𝘾𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙉 <3

[P💕: i crave him]

[Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more !]

Shenanigans

☆ Iñaki can definitely be troublesome if he's bored. I'm talking face/body paint cosplays, hiding your things, pranking you with his perfect acting skills type of trouble

• its truly hilarious and a bit concerning to catch him with his whole face green and a dinosaur stuffed hat clipped around his head

☆ "ki.." he has his back to you and stares at the walls like there much more important

• will scream over games in his phone, for instance if iñaki runs out of time and fails a challenge you can here him crying out from the bathroom

☆ he suggests the craziest things on tiktok and you are a sucker for a good time despite you both hating to clean up behind yourselves. You have an eighteen minute long video of you both slipping on the soapy kitchen floor btw ;p

• iñaki often walks around your apartment a bit weirdly so he's bound to stub a toe or bump his shoulder into the edge of the wall, always cursing in Spanish which makes you burst into laughter

☆ you both truly are unfiltered around eachother and hes feels so lucky that he got two for one, (you're not only his best friend but your his girlfriend too.) Iñaki thinks that's epic

• skating time is sublime.

• "you– geezer, just hold onto me?" You laughed as Iñaki rolled around the skating ring like an elder on life support, he obliged but that cost you with the way he gripped your hands.

☆ "Damn, kiki!"

• "Slow down!!" He wobbled.

☆ "We not going no damn where!"

• on the court he will demolish you. Iñaki's always in your face, running around you as he dribbles the ball and shoots, it hits the rim sometimes

☆ "you're ass.." you kick some pebbles as he jogs for his rebound and runs back to you with a grin. Sweat beading at his forehead and wetting the roots of his curls.

• "oh? well then you make the hoop" you both are nearly the same height but he's still slightly taller. (He looks scrumptious in loose tanktops fyi) The basketball is pushed to you as you roll your eyes and take it. Iñaki situates beside you and watches you move forward but hands on your hips pull you back.

☆ "Do it from here." You got ready to argue but just huffed and dribbled the ball once to make sure it was hard enough and not flat. Your dominant arm bended and launched the ball for the edge of the square. It rolled around the rim but fell off and Iñaki suppressed a laugh.

• he talks so fast in English and Spanish that you often tell him to slow down. He laughs at that because he's still getting used to someone truly listening instead of talking over him

☆ iñaki flexes his facial hair and that often gains your attention so he ends up getting his mustache and sideburns cleaned up while you're on his lap

• "please amor, don't cut it too much."

☆ "shh shh, look?" You raised the mirror and when he saw the results iñaki felt ten times more flashier and he thanked you with a big kiss of course

• bro looses his marbles when he can't find his glasses and you love to watch him suffer as he looks everywhere while their RIGHT ONTOP OF HIS HEAD.

The sweet things

☆ he needs to have you by his side but doesn't like to really admit it so when you're doing something or simply lounging around he'll come to you like puppy and lean on you, or play with/link your hands

• iñaki bites and asks before hand too lol

☆ teaches you his first language and loves how you have your way of pronouncing certain words, he also praises you and says you sound like a natural after correctly saying a sentence

• love love lovesss your cheek kisses since your lips are already plump and soft. Fall is here and it tends to get chilly so iñaki jokingly asks you to prescribe him with some so he doesn't freeze to death

☆ let's you play in his hair especially when it grows out, you put it in ponytails, side cornrows and twists until he's snoring against you

• iñaki doesn't have a foot fetish but will massages your feet when their sore. He's the best at it, courtesy of the practice with his mother

☆ since you love vinyls and CD's he brings you shopping with him at special stores that sell hand me downs, movie cds or song records

• you both enjoy a good thrifting spree!

☆ picnic dates are sweet but getting something to eat downtown and exploring the lower city makes you feel like jasmine and iñaki is obviously your aladdin <3

• "should we jay walk?" You look at the currently empty street as iñaki's hand is gripped in yours, his eyes keep flickering down both ends of the street before he suddenly tugs you across with him

☆ "Vamanos, vamanos!" You snort and run across as you both eventually make it to the car.

• he often asks you why you fell in love with him and you're always ready to provide an answer.

☆ "You have this weird charm that I'm drawn to.. plus you were kinda mysterious with the way you used to sta-"

• "okay okay I get it!"

☆ "Nah you used to stare into my soul remember?"

• Iñaki felt incredibly shy around you, he still does now that you're both together he just knows how to hide it now ;)

☆ matching charm bracelets and rings. 😭

• he's the pure embodiment of "just happy to be there!"

☆ will always polish the hand you can't do

THE END ♡

[A/N: I AM SATISFIED.]

#iñaki godoy #iñaki godoy x black fem #iñaki godoy x fem #iñaki headcanons #monkey d. luffy #juan ruiz #one piece live action x reader #opla luffy x fem #opla luffy x black fem #juan ruiz fic #juan ruiz the imperfects #juan ruiz x black fem #juan ruiz x fem #KIKIIII

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year ago

Text

Comet Donati [Chapter 7: Heart Attack]

A/N: Hello all! Only 3 chapters left!!! 🥰 Thank you so much for loving this fic and giving all my eccentric AU ideas a chance. I’m currently in Washington DC visiting one of my best friends, so if I’m a little bit tardy replying to your comments/messages then that’s why. Don’t fear!! I will check in as soon as I can, and I am still amazed by and will forever cherish your support. 💜

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, Shelby being a bigger plague than the locusts of Egypt, mental health struggles, references to violence and abuse, New Jersey, pregnancy, mini golf, lots of content for the Cregan girlies.

Selected Chapter Quote: “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @mariahossain @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n @seabasscevans @tsujifreya

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

You type into Google as you hide in the public bathroom stall, pink tile walls and mint green porcelain, very 1950s, phantom drips of water and humming florescent lights: Can Plan B make your period late?

