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thatonegreyghost · 2 days ago

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"You know the hero is traditionally supposed to marry the princess, right?"

Cecilia looks at the knight, easily twice her age and definitely twice as heavy, and tries not to choke in disgust. Lucan, the prince from Corinth, was supposed to come rescue her from the monster- this one was a werewolf, she thinks? She never saw it- but gods forbid Lucan do anything helpful. He's too busy "sparring" with his personal guard, probably.

"Is that a fact, Princess?" The knight gruffs sharply. "Well, that's not going to happen here. You're hardly much older than my daughter. I don't think anyone should want a wife of you."

"I should hope not." Cecilia mutters. "I have no interest in merely being someone's wife."

"As you shouldn't. You're too young." The knight agrees. "Come on, then. My camp is over this way. You can stay in the tent, and we'll head out in the morning."

"And where will you sleep?" Cecilia questions.

Lucan always sleeps in the tent with her. Not next to her, not usually, but always in the tent with her. He'll always complain that it's too cold outside, and he can't possibly be made to stay in the cold. Of course, that's likely because Lucan is a complete wuss.

"I'll sleep by the fire, Princess. It isn't a hardship."

Speaking of, Cecilia thinks, this camp is wonderful. A small tent, soup bubbling over a small fire, and what looks to be the coziest blanket in the kingdom. The knight begins to take off his armor, placing his sword near Cecilia's feet. An act of trust, and honor.

"Oh, you're a much better knight than Lucan."

The knight laughs, shaking his head.

"Lucan? Lucan of Corinth? No wonder you were stuck in that lair for so long. Lucan couldn't fight his way out of a potato sack- just like his mother."

Cecilia might agree, but on principle, she has to defend Lucan. Even if he is a bit of a wet sock.

"Excuse you, sir, how could you say such things?" Cecilia scoffs.

The knight laughs a hearty laugh, shaking his head. His armor clangs as he sets down his breastplate, then, as he stirs the soup, he laughs again.

"Lucan is my son. My former wife, Queen Castella of Corinth, is his mother. She won't give him any money until he marries, so I work to get him out of that castle. Once I've gotten enough to get him some armor, I'll start taking him on jobs. He's not much good at fighting, but he's got a charming smile and he can navigate royals much better than me."

"You're..." Cecilia takes a small step back. "You're Galyn of Corinth. The knight of Corinth. You saved the queen from a dragon!"

"She saved herself. No one would believe her, so she picked up the scrawniest knight she could get her hands on. I worked hard to be a good knight, but I was no dragon killer. Not back then." Sir Galyn laughs. "Imagine our surprise when she was promised to me. I told her I could leave, if she wanted. She told me to stay."

"So... what happened?" Cecilia asks as she sits by the fire. "Everyone says you disappeared. But Lucan always says that his father is his favorite person, and you don't seem dishonorable."

"Well, it's simple. Castella and I outgrew each other. I wanted to mend things. She... didn't think we could."

"So you left?"

Sir Galyn shakes his head, gruffing and groaning as he dishes out soup for the two of them. He glares at nothing in particular, tossing a blanket towards Cecilia with a quiet "don't catch cold, now." and nothing more.

Cecilia eats her soup, quietly wondering about this man in front of her. Lucan has consistently praised him for being the best man he knows. Lucan is also about as smart as a basket of cottage cheese. And does the great Galyn of Corinth really have to stoop so low as to take lowly rescuing jobs? Those are for young knights who would be better suited to palace life- one grand gesture they can coast on for the rest of their lives. Most princesses are lucky- they get a kind man, an honorable knight. But this...

"I didn't leave, Princess. She kicked me out." Sir Galyn reveals. "I couldn't stop fighting nobles for making lewd comments about young servant girls. I couldn't leave it that children were starving and freezing in the streets. She said I wasn't the man she married. I just never became the prince she wanted."

Cecilia eats her soup, not daring to look at Sir Galyn. She is more curious now, especially now that she knows this is Lucan's father.

"Why take Lucan with you? He is Corinth's only heir." Cecilia asks eventually.

"Well, see, Lucan has some specific preferences that Corinth won't tolerate." Sir Galyn mutters. "Were this my home country, it wouldn't be an issue, but his mother is starting to get nasty about it."

"So... You're paying to take him away?"

"It's as you said, Princess. He is Corinth's only heir. His mother will fight to keep him, even at the cost of his life."

Cecilia remembers, quite viscerally and suddenly, how she saw Lucan playing with a knife at a ball last year. He was drunk- most of them were, as the wine was quite strong and the weather was quite cold- but the ease with which he had settled that knife against his throat terrified her. He had spent two hours talking to her, during which time she confessed that she did not ever wish to marry, and would allow her younger brother to take the throne. She even detailed her plans to move to a convent.

A month later, he had begun courting her. At the time, she saw it as a betrayal of her trust. Now, she's not so sure.

"I hope you succeed." Cecilia blurts out. "Lucan can be a bit of an ass on occasion, but he deserves to be happy. Everyone does, I think."

"Aye, Princess, that we do." Sir Galyn says. "Sleep. I'll take you home in the morning."

The princess has been rescued, hooray! But to her dismay the hero isn't young and handsome, instead he's a middle aged divorcee who took the job to pay alimony and child support.

#writing prompts #writing inspiration #my writing #take this #idk what it is but I might be attached to them now #help new WIP incoming

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puckstories · 2 days ago

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Boyfriend Headcannons | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Fluff, that's it I think. Edited only once.

Summary; What I think Quinn would be like as a boyfriend (:

Word Count; 3.1k

Author’s note; Enjoyed writing this so much, also considering writing a nsfw version if anyone would be interested. As per usual, any thoughts or reblogs are greatly appreciated (: -Honey

Boyfriend Quinn, who absolutely lives for affection.

He’s not always the most vocal about it, but the way he craves your touch, your kisses, your warmth—it’s in the little things he does. Quinn has this quiet, relaxed way of seeking affection that makes your heart swell every single time. He doesn’t always ask for it with words; most of the time, he doesn’t need to.

You’ve learned to recognize his silent cues by now. Whenever he wants a kiss, he won’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he’ll simply stop whatever he’s doing and turn toward you, his soft hazel eyes locking onto yours, and then he’ll tilt his head ever so slightly, his lips gently pouting in that way that’s both completely endearing and impossible to resist. He’ll just look at you with that silent, expectant expression, waiting patiently for you to indulge him, because he knows you almost always do.

And how could you not?

Sometimes, he’ll be subtle about it—like when you’re both curled up on the couch, watching a movie. You’ll feel him shift beside you, and when you glance over, there he is, his lips pushed out just a little, eyes soft and hopeful, his attention fully on you. It’s a request, his gentle way of saying, "Come here, kiss me." You’ll roll your eyes playfully, but inside, your heart melts every time. You lean in, pressing your lips against his, and you can feel the contentment in the way his body relaxes, the way his hand automatically finds yours and squeezes, as if thanking you without a single word spoken.

Other times, he’s a bit more bold, more obvious—like when you’re cooking in the kitchen, busy chopping vegetables or stirring something on the stove. You’ll be focused on whatever task you have at hand, and you won’t even notice him sneaking up behind you. He’ll come up and wrap his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder, and before you even have a chance to say anything, you feel it. He presses his lips to your neck, soft and gentle, and then pulls away just enough to turn his face toward you, lips already slightly puckered, waiting. He doesn’t say a word, but his intentions are clear.

You’ll try to ignore him at first, teasing him, pretending you’re too busy with dinner to give in to his unspoken request. But he’s persistent. He’ll squeeze you a little tighter, nuzzle into your neck, maybe even let out a small, exaggerated sigh to get your attention. And when you finally turn your head, there he is again—pouty lips, soft eyes, silently waiting for the kiss he knows he’s going to get. You give in, every time. You can’t help it.

"Okay, okay," you’ll say with a laugh, turning your head to press your lips against his, giving him exactly what he wants. The way his lips curl into a smile against yours tells you just how satisfied he is.

It’s not just the way he asks for kisses, though. Quinn is equally generous when it comes to giving affection, and he loves surprising you with it at the most random times. You could be in the middle of reading a book or scrolling through your phone, completely absorbed, and suddenly, you’ll feel his presence beside you. He’ll lean in, wrapping his arms around you gently, his hands resting at your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug. No reason. No explanation. Just because he can. Just because he wants to.

And it’s those moments that catch you off guard the most—the way he showers you with love so effortlessly, so naturally. He never needs an excuse. For Quinn, giving you affection is as simple as breathing. It’s the way he expresses his love, the way he reminds you how much he adores you, even without saying a word.

It's in the way, he loves being close to you. He always finds a reason to touch you—whether it’s holding your hand, resting his head on your lap, or draping his arm over your shoulders when you’re sitting beside each other. He’s not clingy, but there’s a need for contact that’s just so Quinn—that gentle, understated craving for connection. And you’re always happy to give it to him, knowing that being close to you is where he feels most at home.

When he’s tired, he’s even more affectionate. After a long day of practice or a tough game, you’ll find him seeking you out the moment he steps through the door. He’ll drop his bag, kick off his shoes, and walk straight to you, wrapping you up in his arms without a word. He won’t even need to say he missed you, because the way he pulls you close, burying his face in your neck, says it all. And when he’s feeling particularly worn out, he’ll simply press his lips to your forehead or your cheek, a quiet sigh escaping him as he relaxes into your touch.

And then there are the nights when he’s lying next to you in bed, the room dark and quiet, both of you just on the edge of sleep. That’s when Quinn is at his softest. He’ll roll over, pulling you closer, his lips brushing over your temple or your shoulder, and you’ll feel his gentle pouting, his silent plea for one last kiss before he drifts off. You oblige him every time, pressing your lips to his in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, and he’ll hum contentedly, his body relaxing completely as sleep finally overtakes him.

Quinn never needs to say much when it comes to affection—his actions speak louder than words ever could. The way he seeks out your touch, the way he silently asks for your kisses, the way he gives so freely of himself—it’s all a testament to how deeply he loves you, how much he cares about you.

Boyfriend Quinn, who always does the little things for you.

It’s in the smallest, most thoughtful gestures that Quinn shows his love, the kinds of things that make your heart swell and remind you just how lucky you are to have him in your life.

Take winter, for example. As soon as the first snow starts to fall, Quinn’s mind is already on you—making sure you’re taken care of, even when it comes to something as simple as the driveway or your car. He hates the thought of you standing out in the freezing cold, shivering as you scrape ice off your windshield in the early morning before work. So, whenever he’s home and able to, Quinn is always up before you, dressed in his thick jacket and boots, quietly heading outside while you’re still bundled up in bed.

By the time you’re awake and getting ready for the day, the driveway is already clear, the snow neatly shoveled into piles, and your car’s windshield is free of snow and ice. It’s not something he ever makes a big deal about—he doesn’t even mention it, really. You’ll only realize what he’s done when you look out the window and see the work he’s put in, your breath fogging up the glass as you smile to yourself, heart warmed by his thoughtfulness.

You always try to thank him, but Quinn just waves it off like it’s no big deal. "I don’t mind," he’ll say with that soft smile of his. "I just want to make things a little easier for you." And that’s the essence of Quinn—he’s always thinking about how to make your life better, how to take even the smallest burdens off your shoulders, whether it’s clearing the snow or making sure you don’t have to start your day on the wrong foot.

Then, there are the flowers. Every week, without fail, Quinn makes sure to pick up your favorite flowers when he’s out. It’s not a grand gesture, not some big bouquet delivered to your door—just a simple bunch of fresh flowers that he knows will brighten your day. Sometimes, they’re the ones you’ve always loved: delicate peonies, bright sunflowers, or soft, fragrant roses, depending on the season. Other times, he surprises you with something different—wildflowers from the local market or a mix of colors that remind him of you.

The best part is always when he walks in with them, his face lighting up just as much as yours does when he sees your reaction. He loves the way your eyes widen and the way your lips curl into that smile he adores, the one that makes his whole day feel brighter. "You didn’t have to do that," you always say, even though you both know how much you love it when he does. And Quinn just shrugs, placing the flowers on the kitchen counter or the dining room table with an easy grin.

"I like seeing you smile," he says simply, as though that’s all the explanation he needs. And it is—because, to him, these little moments of joy he brings into your life are worth everything.

It’s the same when it comes to things like the dishes. Quinn is the type of boyfriend who doesn’t just pitch in around the house—he takes care of the things he knows you hate. Like dishes. You’ve always hated doing them. It’s that one chore that gets under your skin, and you’ve made it no secret that scrubbing pots and pans is not your idea of fun. Quinn knows this, and so even on nights when he’s the one who cooked dinner, he’ll always make sure to handle the cleanup, too.

"Go relax," he’ll say, waving you off when you try to help. "I’ve got this."

You’ll protest, of course—after all, he’s already done the cooking, and it doesn’t seem fair for him to do it all. But Quinn is stubborn in the best possible way. He’ll roll up his sleeves and start running the water, ignoring your half-hearted attempts to convince him otherwise.

"You hate doing dishes," he’ll remind you with a smile, "and I don’t mind them. Plus, you always do so much for me." And that’s Quinn—always thinking about balance, about making sure you’re taken care of. He knows how much you appreciate the little things, and to him, doing the dishes after dinner is just another way of showing he loves you.

And then, there are the texts. When Quinn’s away for away games, his schedule is packed, and the time zone differences don’t always work in your favor. But he never lets that stop him from staying connected with you. No matter how busy his day gets, no matter how late it is, he always makes sure to send you a good morning and goodnight text, without fail.

Sometimes they’re simple—“Good morning, baby. Hope you have a great day.”—just a little reminder that he’s thinking about you, even when he’s miles away. Other times, they’re more playful—“Wish I was in our bed, I miss your icicle feet”—a teasing note to keep things light even in the middle of a long road trip. And when he’s too tired to string together a full sentence, it’s just a quick “Miss you” with a heart emoji, but that’s all it takes to remind you how much he cares.

He’ll always send these texts right before he crashes into bed, no matter how late or how exhausted he is. And when you wake up in the morning, knowing he’s already thinking about you from wherever he is, it never fails to make your heart skip a beat. It’s the small things like this that mean the most—how, even in the chaos of his life, Quinn makes sure you know you’re never far from his mind.

Boyfriend Quinn, who loves taking you on dates.

Whenever he has an off day, the first thing that crosses his mind is you. He always makes sure to check in with you first, sending you a quick text during the day or giving you a call, gauging how your day is going and whether you’re feeling up for it.

"How's work today? Not too tired? Feel like going out later?"

You never have to guess if he's planning, because you know Quinn's always thinking about how to make the most of his time off with you. It’s his way of creating balance in his life, something steady and beautiful amidst the chaotic whirl of hockey schedules, travel, and games. And even if you’ve had a long day at work, the thought of spending the evening with him—of getting out of the house, hand-in-hand, with nowhere else to be but together—always gives you the energy to say yes.