You scroll through the results, clutching your iPhone with both hands. Faintly, you can hear the rest of the band outside, chattering, laughing, slurping on Slush Puppies, smacking trees and rocks with their golf clubs. Yes, the consensus seems to be; Plan B can delay your period. Incidentally, so can pregnancy.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You peer down at your panties, as if you can force bloodstains to appear: sparce rosy threads of warning, dark red splotches like rust, you aren’t particular. You’ll take anything. “Fuck,” you say again, defeated. You get dressed, wash your hands, and head back out into the cloudless afternoon sunshine.

“Stargirl, it’s your turn!” Aegon shouts as you trot over to them: tenth hole, shaped like an L, featuring an intimidating loop de loop. The course is dinosaur themed; Rhaena picked it. Aegon points to Jace. “This deformed bastard wanted to skip you.”

“I told you,” Jace moans. His speech is garbled and lisping, his face comically swollen, bruised yellow-emerald-indigo and drooling blood, stitches above his left eyebrow. He just had his dental implants placed yesterday; the four teeth that he lost at Club Camelot could not be readily located for reattachment. “I can’t keep track of who’s next. I’m on like four different opiates.”

Baela frets over him. “Shh, shh, baby. Try not to talk.” There’s something about watching someone get almost-murdered that makes you want to forgive them, you suppose.

You grab your club and golf ball, dark blue, from where you left them by a tree. Rhaena gives you a covert little thumbs up and raised eyebrows. Everything good? You smile—too widely, insincere, a liar—and nod. Technically, you have yet to obtain concrete evidence to the contrary.

You take your turn, somewhat awkwardly due to the splint that still encumbers your dominant hand. You are thinking about anything but mini golf. Your ball goes halfway through the loop de loop and then comes rolling back. How many strokes? Four, five, you lose count, it doesn’t matter. Aegon is snickering, though not in a mean way, never in a mean way. Aemond is watching you. He does this constantly; you can feel his eyes—river water, otherworldly atmosphere—on you all the time, you can see him on the periphery of your vision. But when you glance at Aemond, he looks away. You’re wearing flip flops, a black NSYNC t-shirt, and bright pink shorts that Baela insists are of the very short variety. Aemond is staring a little extra hard today. Shelby alternates between glaring at him and at you.

Jace putts next. He misses the ball twice. On the third try, he hits it into a nearby pond. Golden koi fish scatter beneath the rippling sheen of the water.

“Loser,” Aegon declares mildly. “Criston, why the fuck are we in New Jersey?”

“Because you’re playing three shows at the MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford,” Criston says as he putts; his green golf ball sails through the loop de loop, bounces off a wall, and then rolls straight into the cup, a hole in one. “One Direction did it, Taylor Swift did it, and now you’re going to do it too. And if you don’t make it too unbearable for me, I’ll even take you to the beach while we’re here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Aegon agrees. He slurps on his Slush Puppie. “Oh, Aemond, I need the Netflix password.”

“You forgot it again?!” Daeron says. Jace, groaning softly, lies down on the ground in a patch of shade. Baela gets a bottle of Orajel rinse out of her purse and starts pouring it into his mouth.

“Get your own account,” Aemond snaps at Aegon. “I think you can afford it.”

“Bruh, that’s not the point! I don’t know where I left off in Grey’s Anatomy!”

They keep bickering. You stop listening. You can only hear the sounds of rustling leaves, squawking seagulls, the whistling of the warm August wind. You can only feel the weight of Aemond’s half-fascinated, half-resentful gaze on you. He wouldn’t believe me, you think. If I really am pregnant, he would never believe that it was an accident. He would never believe that I was that guilelessly, unambitiously stupid. Hell, I did it and I barely believe it.

You steal a glimpse of Aemond—black shirt and black sunglasses, white shorts, Adidas sneakers—and he turns away, pretending to pick dirt off his golf ball. Interestingly, he will talk to you about things not related to that night in Tokyo; perhaps it would be too suspicious not to, a neon sign for the rest of the band to read. But he never allows himself to be alone with you. And he never touches you, not even a grazing of hands or an absentminded bump as he passes you in aisles or hallways.

Bump, you think miserably. An inauspicious choice of words.

“We should watch Se7en,” Aegon is saying now. “Comet fam movie night.”

You mutter: “We’re not watching Se7en.”

“What’s Se7en about?” Rhaena asks.

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“What’s in the box?!” Aegon shouts dramatically—quoting the beautiful yet doomed David Mills, a name he once borrowed to schedule a Zoom meeting with you—and then cackles. It’s his turn. He clobbers his golf ball and sends it flying through the loop de loop; it pops over the barrier and disappears into a bush. Startled squirrels dart out of the leaves.

“Loser!” Jace slurs as he lies sprawled across the ground, vindicated.

“Stop spitting blood everywhere,” Aemond says. He putts next, and badly: poor depth perception. “You’re getting it on my sneakers.”

“Watch it, cyclops.” Jace points to his own stitches, bruises, surgically replaced teeth. “I let you have this one. Now we’re even. But next time I won’t be so charitable.”

“You’re not even,” Aegon tells Jace, abruptly severe. He whips off his aviator sunglasses, crouches over Jace, glaring and thunderous like a storm. Baela observes this warily. “Not even close.”

Jace is intrigued. “No?”

“No. Your face will heal.” Then Aegon pokes him in the jaw and Jace screams, tears slithering down his puffy, mottled cheeks. Cregan yanks Aegon away before Baela can scratch his eyes out. Criston repossesses Aegon’s blue raspberry Slush Puppie as punishment. Luke wins the game, five under par.