Most of the time, the two of you keep things casual, finding comfort in the familiar. Your favorite go-to is a small diner just a short drive away, the kind of place that feels like a second home. The staff knows your names, and there’s always that corner booth waiting for you two, tucked away enough for a little privacy. It’s not fancy, but it’s yours. The menu is simple—burgers, fries, milkshakes—but it never fails to hit the spot after a long week. There’s something cozy about it, something that makes you both feel grounded. You’ll sit across from each other, sharing fries and talking about everything and nothing, laughing over inside jokes that no one else would get.

But occasionally, Quinn likes to change things up. There are times when, instead of texting you about grabbing dinner at the diner, he’ll tell you something a little different: “Dress fancy tonight. I’ve got a surprise for you.” You can almost hear the excitement in his voice, even over text.

When Quinn decides to take you somewhere nice, it’s an event. He puts thought into every detail, planning a reservation at a restaurant you both love but don’t visit often—maybe that elegant spot downtown with the candlelit tables and soft jazz playing in the background. He’s a romantic at heart, even if he doesn’t always show it in obvious ways. On those nights, he wants to make sure everything feels just a little more special.

One of the best parts is the little ritual the two of you have before your fancier dates. Even though you live together, Quinn always insists on getting ready in the guest bedroom, leaving you to get dressed in the room you share. It’s his way of adding an element of surprise, a way to keep things exciting. He loves the idea of seeing your outfit for the first time when you come downstairs, just like on your earlier dates, when everything was still new.

The guest bedroom becomes his own little prep space. He’ll spread out his suit jacket or freshly ironed button-down on the bed, taking his time to make sure everything looks just right. Quinn isn’t the type to obsess over his appearance, but on these nights, he pays a little extra attention to the details—whether it’s making sure his tie is perfectly knotted (though, he rarely wears one anymore) or his cologne is subtle but present. He knows how much you love when he dresses up, and honestly, he loves seeing that look in your eyes when you see him standing there, ready for the night.

Meanwhile, in your shared room, you’re just as focused, choosing the perfect dress and making sure your hair and makeup are done to perfection. There’s a thrill in getting ready separately, knowing that in just a few minutes, you’ll come downstairs and have that little moment of reveal. It’s a simple tradition, but it always makes the evening feel a bit more magical.

When you finally step out of the bedroom, your heart always flutters with anticipation. You make your way downstairs, and there he is—standing by the door, looking impossibly handsome in his suit or tailored shirt, his eyes brightening the moment they land on you. It’s like time stops for a second. Quinn’s not one to gush, but the way his lips part slightly and that small, slow smile spreads across his face says everything you need to know.

"Wow," he’ll say softly, his eyes taking you in as if he’s seeing you for the first time. "You look... amazing."

You can’t help but smile back, your cheeks warming at the compliment. "You clean up pretty well yourself," you’ll tease, though you can’t deny how much you love seeing him like this—dressed up, standing there with that look of admiration in his eyes.

He steps forward, closing the distance between you, and without a word, he’ll reach for your hand, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss—just a little gesture to avoid messing up your lipstick, but one that makes your heart skip a beat every time. It’s these small, quiet moments of affection that make Quinn’s love feel so real, so genuine.

And then, off you go, stepping out into the evening together, hand in hand, as the world seems to fall away. The restaurant is just a short drive, and the conversation flows easily between you, filled with laughter and teasing. When you arrive, the ambiance of the restaurant is perfect—low lighting, the hum of quiet conversations around you, and the soft clink of glasses and silverware. But for you, the real magic of the evening isn’t just the atmosphere or the delicious food—it’s the fact that you’re with him, that Quinn has gone out of his way to make this night special for no reason other than wanting to spend time with you.

Throughout the meal, he’ll reach across the table, his fingers brushing against yours, or he’ll lean in to whisper something that makes you laugh, that private smile playing on his lips. He loves these moments—the ones where it’s just the two of you, away from the rush of life, enjoying each other’s company in a way that feels intimate and timeless.

And when the night is over and you’re both back home, the magic of the evening doesn’t fade. Quinn always makes sure to cap off the date in the sweetest way possible. He’ll pull you in close, his arms wrapping around you as he presses a kiss to your forehead, whispering something like, "I had fun tonight," in that casual, endearing way of his.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes imagines #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you

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amaryllis-22 · 2 days ago

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Okay, hear me out... Last week I woke up in the middle of the night with this idea, and it has been haunting me ever since, so I decided to share it.

(AFAB reader)

After devoting most of your life to serving the nation, in some sort of weird, anticipated mid-life crisis, you realised you needed something more.

You wanted a baby, desperately.

And what had you thought at that point, pray tell, instead of working on finding a relationship and building your own sweet family? Obviously asking your captain to get you pregnant.

Indeed the first sensible answer anyone would have come up with.

So, with perhaps too much hope and little to no certainty, you had suggested it and received in return the most intense look Price had ever given you since you had known him. You almost expected a no, but he had agreed to help you, surprisingly, and as bizarre as it might sound.

Don't be fooled, though. John was only pursuing his lowest and most personal interest, rather than doing you a favour. After all, how could he have refused when you had handed on a silver platter what he had come to crave in recent years?

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ 𖤓⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

✎ I already happen to have a longer version of this sitting in my drafts (I'm still working on it) and may publish it in the future!

#cod x reader #cod #cod x you #john price x reader #john price #price x reader #john price cod #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #call of duty #task force 141 #tf 141 #fem reader #john price x you

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vermillyons · 3 days ago

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You always have at least a part of Shanks’ attention, so the way you shift uncomfortably and curl slightly in on yourself is not going to go unnoticed.

The cause of his sudden and very dire lack of you is that very same newcomer.

you write shanks so endearingly here, the way he's so head over heels for them 🥰. it's almost childlike in how unabashed he is about it but it also juxtaposes with how insightful he is with him paying attention to reader's moods.

Shanks tucks you in sweetly (well… sweetly to a drunk; in all reality you kinda flopped in, but he did make sure you were shoeless and properly under the blankets, and he even shuffled back in to put water, crackers, and medicine where you could reach).

ok but shanks tucking you in is so sweet 🥺💖. bc im a sap im going to imagine he gave you a kiss on the head and a little pat after that.

your mihawk jealousy headcanon made me think too much about how he'd express his jealousy before and during a relationship that it's gonna end up being its own post 😭✌️ (no im not biased whattt)

At first he tries to discourage this lingering with his mere presence. He knows he’s capable of pumping out enough sheer displeasure into the air to knock out a squadron, so he keeps it to his other tools: body language that makes him feel larger than the room and a glare sharp enough to split hair.

mihawk really is the embodiment of “he’s just standing there! menacingly!” you did a really good job at describing mihawk’s body language and mood. i can’t help but smile at the image of mihawk staring daggers at the ex (poor marine).

Mihawk can tell that his mood is setting you on edge too - almost anyone would with the perturbed looks you’ve been sending his way - but that isn’t technically taking your joy, so he doesn’t back off.

You would have never guessed that his aim with his nitpicking and praising is to make sure your ex knows for a fact that you are out of their league. They don’t deserve you. But he could.

the implication of mihawk being so aloof towards reader that they can’t even figure out why mihawk’s so pissy like please 😭. mihawk you did this to yourself. also me going 👀 at the second quote’s wording “They don’t deserve you. But he could.” like the implications… the usage of “could” instead of “does” when it comes to mihawk deserving you.