Comet’s first shows in the United States this tour start just like the last few in Asia: Jace is iced, painted with concealer, thoroughly medicated, numbed into semi-consciousness. He does lines of coke in the bathroom under Cregan’s supervision. He can’t perform without it. Criston tried to negotiate a month off for Jace, but the label’s message was clear: get him on stage, we don’t care how you do it, we don’t want to know about it, here’s a blank check, figure it out or we’ll find another manager who can. Now Criston watches Jace with his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes wounded and anxious, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of what he believes is failure.

The story released to the press is that Jace fell down a flight of stairs but is recovering smoothly. He can barely sing; his mic is turned up, and during Jace’s verses Cregan or Luke layer their voice with his. He wobbles and flubs his way through Night 1 in East Rutherford. You spend the show staring up at the stage without seeing it. Baela and Rhaena are with you, but you aren’t really with them; you feel like if they reached out to touch you, their hands would find only translucent emptiness like a mirage. Shelby is flocked by fellow influencers that she’s invited in from New York City. Aemond is somewhere, somewhere: lurking in shadows, brooding, avoiding, musing, suffering, jotting down starlight-colored judgments in his black-paged notebook.

Per tradition, the band and their entourage coalesce in Jace’s suite after the show. Jace himself, the gracious host, promptly collapses on a couch and lies there senseless as the party spins around him like the planets of a solar system. Baela is perched dutifully beside him, holding ice packs to his jaw, wiping away drool the color of one of Aemond’s Brambles. A tattoo artist is inking a goldfinch, New Jersey’s state bird, to the top of Jace’s right foot. Criston is across the room and speaking—rather tensely, it seems—with cigar-smoking label executives. Shelby is snapping photos with her friends; they take turns posing each other out on the balcony, adjusting elbows and wrists and knees, swiping away stray flecks of mascara, rearranging hair, recommending plastic surgeons. Aegon is typing WhatsApp messages—mostly emojis, from what you can see—to Miley Cyrus. At Luke’s prompting, Aemond begins sharing his comments to the presently sentient members of Comet. He puffs on one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes as he reads aloud. He kindly skips over any criticisms of Jace’s performance.

You can’t stand hearing Aemond’s voice; not because there’s anything wrong with it, but because there isn’t, because you can’t stop remembering what he said to you in that florescent-white bathroom at Club Camelot in Tokyo, because he uses his words on so many people who aren’t you, because sooner or later your time with Comet will be over and you’ll only ever hear him again through Spotify songs and YouTube clips from before the accident, because he will one day be a ghost who haunts you, rattling doorknobs and chilling pockets of air but never speaking. You escape to ask the bartender: “Can I get a Coke?”

“A rum and Coke?”

“No.”

“Like…white powder coke?”

“No, a Coca-Cola. With nothing else in it.”

“Okay, whatever,” the bartender says, perplexed. He fills a glass with ice and dark liquid that pops and fizzes with carbonation, then slides it across the counter to you. You meander out into the hallway where you can be alone, where you don’t have to pretend to be okay.

The carpet is gold but frayed, the walls adorned with faux marble columns and scuffs from recklessly handled suitcases. Even the hotels are worse in New Jersey. You sip your soda—nonalcoholic, huh? you think, then push it aside—and roam past suite doors and vending machines until you reach the cove of elevators. There’s a full-length mirror hanging on the wall there, gilded, gaudy. You frown at yourself, a reflection that suddenly looks a bit like a stranger. You’re wearing a short seafoam green dress, gold earrings and sandals, and an eerily vacuous expression. You turn and move your hair aside so you can peer over your shoulder at what’s been indelibly penned there since Rome: the tiny comet, the lyrics that encircle it.

I wanted to remember this band forever. To remember Aemond. You can feel your stomach drop as it grows heavy with dread. The pulsing music from Jace’s suite has followed you down the hall, Sugar by Robin Schulz and Francesco Yates. I think I might just have more than a tattoo to remember him by after all.

One of the elevators dings and opens. A man lumbers out, towering, broad, monstrous. You gape up at him: brown threadbare coat, heavy boots, unruly dark beard, grey eyes like a bleak winter sky. There is a miasma that colors the air around him with smoke and alcohol, sweat and earth.

“Hello there,” he says, politely enough. His voice is such a baritone rumble that it’s difficult to understand. He has a British accent, but not like Aegon’s, not like Aemond’s. He reminds you of someone you can’t quite place. “I’m looking for a certain young gentleman. I’m hoping you can point me in his direction.”

“Sure,” you reply, trying to disguise your shock so you don’t offend him. He could be someone important. He could be an eccentric producer or a consultant. Or a drug dealer. “Who…uh…who was it you were hoping to speak with…?”

He smiles: sharp canine teeth yellowed by nicotine, glinting eyes like silver coins. “Cregan Stark.”

“Okay,” you stammer. Drug dealer?? “Okay, okay, I’ll…uh…I’ll go get him.”

You hurry down the hall and into Jace’s crowded, smokey suite, clinking glasses and flirtatious titters in dim lighting like late twilight. You return your empty drink to the bartender, then tap Cregan on the shoulder and inform him that someone out in the hallway is asking for him. He doesn’t seem surprised to hear this. Drug dealer, you think confidently. Cregan gulps his vodka shot and follows you out of the suite. He steps through the doorway. He turns towards the stranger. And then he stops dead. His eyes go wide. The blood drains from his face. And Cregan—immovable, inscrutable, unflappable Cregan—shrinks until he is a child again.

Immediately, you know you’ve made a mistake. You reach for him. “Cregan, wait—”

“My son,” the monstrous man sighs. And of course now you’ve realized exactly who the mirrorlike grey of his eyes reminded you of. “My son.”

You can’t stop him. How could you stop him? Faster than you can think, he has crossed the space between you and entombed Cregan in a stifling embrace. Cregan stands paralyzed, his eyes shifting, searching for escape. Tentatively, appeasingly, his hands slowly rise to hug the man in return.