Mihawk is simply delighted to see your attention going to its rightful place, on him. You should be looking at him with such interest and joy. You should be seeking his approval; not some simpering swine’s.

he is so cringe (affectionate)

His full height set strongly in sharp shoulders and straight spine cuts a devilish figure behind you. Your ex’s first impression was that he is haunting you, but there’s some little whisper in their mind that, no, Mihawk is protecting you.

good ass imagery. i love the contrast between mihawk being ominous and protective, the way his possessiveness seems to take physical form here. it’s bad news for the ex but not necessarily for reader.

also:

“I usually have to pour my own wine from the kitchen’s rack. What’s the occasion?” Mihawk takes a sip and the comfort of one of his favored wines coming over his senses coerces him into loosening his tongue. “You’ve been good.” Another sip and he thoughtfully adds, “I could give you more rewards.”

im going to hold back from saying anything too incoherently horny. anyways, i hope they makeout sloppy.

crocodile strikes me as the type of menace to sabotage any dates that you’d try to go on if it’s with anyone else but him. reservations get mysteriously canceled, transport breaks down, that kind of stuff. in true mr. 0 fashion, he’d pretend he had nothing to do with it.

since this reader is his assistant, i can see them being smart enough to figure it out. either their reaction can be indifferent (all those red flags just look like flags when you’re a criminal lol), bothered by the lying, or amused (like, wow, he didn’t have to do all that if he wanted them so bad).

It only irritates him even more that you don’t notice him until you’re swallowed by his shadow. You even have the audacity to look surprised when you turn to him.

(point and laugh) he liiikes them!

And thus begins the interrogation. You can only watch perplexed as Sir Croc tugs every bit of information he could want out of your ex, making sure to cut off anything he didn’t care to hear. That frustrated look and tone become more bored by the second. Every tone tells your ex that they’re barely worth the breath to speak, causing them to shrink even faster than Sir Croc’s anger did.

this captures his condescending and imperious apathy so well. it’s like it’s beaming a picture of crocodile directly into my brain. giving the same energy when crocodile went “idgaf about your plans” to blackbeard. he’s the worst 💖💖💖

the metal isn’t cold like you thought it would be. It must be warmed from resting on his thigh. You shake away the thought of warming it further.

ok ok ok 😳👉👈 what a nice, subtly sensual detail.

Noting how deep your draw to Croc is, you already feel that that would be a dead end. Well, maybe some time rekindling things would help your daydreaming and wishing for Sir Croc finally start ebbing away.

crocodile is going to be so insufferably smug once he finds out why reader’s been reconnecting with their ex.

When he reaches for his awaiting drink, he notices Daz Bonez come back into the room, wiping his hands off on his pants. Their eyes meet and Daz Bones gives a firm nod before heading back to his other duties for the night.

daz bonez, being an assassin, has definitely killed for pettier reasons but he really just killed the ex with no questions asked. unmatched loyalty! give this man infinite paid vacation days even if he’d never take them.

jealousy headcanons and scenarios r my kryptonite! especially for emotionally constipated characters lol. for shanks, mihawk, and crocodile seeing their crush interacting with someone that turns out to be said crush's ex? there's chemistry between the exes and are those lingering looks he's seeing?! 🫢

OOOOOOOO GOOD CHOICES GOOD CHOICES 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 I must say I am weak for some jealousy too 💀 why does it have to be so hot in fiction huh??? Or make me feel wanted????? Rude 😤

Three jealous DILFs coming right up 🫡

Jealousy from Shanks, Mihawk, and Sir Crocodile

Your ex comes back into your life and stirs up some feelings - How are these men taking it?

Form this took: started as a bulleted headcanons but then became a scenario/ficlet for each ahsdjajskdajs

Word count: Shanks - 1.1 k, Mihawk - 1.2 k, Croc - 1.2 k

Shanks

The clinging and diverting type

This mf tries to be sneaky about it

Key word: tries

It’s no secret that Shanks is the jovial sort and that his welcome and cheer extend easily to newcomers. However, something curious happens when the next one joins your large table.

You always have at least a part of Shanks’ attention, so the way you shift uncomfortably and curl slightly in on yourself is not going to go unnoticed. You catch yourself and relax back into your usual posture, but Shanks knows you well enough to see there’s a posed touch to all your expressions. It tames them from the genuine displays of your thoughts and emotions that Shanks so loves into something more suited to a diplomat seeking favor. Now that had him wary.

It took no genius to notice that each time a great laugh broke out your eyes would sweep to that newcomer to take them in, or how your would flicker your gaze over to them every time you had the spotlight, as if seeking approval.

Gods Shanks hopes that isn’t the case

Driven to seek comfort in your presence, Shanks leans into his affectionate nature to keep close to you. You can’t think too long on someone else with him constantly leaning into your space to whisper dumb jokes and silly observations. He made those laughs and he gets to enjoy them up close and personal. You may look to others but you always look back to him when he ventures to lay his hand on your shoulder or hand or thigh and give a happy, hearty squeeze before retreating. He relishes in the fact that you had been uncertain of his touch when you first met yet now you trust and even welcome his hand on you.

Shanks is burst right out of his bubble of avoidance when you suddenly jolt and sit straight, separating yourself from his side.

The cause of his sudden and very dire lack of you is that very same newcomer. The newcomer, who is leaning in so close to you. The newcomer, who now has all of your attention. The newcomer, who is giving you a smile that Shanks very much does not like. It’s very charming and holds a twinge of remorse that Shanks knows from experience would strike straight and true right to your heart

“I’m glad to see you in happier times. You look good,” they have the audacity to say, the words even seeping with honesty. Shanks isn't sure he focused on anything in his life as hard as he does on your reaction in this moment.

Your smile is breathtaking, one he isn't sure he’s seen before, all affection and understanding and a dusting of yearning. It turns his heart to goo right before it clamps it tight and squeezes, because that smile isn't for him. He needs that smile to be for him. His mouth is moving before the thought even sinks in.

“We do like to keep things cheerful here!” Shanks chuckles to the newcomer. He turns to you, making sure to catch your eye. “Life’s too short to anchor yourself to your sorrows.” Now back to the newcomer. “And this one-” an arm slips around your shoulders, hugging you to his warm side, “-helps keep it that way.”

The smile you give him isn’t quite as overflowing with emotion as the one you gave the newcomer, but he loves it all the same.

Unfortunately, that’s not the end of it and the newcomer actually sits down on your other side and insists on catching up. Shanks is a damn charmer though, and he knows it, so he’s not one to give up on keeping your attention through the night.

He stays in the conversation easily, not deterred by the newcomer outsider bringing up shared memories with you, even though they squeeze at his heart and lungs tighter and tighter. He uses it to get to know more of you, a part of him truly enjoying the new insights. However, a much larger part is simply set on keeping the reminiscing light instead of romantically charged.

As the time and drinks flow, his and the outsider's tactics get more obvious yet you get more oblivious, simply cruising on the comfy fuzz everything had taken on and enjoying the company. Your unintentional refusal to pick a favorite has both of them getting desperate and daring.

Try as they might, the outsider is clearly outmatched

By the end of the night you’re wearing Shanks like a perfume, he’s stuck to your skin at the heart of your body, chest always tight to your back or side, chin often hooked over your shoulder or on top of your head. His slight scruff tickling at your ear when he moves and talks is exceedingly distracting. So is the softness of his hair on your neck when he turns his head to bed his cheek into your shoulder and pull you a little tighter to him, saying its just 'cause he's a little sleepy and trying to get comfy. He unearths himself from his resting place only to seek it again every few minutes.

His arm is always around you when he wasn’t using it to drink (of course) or toy with you - tugging at your clothes for attention, tickling your sides to interrupt you, sweetly scratching your scalp to derail your train of thought, teasingly rubbing a thumb into your hip or thigh to feel you squirm.

Shanks is a handsy motherfucker (ironic right-), so you don’t take any of this as a proclamation of his love. The most you think is that it has just hit that point in your journey together where his vast appetite for partners has finally swept its way to focus on you.