“Criston?!” you shout. But within the suite, he cannot hear you over the music and the berating of smoke-veiled, bejeweled label executives.

“Did you forget about me, huh?” the man asks Cregan gruffly. And as he steps back he grips one of Cregan’s shoulders: not like Criston would, not like a father, like a vice, like a bear trap. He shakes Cregan once, not too hard. “You can fly your private jet all over the world but you can’t call your own father back? Huh? Huh?!” He shakes Cregan again, harder.

“Criston!” you scream. “Security! Somebody!”

Nobody can hear me. Nobody is coming.

You sprint into Jace’s suite, seize Criston by one hand, drag him out into the hall. On the blurry periphery of your vision, you can see Aemond getting up off the couch to follow you. The second he spots the monstrous man, Criston is roaring. “No no no, get away from him!” He pushes between Cregan and the giant, terrifying, wrathful. The man dwarfs him. Criston doesn’t seem to know it. “You can’t be here. We’ve been over this, you’re not allowed to be here—”

The man tries to reach around him to clutch at Cregan’s shirt. Aemond pulls you away from the scuffle. Criston hits the man in the solar plexus; he is momentarily stunned, wheezing. By the time he straightens up, Criston—louder than you, bellowing and fierce—has summoned security. They are swarming the man and escorting him back down the hallway towards the elevators. Aemond goes to Cregan. Criston looks at you. You’re quivering, penitent.

“I had no idea…he asked for Cregan…I would never have…I thought maybe he was a friend of the band…”

“He’s on our no fly list,” Criston says. His voice is tired yet patient. “But you wouldn’t know that.”

You try to apologize to Cregan, but he isn’t listening to you. He’s listening to Aemond. Aemond is speaking to him, low and calm, too quietly for you to hear. “I’m okay,” Cregan says unsteadily. “I’m fine.”

“It’s alright if you’re not,” Aemond tells him.

And you know that right now you are unnecessary, intrusive. Criston goes downstairs to figure out how Comet’s security guards in the lobby didn’t catch this and—presumably—to ensure that the invader is properly dealt with. Aemond slings an arm across Cregan’s shoulders and leads him back to the party where he is cared for, welcome, valued, safe. You hide in your own suite and try not to think about the dates on the calendar—missing blood, summer days ticking down towards zero—as you steep in a hot bath and attempt to scrub everything you’ve done wrong, today, yesterday, ever, off your skin. Then you change into an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants.

You try to sleep but of course you can’t, surrounded by a silence that only gets louder. When you hear the swipe of a keycard and the creaking of your door, you don’t know who to expect: Cregan, Criston, Rhaena, Luke, Baela, Jace, Daeron, Shelby, Aemond, ghosts. The clopping of his Crocs gives him away, neon pink to match his tank top. “I’m really not in the mood for anything resembling sex.”

Aegon replies as he kicks off his Crocs: “Did I ask, succubus?” He crawls into the bed, throws an arm casually across your waist, rests his head on your belly as your fingers thread through his chaotic blond hair, fond and tender. He burrows into you, into your softness and your warmth and your truth and your mysteries. Sometimes you feel like you’ll give until he falls into you like a trapdoor, the bones of his hands tangling around your spine, his blood vessels spilling into all of your rage-scarlet cavities, hollows of the flesh, hollows of the soul. “You’re sad.”

You stare up at the ceiling. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what. That’s the strange thing. Usually I can tell.”

“You’ve been gone.”

He looks up at you, confused. “I’ve been right here.”

“You know what I meant.”

Aegon doesn’t argue with you, doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t make promises both of you know he could never keep. He only lays his head down on your belly again and pulls himself closer to you, closer, closer, melting into your melancholy, dissolving into dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I was eleven when he broke my arm. Thirteen when he cracked my skull for the first time. Then I got big enough to hurt him back.” Cregan looks out over the waves: blue currents, white froth, sunbeams like glinting blades. As Criston promised, Comet is spending an afternoon in Seaside Heights. You and Cregan are sitting on the sand together twenty yards from the others. “I grew up in a two-bedroom cabin with no electricity or running water. We had a metal wash tub outside, ate deer and squirrels and rabbits, never had clothes that fit, never saw a doctor except when what was wrong might kill us. We had a woodstove and chopped down trees to burn in the winter. I had eight siblings, six of whom are still alive. Barnett overdosed. Courtland drove his friend’s Nissan into a brick wall. I’m not sure it was accidental.”

Your words are soft like a whisper, like gentle hands. “Cregan, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not…” His voice breaks. He stops for a while, composes himself, begins again. “It’s not something I talk about. Not because I’m trying to forget it. I can’t forget it, I’ll never be able to, I understand that, believe me. There’s just nothing to be gained from talking about it. I never feel better afterwards. I always feel worse.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”

You wait, watching him. There’s something he needs to say. Down the beach a ways, Baela is doing yoga, her bare feet sure and agile in shifting sand. Rhaena, Luke, and Aemond are flying kites in the breeze: black dragons, green dragons. Shelby is, predictably, filming them from where she stands on Aemond’s good side. Aegon and Daeron are swimming so far out that you’re beginning to worry about sharks. Criston is parked under an umbrella with an unconscious Jace, reading Memoirs Of A Geisha and eating a sandwich full of something called pork roll.

“After Comet happened, I got all of them out,” Cregan continues. “My mum, my siblings. Good houses in safe neighborhoods. Security in case Dad makes an appearance. He does, every once in a while. He’s locked up, he’s free, he’s locked up again. He has nothing else to do but haunt us. I’ve been waiting for him to die since I was old enough to understand what a graveyard is.” Cregan looks at you. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“No,” you answer immediately.