You end the night giggling the whole stumbling way back to the ship, tucked into Shanks’ side. You manage to stay there despite being at the mercy of both of your swaying, constantly blending who’s supporting and who’s slipping. Your ex is far from your mind when Shanks tucks you in sweetly (well… sweetly to a drunk; in all reality you kinda flopped in, but he did make sure you were shoeless and properly under the blankets, and he even shuffled back in to put water, crackers, and medicine where you could reach).

Shanks does however have a flash of your ex in his mind when he's happily gloating to himself that he had won.

His last blurry thoughts are of how to make sure you and everyone else unquestionably knows that you are off limits. The unspoken claim understood by the crew while he works at winning you over doesn't seem to be enough anymore. Especially if that pesky ex comes sniffing around again. Maybe they just need a lesson in what staring down Conqueror’s Haki truly feels like.

Mihawk

The intimidating and biting type

Mihawk would likely be the most covert of these three, at least as far as your notice goes

Your ex has no questions about Mihawk’s dislike for them. With his reputation as emotionless and solitary, it’s not guaranteed that your ex will put two and two together to realize that Mihawk's dislike stems from their previous relationship with you. Even if Mihawk hints at it, they'll tell themselves that they're imagining things. It’s much more likely that they’ll think it’s because Mihawk is that way with all but the Few Exceptions, and they have definitely not made the cut.

It definitely didn’t help that they were a marine

Mihawk is already unhappy to see a marine on his doorstep, no doubt sent to yip at him about some nonsense or other that the admirals were in a twist over. That unhappiness quadruples when he hears you tentatively call to this marine by name, and then it multiplies again when the marine responds by breathing out your own name with shock and hope

This pest needs to be out of his castle quickly

Yet he can't bring himself to simply throw them out when you come over so disgustingly happy to see them. There were a few times where he'd interrupted or snuffed out your joy while adjusting to you joining his home, and he found the feeling it gave him insufferable. That's what forces him to let the pest in and guide them with you to the smaller dining room.

He’d simply have to find what the pest needs fast and expedite whatever catching up you two apparently must do.

That's easier said than done; you and the pest are insistent on taking time between flustered pleasantries to share uncertain smiles and lingering looks of longing in charged silence.

It's giving him the worst mood he'd had in years.

At first he tries to discourage this lingering with his mere presence. He knows he's capable of pumping out enough sheer displeasure into the air to knock out a squadron, so he keeps it to his other tools: body language that makes him feel larger than the room and a glare sharp enough to split hair. Both make the pest cringe and shy away, but the chance to gain your favor makes them push through it. Even though he hates it, Mihawk can't blame them.

Mihawk can tell that his mood is setting you on edge too - almost anyone would with the perturbed looks you've been sending his way - but that isn't technically taking your joy, so he doesn't back off.

In fact, he decides it's time to push even more.

He begins interjecting in your conversation, mostly with little insults to take the wind out of the pest's sails.

You aren't yet tipped off that there's something hiding behind his mood; he was never fond of braggarts so it isn't so out of the ordinary for him to humble someone. Of course, you wouldn't exactly call what your ex is doing "bragging" so much as filling you in on their growing career. They are actually relatively humble about it, clearly just excited to fill you in and not phrasing things to seek your praise.

Then Mihawk starts complimenting you.

Mihawk is not one to dish out praise. You've had to fight tooth and nail to get the mere drops of it you'd tasted so far, so his sudden highlighting of your positive traits trips your sensors. It isn't exactly alarm bells ringing, more it makes you feel like there's something you're missing. You figure it's the sudden disruption and old instincts from his Marine Hunter days cropping up.

You would have never guessed that his aim with his nitpicking and praising is to make sure your ex knows for a fact that you are out of their league. They don't deserve you. But he could.

No matter the reason though, you certainly relish in Mihawk calling you things such as "necessary for [his] castle", "smarter than those inane marine trials", "finally proficient and needing no distractions to ruin that", and "better company than a bunch of sea monkeys". Sure, from most anyone else they'd feel slightly insulting, but from everything you've so far seen of Mihawk that's a glowing review.

The uncanny nature of this whole interaction, from Mihawk's tank in mood to the sudden praise, keeps your focus away from your ever shrinking ex.

He figures he's been patient enough (it's been almost a whole ten minutes after all) and it is time to end this farce.

Mihawk stands from his spot and goes to sift through the wine rack. He returns with an above average vintage (even by his tastes) and two glasses. He sets them at the corner of the table so he can deftly open the wine. The silence as you both watch him work elates him.

The first glass is placed in front of his seat and swiftly filled. You watch the action with admiration for his fluid and confident motions. The pest watches with growing envy.

The second glass is filled while still sat in the corner, keeping its owner ambiguous.

The bottle leaves one hand and that glass enters the other, coming with Mihawk as he moves to stand behind your chair.

His full height set strongly in sharp shoulders and straight spine cuts a devilish figure behind you. Your ex's first impression was that he is haunting you, but there's some little whisper in their mind that, no, Mihawk is protecting you.

That whisper gets stronger as Mihawk leans forward over you, getting much too close to be polite while he places the wine glass down directly in front of you. His eyes hold the pest's with an air of warning the whole time.

Mihawk settles back upright, placing a hand on both carved corners decorating the back of your chair. The act seems clearly possessive. But surely Mihawk couldn't have found some special fondness for you?

You are none the wiser to Mihawk's antics behind you, too enraptured by the closeness of his reaching arm then too distracted checking out the color and aroma of your gifted wine.

Having at least enough pieces of a functional brain to pick up on that cue, the pest begins rushing out some excuses and makes to leave.

Kind as you are, you tell them they don't have to rush off, but they're adamant. You're a bit sad to see this chance meeting end so quickly, but your mind quickly settles on thinking it's for the best. Your memories of them are distant enough to be cherry picked and seeing them scamper off so easily reminds you that there are reasons you parted.

Mihawk chases escorts them out and returns to you looking much less belligerent and much more at ease. You figure it best to not risk ruining the positive turn by questioning it, yet you can't help but ask one thing.

"I usually have to pour my own wine from the kitchen's rack. What's the occasion?"

Mihawk takes a sip and the comfort of one of his favored wines coming over his senses coerces him into loosening his tongue.

"You've been good." Another sip and he thoughtfully adds, "I could give you more rewards."

Sir Crocodile

The assertive and analytical type

Despite Croc being a plotter, I see him as being quite direct in this situation

Ok yeah maybe he insists it’s because you can do better and you’re definitely above crawling back to an ex (“you broke up for a reason didn’t you?”)

But maybe he also takes this as his opportune moment to get you into his clutches.

Who could blame him when he feels the threat of such an unworthy little nobody working so hard to catch your eye.

Croc always keeps an eye on you, no matter what else demands his attention. Sure, there's an obsessive edge to it, but he just needs to know what you're up to - has to know you're safe near for when he needs you. You are the best assistant he's ever seen after all, and he's been through an army's worth. He's sure his new organization would've crumbled if you weren't there to balance out the clown and his circus monkeys constantly shooting themselves in the foot (sometimes literally).

Many of those circus monkeys were even stupid enough to try and approach you themselves. Luckily for him, you seem about as enthused on the idea of you having a partner as he is.

Which brings us back to his irritation that you haven't swatted that bug away from you. No, instead you seem to be rather tolerant of their buzzing. Maybe even fond.

That just won't do.

The crowds at this schmooze-fest, thrown to entice more pirates and criminals alike, part easily for his beeline to you.