“The thing is…” He holds out one large hand, palm down, like he’s resting it on a table. Then he shakes it. “Nothing ever feels stable. Nothing ever feels safe. No matter how much money I see stack up in accounts, I lie awake at night wondering what I’ll do if it disappears. So many people rely on me. I can’t stop worrying I’ll end up back in that cabin somehow. I can still hear drops of rainwater seeping in through the gaps in the roof. I can still smell burning wood.”

“The fact that you feel this way, given your history, is completely logical…even if the fear itself is not. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Cregan says. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Do you think it would help if we sat down and looked at the numbers and did some math? Because I suspect that even with a hundred dependents, you’d easily be able to float them for the rest of your lifetime just using the money you already have. And there will be royalties from Comet’s songs forever. Maybe if we can show you exactly how improbable your worst case scenario is, that fear will begin to fade a bit. Not go away, not completely, maybe not ever…but I think you’ll be able to quiet it down.”

“I’ll give it a try. If you recommend it.” Cregan lights a cigarette and takes a drag. Criston glances over and then pretends he didn’t notice. “I have a daughter,” Cregan says; and you can’t stop the shock from hitting your face like a fist. He smiles faintly, wistfully. “I know. I’ve worked very hard to make sure she is kept away from…” He gestures broadly. “All of this.” Fame. Debauchery. Tabloids. Reddit threads. “I was way too young. And her mother and I…we were never really together. It was contentious for a while, but we’ve sorted through things. I support them financially, obviously. And when I’m not on tour or in the studio, I disappear up to Lancaster for a few weeks at a time and no one is the wiser.”

You study him as wind tears in off the Atlantic Ocean, as seagulls swoop and screech overhead. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate how you’ve protected her once she can understand.”

“I don’t know how to be a father. Not a good one. But I try. I don’t just show up for movie nights and birthdays. I take her shopping for school supplies. I put her back to bed when she has nightmares. I take her to the dentist, to the park, to the library. She really likes pigs, so I adopted a few from a farm animal rescue and we learned how to raise them together.”

“You caring about being a good parent puts you ahead of a lot of people already,” you say. “Nobody in Comet knows?”

“Just Aemond. Once, years ago, her mother needed something and I was out of the country. I had to let somebody in on the secret, somebody I could trust. I chose Aemond. I chose right.” Now Cregan is amused. “He’s the one who suggested the pigs.”

“Of course he did,” you say; and you can’t help but smile. “How old is she?”

“Six and a half. Do you want to see a picture her?”

“Absolutely. If it’s alright with you.”

Cregan pulls his iPhone from his pocket, swipes around for a while, and then turns the screen so you can see. She looks like him, a lot like him, but with round cheeks and long dark lashes. And Cregan is beaming as he says: “Her name is Iris.”

“So you didn’t have to do the Maury paternity test thing.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I knew from the second I saw her she was mine.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

Cregan shrugs, pensive, evasive. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” And he believes that you mean it; you can see it on his face. Aemond is watching you and Cregan, you notice now. He glances over, pretends he didn’t, glances again. You gesture to the crashing waves and say to Cregan: “If Aegon gets attacked by a shark, will you jump in and punch it or something please?”

Cregan chuckles. “Yeah. That’s my main job here, I think. Stopping people from dying.” And then, seriously: “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything that warrants it.”

“No. Really.” Cregan reaches out, takes your uninjured hand, squeezes it briefly before releasing you. “Thank you, Stargirl.” Then he stands and walks to the water’s edge, letting the surf rush up over his ankles, for just a moment feeling nothing on his shoulders but the sunlight.

Aemond gives Shelby his kite and, as she glares bitterly, makes his way over to you. He takes off his sunglasses so he can see you better and hooks them on the waistband of his swim trunks: black, of course, his usual color. You’re actually wearing black today too, a flowing coverup over a pink swimsuit. You feel very much like hiding. When Aemond speaks, there is perhaps a hint of envy, green like leaves of poison, gleaming like snakeskin. “What were you and Cregan talking about?”

“Fatherhood.” And then you realize how it might sound.

There is a split second where Aemond looks startled; then he remembers Iris. “Right. Not so easy for people like us to navigate.”

People like us. Celebrities, boy band members, haunted men. You scramble for a nonchalant way to feel out the subject with him. “How does Louis Tomlinson handle it?”

“He’s a saint,” Aemond says. And you think: Patron saint of baby daddies? “Freddie was very, very unplanned. The mother was a nobody, a rebound. And a lot of people assumed she did it on purpose to try to keep Louis. Or to get eighteen years of a luxury lifestyle out of him. Or to just get fame in general. Personally, I believe it was all of the above.”

“Right,” you say, sweating heavily beneath your coverup.

“But none of that is the kid’s fault, and Louis is a good enough guy to realize it. So he plays nice with Freddie’s mother and they don’t go to war through tabloids anymore.”

“So, uh…” How can I put this? “You’re good with kids too. Cregan told me you had the pig idea.”

And the look that crosses Aemond’s face, the look: caustic, incredulous, night-dark, self-loathing. “Are you insane? Have you met me? I terrify kids. And I should, but not just because of the eye and the scar. What the hell do I know about being a decent father? What do I know about being a decent anything? I’d have no idea where to start. I’d fuck it up even if I tried desperately not to. I’d end up with kids like Aegon: addicts who hate themselves, people who are irrevocably lost.”

You say meekly: “I think Criston is something like a father to you. He could be a role model.”

“I’m not half as good a man as Criston is.”

Change the topic, change the topic, before Aemond gets suspicious. And there’s something else you’ve been meaning to ask him. “Aemond…after you almost murdered Jace…when we didn’t know if or how he was going to be able to perform until he healed…did anyone ask you to come back to Comet and fill in for him?”

“No,” Aemond says. And he’s thunderstruck by the thought, appalled, petrified.