It only irritates him even more that you don't notice him until you're swallowed by his shadow. You even have the audacity to look surprised when you turn to him.

And you truly are surprised - as far as you know there's no reason for Croc's usual grimace to turn into something so stormy, especially directed at you. It quickly jumps to your ex however and focuses that torrent there.

"I don't know you," Croc states gruffly.

"I'm-"

"Your name doesn't matter," Croc interrupts. "What do you do? Why are you here?"

And thus begins the interrogation. You can only watch perplexed as Sir Croc tugs every bit of information he could want out of your ex, making sure to cut off anything he didn't care to hear. That frustrated look and tone become more bored by the second. Every tone tells your ex that they're barely worth the breath to speak, causing them to shrink even faster than Sir Croc's anger did.

You catch their eye and send them a sympathetic smile, and then Croc moves on to you.

"And you," he starts roughly. He lets you sit in suspense while he drags those hooded purple eyes from the crown of your head to the toes of your shoes and back. "Why are you here?"

You're taken absolutely aback by the question, mouth flapping from a mix of shock and offense. You have quite a list of things you keep your eye on at these parties; did he want you to go down the whole thing? After a deep breath, you try, "To gather informationof and from possible allies and help build relationships?"

"Wrong."

Well, at least he let you finish your sentence. Time to try again.

"To make sure the night runs smoothly," you say much more surely. It's an apt description of your overall job.

"Wrong again." Yep, that grimace is now definitely a smirk. One that only widens when you purse your lips and stare him down. You notice the genuine amusement shining in Croc's eyes and relax a touch, content to let him guide this to whatever destination he has planned.

"Then please, Sir, tell me," you relent. "Why am I here?"

He takes a deep puff of his cigar before pulling it from his lips and watching the smoke swirl out with his exhale. You watch it too - admire how handsome he looks reappearing through the haze. Enjoying how small you feel as he leans over you through its last remnants.

He rarely touches you with his golden hook, always using his hand (you've yet to realize it's because he prefers to feel you on his skin). Now, though, he raises it towards you. You're surprised yet again when the curve touches beneath your chin to tilt your face just a little higher; the metal isn't cold like you thought it would be. It must be warmed from resting on his thigh. You shake away the thought of warming it further.

He takes his time assessing you, giving you your own time to look over his breathtakingly chiseled face, admire his striking scar, forget everything else but his eyes on you.

Without intention, you gravitate towards him, leaning forward enough into him and that golden hook drawing you that you have to catch yourself with a stumbling step. The fond chuckle he gives in response resonates deep and rich and feels like a reward flowing over you.

"You, my dear," Sir Crocodile says with unfamiliar mirth, "are here to keep me happy."

"And how would you like me to do that, Sir?" you whisper back.

At first, that just earns you a smile. Then he's drawing his hook along your jaw, tickling the tip around your ear, drawing it gently across your cheek. It ends its journey on your lips, ever so gently pulling your bottom lip down before letting it flick back up when he draws his arm away. You watch the glimmering gold retreat. He's greedy for more of the longing he sees in your eyes. He leans slightly lower and gives you back that hook, this time in the form of an offered arm.

"With your company, of course," He finally answers. The warmth you hear in the drawl of his voice is beautiful.

You slip your hand into the crook of his arm, happy you can feel his body heat through the soft fabric of his shirt.

Halfway back to his previous spot, you realize that you'd become so distracted that you hadn't even said goodbye to your ex. You had wanted to exchange numbers, maybe truly get back in touch and feel out if things would be better this time. Noting how deep your draw to Croc is, you already feel that that would be a dead end. Well, maybe some time rekindling things would help your daydreaming and wishing for Sir Croc finally start ebbing away.

"Did you see where they went?"

Croc has to hold in his smile at your question. "They scurried off on you. It's for the best though; they were exceedingly unimpressive."

You couldn't help but snort at his assessment.

After guiding you to your chair and pushing it in, Croc settles down himself. When he reaches for his awaiting drink, he notices Daz Bonez come back into the room, wiping his hands off on his pants. Their eyes meet and Daz Bones gives a firm nod before heading back to his other duties for the night.

Sir Croc smirks and takes a heavy sip of scotch.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

There you are sweet anon, I hope you enjoyed and that it properly scratched the itch❣️ Thank you for the ask 🤍 Sending much love!!!

Part of a little celebration

#fic rec #shanks x reader #mihawk x reader #crocodile x reader

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winchesterwild78 · 2 days ago

Text

On the Eleventh Day of Christmas

Master List

Characters: Ben/Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, Self esteem Issues, Light Smut, Pregnancy,

A/N: Day 11 of my holiday fics. I hope you enjoy this short series. I’m really excited about it. All work is my own, please don’t take it. Reblogs and likes are welcomed.

I do not own the rights to the characters I use, these will not follow the story lines of the series the character appeared in. This is a work of fiction.

I gave Ben’s mom a name in this even though she’s not named in the series.

Written fast and edited fast, please overlook any errors.

Minors DNI 18+

I sat on the couch touching my swollen belly. Feeling the little kicks of my baby girl growing inside me, I smiled.

Ben and I had been married for over three years and I finally convinced him to try for a baby.

I desperately wanted to have his baby. I’d wanted to since the moment I met him. Well, maybe not the exact moment, but pretty damn close.

He and some of Butcher’s team showed up at my office to take care of some business and he was focused on my co-worker, April most of the time. She’s gorgeous, long legs, thin, long blonde hair and very busty.

I’m the complete opposite, well I do have boobs, but many exes said it was because of the extra weight I carried around.

I was a little jealous of April, especially when Ben finally asked her out. She giggled and said yes, then they left. In the middle of the day they left to go on a “date”.

Hours later when she came back her stockings were gone, makeup smudged, and her hair was really out of place.

I felt a pang in my chest and couldn’t figure out why. I heard April giggle at her desk as Ben whispered something in her ear.

I sat at my desk trying to focus on the mountain of work I had to finish before I left for the weekend.

I grabbed my coffee cup and sighed, it was empty. I stood and walked to the breakroom. Hearing her giggle over and over in my head made me feel worse.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never formally met him, but everyone knows who he is. There was something about him that made me want to be with him and only him. It was crazy.

I was lost in my thoughts trying to figure out how to push him out of my brain. This feeling of wanting him was crazy. I’d never even spoken to him. I didn’t hear the heavy footsteps behind me as I bent over to grab the creamer from the refrigerator.

“Damn, now that’s a gorgeous view, doll.” My eyes went wide and I stood and turned. There he was, looking incredible. His voice sent a shiver down my spine. Which he noticed because of the smirk it drew on his face.

I bit my bottom lip, unsure of what to say or do. I turned back to my coffee and started to finish making it.

“What’s your name, doll?” “Y/N, and you’re Soldier Boy.” “Ben, you can call me Ben.” “Nice to meet you Ben.” By this point I was turned and facing him.

Taking in his perfectly trimmed beard, his strong jaw, his piercing green eyes, plump lips. Oh god I could feel myself getting aroused and my heart rate picking up.

He stepped closer, “You okay, darlin’? Your heart is pounding.” I just nodded and my breathing became shaky.

He stepped closer, inches from me, “You sure about that?” I made eye contact with him and held my breath. Oh god I would have his babies right now.

He asked me questions about myself and my life, and I just freely gave him everything he wanted. Hell I would have given him anything he wanted right there in the breakroom.

His hand gently touched my cheek and I leaned into it. I bit my lower lip. I’d never felt like this with anyone.

As he was closing the distance between us, April walked into the breakroom. She gasped, “What is this? Soldier Boy, what about us?!” She didn’t call him Ben, interesting.

He turned and looked at her, “There is no us doll. We were just having a little fun.” Her face turned red and her jaw clenched.

She looked at me, “So you think you can seduce THE Soldier Boy? Girl please. I’m half the woman you are. Why would he want you when he’s had me?”

I felt the pang grow in my chest. The cruelty of people making fun of my weight wasn’t something new to me. It's been happening since my teen years. Even now as an adult the judging looks, the snide comments and sideways glances seemed to be a constant. This time however, it hurt to my core.

She was right. Why would he, a man built like a Greek God want me when he’s had her and so many other beautiful women.

I felt the sting of the tears in my eyes. I turned away as I felt the tears fall.

Ben crossed the room to her and grabbed her shoulders, pinning her against the wall. “Don’t ever talk about her like that again. She’s gorgeous and twice the woman you are, and she’s mine.”

I lifted my head and turned to look at him. His eyes met mine and instantly softened. Did he really just call me his? What the hell?!

He let April go and she left the room. Ben walked back over to me and his thumb gently wiped the tears away. “God you’re beautiful, Y/N. Even with a red splotchy face.” He chuckled and I smiled.

“Ben, why did you tell April I’m yours? I’m not.” “I know, darlin’. I want you to be mine. I can’t explain it, but I feel drawn to you. I understand if you don’t feel the same. We did just meet and I did just fuck your co-worker.”

There it was again, that pang of jealousy filling my soul. I couldn’t ignore it.

That was over 4 years ago, and the day I took a chance on Ben. Fast forward to now, and here I am sitting on our couch in our house, watching him fight with the Christmas tree and lights on Christmas Eve.

“Why the fuck do we need a damn tree up, Y/N? It’s Christmas Eve.” I rubbed my belly, “It’s for her, Ben. Plus a Christmas tree with twinkling lights is beautiful at night and I can’t do it alone.”

“She’s not here yet, why does she need a tree?” I rolled my eyes, he could be stubborn sometimes, but I knew he was in trouble once our daughter was born. That rough, tough, grumpy man will turn into mush when she’s here. She already has him wrapped around his finger. As evident by the extravagant nursery he created for her.

I tried to get off the couch, but being almost 9 months pregnant it was proving rather difficult. Ben stopped what he was doing and walked over to help me up.

He helped me stand and chuckled, “What’s so funny, Ben?” “Nothing, I love seeing your belly swollen with my baby. Even if you can’t stand on your own anymore.”

Emotions and hormones got the better of me and I started to cry, “I know, I’m fat. I’m so sorry I look like this and you don’t want me anymore.”

Ben’s eyes shot back to mine, “Don’t say that! You’re so fucking beautiful and you’re giving me a baby. I love every (he kissed my lips) inch (he kissed down my neck) of (he kissed my collarbone) your (he gripped my hips) body (he kissed the top of my breasts that peaked out of my shirt).

My cheeks flushed red and I felt my arousal growing. Sex with Ben was always amazing, but since I’ve been pregnant it’s been different and at times primal.

As soon as Ben found out I was pregnant a primal instinct in him took over. His need to protect became stronger. When we had sex he was gentle but dominant at the same time. As my pregnancy has progressed we’ve had to be creative with positions due to my growing belly. Ben’s favorite recently was me on top or he behind me, cradling my belly.

Ben began kissing me deeper and walking me backwards towards our room. “Ben, we really should finish the tree.” “Nope, I’m gonna finish what I started.” He practically growled.

Once in our shared room Ben began removing my shirt and pants. His hand slid between my legs. “Damn, sweetheart, you’re dripping wet.” I smirked as I felt my arousal running down my thigh.

Ben began to undress as I sat on the side of the bed. I tried to grab the blanket to cover myself, but he pushed it away. He lifted my chin, “Please don’t, you’re so beautiful and I love every inch of you.”

I bit my lip. He always had a way of making me feel so beautiful and desired. One of the many reasons I fell in love with him.

Ben undressed and laid back on the bed, motioning for me. I laid beside him, the best I could and his hands trailed up and down my body.

“Ben, I need you.” He grinned, “I need you too baby.”

My hand slid down his torso and to his thick, hard cock. My thighs clenched together.

He helped me up and I straddled him. Taking his length in my hand and I lined him up to me. We both moaned as he bottomed out.

His fingers are holding onto my hips and digging into my skin. I moved my hips as he thrusted up. Each thrust pushed me close to the edge. I knew I wasn’t going to last long.

“Ben..I’m so..close.” “Mmm, let go baby.” My body responded to him and before I knew it I was cumming hard.

“Damn baby, you soaked me.” He chuckled. I felt the warmth of my release all over me and him. The bed became soaked under Ben and I kept feeling it.

I stopped moving. “What? What’s wrong, Y/N?” “Ben, I think my water broke.”

Ben helped me up and I could still feel the liquid coming out of me. “Y/N, you’re not due for about 2 weeks.” “I know, I just think we should go to the hospital.”

Ben cleaned off and helped me get dressed then got himself dressed. He helped me to the car and I climbed in.

Arriving at the hospital we saw a ton of people waiting to be seen. Ben stormed up to the front desk, “We need a doctor NOW! My wife is in labor and she’s not waiting out here with all these sick people.” Ben growled.

The nurse looked up at him then over at me as the contractions started.

She grabbed a chair and had me sit. Ben was by my side as they pushed me to the labor and delivery floor.

Once I got changed and hooked up the doctor came in and confirmed I was in labor.

Ben began pacing the floor. “Isn’t it too early?” Ben asked the doctor. She shook her head no and told him everything looked perfectly normal.

“Normal?! She’s having a supe baby and she’s 2 weeks early. There’s nothing normal about that!”

The doctor looked at Ben and then back to me. “How are you feeling?” She asked me. “The contractions aren’t that bad yet, but they are getting closer together.”

She glanced at the machine tracking my contractions and nodded. “Well, let’s check to see how dilated you are.”

Propping my legs up in the stirrups she checked my cervix. I winced in pain and Ben was at my side holding my hand.

“Can’t you be a little more gentle doc?” Ben’s voice boomed in the room.

“Ben, it’s okay. She didn’t hurt me. It’s just uncomfortable. Baby, you have to calm down a little. I need you, she needs you.”

He ran his hands through his hair, “I know. I just don’t like to see you in pain and I caused this situation.”

“Benji, look at me, please. She is worth all the pain in the world. Before too long we will be holding her in our arms and all of this will be over.” Ben’s eyes softened and he kissed my forehead. “Sorry doc. I know I can be a dick sometimes. She’s just everything to me.”

The doctor nodded and smiled, “I understand, and your reactions are perfectly normal. I promise you I’m going to take care of your wife and baby.”

He nodded and she left the room leaving us alone.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of us as we listened to her heartbeat fill the room. She was less active as the contractions came closer together.

A few hours later the doctor came in and said it was time. I took a deep breath and grabbed Ben’s hand.

“Are you ready to meet our daughter, Ben?” He smirked and nodded.

After what felt like forever the sound of a tiny cry filled the room. The doctor laid our baby girl on my chest and Ben cut her cord. It was love at first sight.

She had a great set of lungs, sandy blonde hair and piercing green eyes like her father.

When the nurses took her to clean her, measure and weigh her, Ben was standing over them.

He kept asking questions and the nurses were so sweet answering him and even let him help.

“Why are you wrapping her so tight? She looks like a burrito. That can’t be comfortable for her. Is she breathing? Why’d she whimper?”

I giggled seeing him hover. The nurse handed the baby to Ben and he walked over to me with the biggest, proudest smile on his face.

It reminded me of why I fell in love with him. His softer side not many people get to see.