“You don’t think that it might have been a good idea? That it might make sense?”

“No,” he says again instantly.

“But…in Tokyo…when Daeron made that speech at the last show…I think the crowd’s reaction was pretty powerful, don’t you? People still care about you. They love and respect you. And I think…maybe…it might help you with what you’ve experienced. To get back on stage—even just one last time—and prove to yourself that you still have what it takes. To know that if you do leave Comet, it’s your choice, not anyone else’s.”

“They love who I was,” Aemond says. “Not who I am now. And that’s easy to do. They don’t have to look at me.”

“Goddammit, there’s nothing wrong with how you look, Aemond!” you burst out. “You look fantastic. I never get tired of looking at you. I want to look at you all the fucking time. I’d hang life-sized portraits of you on every wall in my apartment in Kansas City. That’s how much I enjoy looking at you.”

He thinks you’re joking, he thinks you’re trying to make him feel better. You can’t stop him from thinking these things. And yet still, as he turns away, he is smiling: just a whisper of a curl at the corner of his lips, secretive, fragile.

As Comet is leaving the beach, you stop at a souvenir shop on the boardwalk to buy your keepsake for this tour destination. You settle on a pink frisbee that has I love the Jersey Shore! embossed on it in large, abrasive letters. You think your parents’ Australian cattle dogs will enjoy fetching it when you get home. Home feels so much closer—both literally and figuratively—than it did just a few weeks ago.

Criston is browsing through the t-shirts. “Hey, what size is your mom, Aegon? Medium?”

“How the hell would I know? Probably.” He holds up a pair of red, white, and blue bikini bottoms that say Firecracker across the ass. “You think my dad would mind if you sent her these?”

Criston is blushing. “Aegon, stop.”

“You could get her a bikini top too. Oh look, that one over there is red, it matches. And it says MILF across the tits. So that’s pertinent.”

“Stop!” Criston cries, distressed, and flees the store.

Halfway through the hour-long drive back to the hotel, Aegon insists that Criston stop the Escalades so he can get a hoagie from a Wawa. Aegon has never had a hoagie before. He says he cannot truly experience America without one.

At the ordering counter, Jace—slightly less bruised and swollen today, and thus in better spirits—taunts Aegon: “Are you sure you need all that bread? You’re going to be wearing a muumuu on stage by the time we get to the Midwest.”

“You know, just because you said that, now I’m going to get two hoagies…”

On the television mounted inside the Wawa, CNN is reporting on a group of tornadoes that just struck Wichita. And it occurs to you that tornadoes don’t have trajectories to calculate like hurricanes or airplanes or comets; they are climatological sharks. They strike quickly, indiscriminately, and then they’re gone again. They aren’t named. They aren’t enshrined. They don’t even have a belly to cut open and retrieve pieces of your loved ones from. If they take someone, they’re just gone.

While the rest of the band is in line to order their food, and Aemond is scrutinizing the dried fruit and nuts selection, you sneak through the other aisles.

It’s time. I have to find out eventually. I have to know.

You pluck a pregnancy test—cute, pink, nausea-inducing—off a rack, purchase it with truly impressive speed at the checkout counter, and race to the bathroom. It’s surprisingly difficult to piss on a tiny stick of doom, especially when your primary hand is in a splint and only partially useable. Eventually, you manage. You put the cap back on the pregnancy test, set it on top of the toilet paper dispenser, and stare at the metal door of the stall. The Wawa speakers are playing The Fray’s Over My Head.

It won’t be positive. It can’t be positive.

You think of pregnancy test commercials you’ve seen: happy couples rejoicing, happy single women getting negatives. How are you supposed to react to bad news? Nobody ever tells you. Do you scream, sob, beg for forgiveness, schedule an appointment at Planned Parenthood? Do you kick the bathroom stall door down in mindless feminine fury? Do you throw yourself off a balcony?

There’s no way it will be positive. It was one time. Just one goddamn time.

And who knows if that will ever happen again with Aemond. This does not improve your mood.

You pick up the pregnancy test. It is unequivocally positive.

You shove it into the small rectangular trashcan for pads and tampons, things you won’t be needing in the immediate future. You get dressed, leave the stall, go to the sink and wash your hands. Then you grip the cool, slick, white porcelain and gaze at yourself in the mirror under nowhere-to-hide florescent lights. What do you feel? Everything, nothing, things you can’t name yet. You’re a raw nerve, you’re completely numb.

The bathroom door swings open. Shelby enters. She squares up with great purpose. Your eyes roll to her, slowly, with no tolerance left, not a drop of it. “Stay away from Aemond,” she demands.

“Make me.”

She is in disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

You turn all the way towards her. “Fucking make me, Shelby.”

“I knew you wanted him,” she says, she seethes. “I saw you in those paparazzi photos from Reykjavik and I knew you were already twisting your claws into him.”

You hold up your hands to show her; your thoughts are fuzzy, dazed, without inhibition. “I have no claws whatsoever. If I did, you’d know about it. Believe me. You’d be able to look down and watch your heart beating through the gashes.”

“You don’t belong here. Some Midwestern farm girl running around in flip flops and Cookie Monster pajama pants? You’re trash. You’re a user. You’re a nobody. And if you’re trying to steal a taken man, then you’re a whore too.”

“I’ve been called worse things by better people.”

“I can make them hate you,” Shelby says indignantly. “Comet. The world.”

“Good luck with that, Malibu Barbie. Nobody even knows I exist.”

“Stay away from Aemond,” she says again, trembling with her futile bleach-blond rage. “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

“And yet no future.” You smile sweetly, breeze past her, step on one of her perfectly pedicured feet with a thoroughly unpretentious flip flop. By the time you return to them, the band is almost ready to leave Wawa.

You’re not hungry, but Aegon coaxes you into taking a few bites from his hoagie. You’re not able to focus on what people are saying, but you hear Aemond mention that he wishes Comet had time to visit a planetarium in some nearby town called Toms River. You think about what it would be like to lie side by side with him under the stars, under the sky where comets appear again after vanishing for centuries. You wonder if there’s anyplace where you and Aemond could ever be truthful with each other.

At night you can’t sleep. There is no shortage of reasons why. You wander from your bed to the gold-carpet hallway to the vending machines, where you stare brainlessly at the options. Am I supposed to not be drinking caffein? Did I get any Vitamin D today? How much sugar is too much? You buy a bottle of apple juice—surely a safe bet—and head back to your suite.

As you walk by Aemond and Shelby’s door, your steps slow. Some nights you can hear them in there arguing: Shelby reiterating all the reasons why they’re perfect for each other, clearly a rebuttal to an accusation you weren’t privy to. Some nights you hear muffled casual conversation or episodes of Cosmos. Some nights you hear nothing at all. Some nights your imagination colors in the gaps before you can stop it: his hands on her, his mouth on her, things you know you have no right to dread and yet you do. But tonight, Shelby is momentarily removed from the scene. You can hear the distant pattering of the shower, and then Aemond alone in the living room gathering up plates and glasses. He’s singing something very quietly, so quietly it takes you a while to recognize it. It’s not even a Comet Donati song. It’s Through The Dark.

You sit down in the empty hallway, your back to his door. And you lean your head against it as you listen to Aemond singing softly to himself, doubt sinking into you the same way that trapped blood fills a bruise: Maybe it wasn’t as good for him as it was for me. Maybe he doesn’t talk to me because he doesn’t want to. Maybe I don’t belong here anymore. Maybe I’ve invented a history that we don’t really share. Maybe he didn’t mean it when he said he loves me.

“What am I going to do?” you whisper, scalding tears brimming in your eyes, shivering hands settling on your belly. In a few months, you’ll be showing. “What the hell am I going to do?”

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #Aegon Targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #Aegon II Targaryen #Aegon Targaryen II x reader #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #Aegon x you #aegon x y/n

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braidlottie · 1 year ago

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lottie with a gamer/streamer s/o

stopped playing cod so i can write this btw

moodboard :3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ chat getting super excited to see her all the time :(( she would come in the room to give you some tea or water and everyone’s like “LOTTIEEEE” LOTIUREERYET OMG HIII”

“say hi.”

“to who, honey?”

“the chat, they’re saying hi.”

“oh- hellooooo!” *little wave*

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ sitting behind you on the couch watching you play cod

“did you see that?”

“sure did, baby.”

“now, watch this-” *gets a grenade to the face*

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ playing minecraft with you and chat dying of cuteness

*lottmath78 was blown up by Creeper*

“DID YOU JUST DIE RIGHT NOW?!”

“i thought he was friendly!”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ driving you to best buy all the time and buying you games :3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ you buy lottie a switch (the lite purple one) and animal crossing bc she loves seeing you play, now she can visit your island :3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ making her play cod for the first time (stress inducing experience) like she would keep shooting at the sky and her camera would be all over the place 😭😭😭😭

“WHERE DO I GO?”

“babe, shoot that guy right there!”

“WHERE?!” *shoots the sky and dies*

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ playing mariokart/super mario odyssey (she gets scared of the woodland dinosaur level)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ you doing a sleep stream but you don’t want to disturb lottie so you sleep on your couch in the game room and she comes to check on you every so often :’) so many people in chat screen recording her kissing you on the cheek and petting your head and pulling your blanket back up to your shoulder 😢😢

“shh, go back to sleep. i’m just checking on you.”

“‘tream still on?”

“hmm?”

“the.. the stream.”

“yeah, it’s still on, sweetheart.”

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #lottie matthews x reader #lottie mathews x reader #lottie x reader #lottie matthews #lottie matthews fluff

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chuchuminn · 9 months ago

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What if the Master was a child?

I think an hc is due, so here you go!! Fem!Master (an adorable one + kinda puppy/kitty like)

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So, let's say that Master is around 4-5 years old.

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Flashback..

An adorable little girl was walking around with her mom, but then saw a cat with a ring. Obviously attracted because of childrenly antics, she touched the cat, the cat spoke to her, and she got a golden ring. Then, she was transported to a mansion while her mom wasn't looking.

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First Floor

Berrien

• I think that Berrien would most likely take care of you for the most part, since he welcomed you.

• Whenever you're scared at night, he takes you to their room on the first floor and lets you sleep with him. Also makes you some warm milk to help you sleep.

• Definitely thinks you're adorable. Who could not think a child like you isn't adorable?

"Master..? Are you scared? Here, have some warm milk, and you can also stay with me if you want.."

Lono

• Cooks whatever you want, whenever you want. Of course, a child needs lots of food to grow up, right?

• Gives you headpats often to see your reaction.

• Would make designs on your food, like making your steak into dinosaur by cutting it up like so, or even desserts that look like your favorite animals, to make you happy.

"Oh, Master! You said ya wanted some cupcakes, so I made 'em earlier! I'll get them right now, just hold on a sec!"

Bastien

• He would most likely make little wooden dolls so you can play with them.

• Gifts you blankets, toys, or even a whole dollhouse with the Grosvaner's money.

• Sometimes when he wakes up from sleeping in the most randomest place ever, he sees you beside him.

"Master.. For you. I made them.. Do you like it? I heard you liked dolls."

Cutscene:

"Ah! Berrien, Master's here?" Lono said. "Shh, she's sleeping, Lono.." Berrien replied, continuing to hold you close. "She looks cute..." Bastien whispered, as both him and Lono were surrounding the two of you. You moved a bit, then nuzzling into Berrien adorably. They all cooed.

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Second Floor

Haures

• He likes playing with you, and sees you as his little sister. (RIP TRICIA)

• Decorated your room for you after you answered a few questions, and you loved it.

• Sometimes he goes out and buys gifts for you like clothes or accessories and maybe jewelry.

"Maste- Princess! I have come to save you, as I am the Honorable Knight, Haures! Hiya!" (p.s. he punched boschi after that)

Fennesz

• He likes reading books to you before you sleep :3

• Sometimes he takes you to the mansion's library so you can read things.

• He plays with you sometimes by throwing you up in the air or playing tea party. (this man is a muscle beast but a gigantic softie as well)

"Then they both lived happy ever after... The end. Oh? Haha.. She's already sleeping. Good night, and sweet dreams, Master.."

Ammon

• Absolutely would not let you play near the rose bushes, because you'll get hurt.

• He also helped out decorating your room, with your favorite flowers.

• Sometimes he makes a few bouquets for you and places them in your bedroom.

"Boschi, what are you-?! Oh, Master! Please don't go near there, like, you'll get hurt!"

Boschi

• Decorated your room as well with Ammon and Haures.

• Whenever he steals candy from Haures, he gives some to you.

• Sometimes he lets you play with his prosthetic arm, and he even thinks you're like a puppy.

"Master, you like this one? Okay, cool. HAURES, GO PUT IT UP RIGHT NOW!"

Cutscene

"Oh, my! What an elegant little princess you are!" Fennesz said, drinking imaginary tea while sitting in front of you. "You are so beautiful, like, I can't stop staring at you!" Ammon followed, also drinking this imaginary tea. "How could you try to hurt the princess?!" Haures shouted, pointing a toy sword at Boschi. "Haha, watch me!" Boschi replied.

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Third floor

Lucas

• Whenever he's drinking wine in front of you, he makes sure to tell you it's "Grown up Juice".

• He would comfort you and clean you up whenever you get hurt.

• Sometimes he gives you grape juice when you ask for the "Grown up Juice".

"Ah, you're here, Master. Hmm~? This~? This is "Grown up Juice"~ It's for grown ups, so you can't have it yet, Master."

Lamli

• You know this guy is super playful, so of course he ADORES playing with you!

• Would immediately apologize if you started crying because of his teasing.

• Whenever you do something cute he gives you a candy.

"Uh oh~! You found me Master! Now, now, it's my turn to seek! I'll start counting, so go and hide now, Master, or I'll find you~!"

Nac

• Sometimes his way of speaking makes you confused, but that's fine.

• He likes calling you a princess.

• Lucas scolds him once in a while for confusing you.

"-Nac speaking in riddles- Mm.. Huh..? - (Master) Nac, please don't say that much to Master. She's still young. - (Lucas)"

Cutscene

"Hic..! Ung.." You spoke, tears falling down your eyes. "I know, Master, but after this you'll be okay." Lucas said, cleaning up all the wounds. Apparently you had been playing in the garden, then falling down. "Master, I'll give you candy after this!" Lamli followed, petting your head. "Do not fret Master, you will be feeling splendid after." Nac then continued, wiping your tears.

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Basement

Miyaji

• He also takes care of you since he's quite fond of kids. He teaches you etiquette too.

• Whenever Lucas is drunk when you're hurt, he takes care of you.

• Lato and Flure don't let him cook for you so you won't experience hell on your little tongue.

"Okay, Master. Now, when a stranger talks to you, what do you say?" "Stop, cweepy persown!" You replied. "Great job, Master. Here's a cookie for you."

Flure

• He loves making clothes for you, you're the perfict fit for any style!

• He lets you watch whenever he's making some new clothes.

• Flure loves showing off your charm as a child when you're wearing his clothes.

"Aww, Master! You look so adorable in these clothes! I'll make more of these with different colors and features later!"

Lato

• Surprisingly, Lato took a liking to you, and now he loves talking to you.

• Whenever that time comes, the butlers don't let you talk to him, and that makes you sad.

• He sneaked out with you once, but he got scolded by Haures and Miyaji.

"Master~~ What are you doing? Are you playing? Let me join. What do I do here? Oh, so you have to do that? Okay."

Cutscene

"Now, Master, do a curtsy." Miyaji said, which you followed, then doing a curtsy. "Good job, Master." Miyaji praised. "She's so adorable in that dress!" Flure exclaimed, seeming proud of you and his work. "You're right Flure, she is cute." Lato followed, petting your head and poking your cheek.

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Villa

Yuuhan

• He loves making you happy, and treating you to things once in a while.

• Always scolds Hanamaru, which makes you feel bad.

• Yuuhan is a bit more protective of you than the others.

"Master, I bought some dessert today. Would you like some? Oh, still full? It's fine, we can save it for later."

Teddy

• He's like a big brother to you, and he always shows off.

• Big teddy bear that hugs you a lot.

• Loves it when you're doing cute stuff.

"Master, look at this! *fleexx...* Isn't it cool! Also, take a look! We found something on our mission! Do you want it? You can have it, Master!"

Hanamaru

• Like Miyaji, Hanamaru is well experienced with children, so he also takes care of you. He even styles your hair once in a while.

• He gives you tea with your snacks.

• Sometimes he gets scolded for sneaking outside and grabbing you some snacks.

"You want this hairstyle? Okay, I can do it. Were you having fun earlier, Master?"

Cutscene

"Uhm.. So.. It's like this, and then this, then..." Teddy muttered, attempting to braid your hair. "Teddy, what in the world is this?" Hanamaru replied, staring at him. "Don't be so rude, Hanamaru. He needs experience." Yuuhan then said.

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this is the end of the hcs pookies!! maybe ill make more posts of this headcanon hehe

#devil butler with black cat #headcanon

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