He sat down beside me and smiled down at her then at me. “You did amazing, sweetheart. Look at what we made. She’s perfect, just like her mama.”

My heart filled with so much love and joy, seeing him hold her. He was made to be a father.

“Ben, we have to name her.” “Yeah, we do, but how do you give a name to someone so perfect? I can’t think of one that does her justice. It has to be perfect.”

I smiled, looked over at the time and realized it was Christmas Day. “Ben, how about Noelle?”

He looked at me and then down at her and smiled. “It’s perfect. Noelle Grace”

I smiled. Ben didn’t talk much about his mother, but I knew her name was Grace. “Perfect” I smiled at him.

He handed her back to me and I held her tight. “My little Noelle Grace. Merry Christmas, baby girl, and Merry Christmas, Ben.”

Ben leaned down and kissed me and then her, “Best Christmas present ever. Merry Christmas, Y/N. I love you.”

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.

Tags:

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573

@k-slla @jackles010378

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

@roseblue373 @cheynovak

@jassackles @chriszgirl92

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@mandee7 @barnes70stark

@spnaquakindgdom

#hes gorgeous #so damn sexy #soldier boy x plus size reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy smut

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twst-drabbles · 1 day ago

Text

Jade and Jamil 1

Summary: You wake up to the scent of food and go to the dining room. A feast awaits you, but it was made by the hands of Jade and Jamil, who broke into your dorm that you know you've locked up tight.

(Ugh, the writing slump is powerful during the winter... Anyways, have this yandere piece. It's rather tame compared to the other's I've wrote, so no warnings to be had beyond the general trespassing and all that.)

Jade's food tickles the curious part of you, the one that tends to indulge in morbid ideas and sights. Jamil, on the other hand, strikes right at the heart of comfort, with food made to take hold of your longing for home with their rich and familiar scents.

Unfortunately, when these different styles of dishes have been stuffed onto your table, it created a sickening experience. The clash of scents and colors kind of ruined your rather lax morning.

You didn't even let Jade and Jamil in here in the first place. You just wanted to sleep in until noon, get a small snack or something before going right back to bed until it was shower time.

"Why," you wanted to lift your shirt over your nose, "are you here? I didn't invite any of you."

"Ah, well, my apologizes for that," Jade took the initiative, as he was the only one not distracted with perfectly arranging the dishes on the table, "I've heard tell from a ghost or two that you haven't been eating as well as you could have. And since I know you to laze about well past the point of starvation, I've decided to let myself in and make a little something for you," he presented his side of the table, mushroom and fish dishes aplenty, all clearly experimental in nature, "all I ask in return is your enjoyment."

You more than suspect that half of these dishes are from his childhood. Much of it was raw, and those that are cooked were probably heated by a volcanic vent. You're more than sure that Jade has recipes that resemble the food on land but intentionally chose not to use them. Either way, it's a tossup as to whether it will agree with you or not, though there is not doubt that it would be an interesting flavor.

"Don't listen to him, I saw him pick the lock on the front door," Jamil, clearly irritated by Jade's audacity, popped his head from out the kitchen with utensils at hand, "Though I do have to agree with your eating habits. I know you skip breakfast and lately you've been passing up on lunch as well. If the problem is the food, then I'm more than sure I can solve that problem."

While Jade and Jamil didn't make eye contact with one another, the tension in their bodies was very clear to your eyes. And while the food in front of you was calling to you to pounce on it, you turned towards Jade and Jamil.

"Get out." There's no way you're eating in front of them.

Jade's spine stiffened and Jamil nearly tripped over air. But, as per usual, they were both quick to recover as if nothing happened at all.

Jade placed a hand on his chest, eyes thinning to a glare at Jamil. "Ah, I understand. Do you want me to escort Jamil out, then?"

Jamil gave a single laugh and returned that glare with a well mannered stare. "I'm very sure the Prefect meant you. You were the one that picked that lock, after all. I'm here to make sure you don't do anything funny."

Of course, of course. Meander about, pretend to mishear your words until you give up and let one of them stay, hoping that you learn not to bother.

Ugh. You're in a bad mood now.

"Out, both of you." You turn your back on the food and pulled out your phone. You went to the collective group chat that only continued to get bigger and bigger as time went on.

In it, you left a message: I have a literal feast in my dorm right now. Anyone want to eat it?

Jamil's and Jade's phone dinged. They pulled them out, and both pulled a collective frown. That made you smile.

And, of course, over half of your buddies replied positively to the news, and sent back that they're coming right away.

Jade snapped his phone in half, making your organs jump. Jamil had the composure to not do that, but he did stuff it into his pocket with a hiss of a sigh.

"…well then, I'll see you both later." Jamil dismissed himself first.

Jade didn't say a word, merely tightly smiling as he followed behind Jamil.

The door closed, and you breathed a sigh at the lighter atmosphere.

"Well, time for a snack." Something is better than nothing.

#twst #twisted wonderland #drabble #twst-drabbles #ask #octavinelle #jade #jade leech #scarabia #jamil #jamil viper #reader insert #yandere #unindexed

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machisneedle · 2 days ago

Note

hii, I just saw that you have open requests ^^Can I ask for a lighter x reader who has the personality or is similar to Clorinde 🙏🙏🙏🙏 I beg you. I hope it goes well for you 🙏🙏🙏Sorry if there are any spelling mistakes because I lost my glasses.

Hellooo, ofc I can !! Also your spelling is perfectly fine <3

Lighter x s/o with a personality similar to clorindes ・₊✧₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎

✧ content: headcannon format , fluff , confessioning love , pre-relationship and current relationship.

Safe for minors to read !!

✧ I feel like his serious but also unserious mood would be a refresher for you , also helping you become more comfortable around him. For example , if you're dealing with something stressful , he'd be the type to try to keep you out of the house and even if it's just to hang out with Lucy or ceaser knowing your not alone makes him feel better.

✧ he'd definitely fall for you first. your strong and stoic front you put on is so intriguing to him because he's a serious person when he wants to be , but the fact he's NEVER seen you break that serious personality apart from a couple chuckles or when your trying to make Lucy feel better about something silly , it makes him want get closer to you. He also finds you badass as fuck but he'd never say it.

✧ when you finally realise you somehow like this man , you considered a complete and utter idiot. You're in complete denial , like how could I fall for HIM type thing.

✧ he is the one to confess 100% . He was confident , but he never thought you'd actually say yes to him. He was expecting you to stare at him like he was a creature from the hallow , so when you said yes he was actually taken aback by your word's , he totally hit you with a " yeah thats cool... cool " while he's internally screaming , before thinking about telling caesar and the others about it. He is a girl dad at heart ok.

✧ it might not be your cup of tea going out to his fights , but PLEASE do it at least once , this man will be yours for life if you do. Even if you sit there looking uninterested as normal because you finally gave into his begs, he'd be over the moon totally, not because you finally gave into going. He'd try to catch your attention by winking at you when you'd look his way , or if he was feeling extra like a little bitch he'd blow you a kiss being met by ur disappointed eye roll never got boring for him. When you find him afterwards dragging him home, he'd hit you with a " c'mon it wasn't that bad darlin " with that classic smirk on his face... let's just say he got a bonk on the head for that one.

✧ he sometimes found it hard to understand your emotions because of how closed off you could be. He would go to one of the girls about it and ask them what he should do , this man is a dumbass when it comes to love sometimes. He'd always be told to just go to you about it , so after a while , he gave in and went to you. It wasn't easy at first getting you to open up for him , but when you did , it made your relationship a lot better.

✧ at first, if anyone tried to hit on you, he'd be instantly at their throats, but there was one time he was grabbing something to drink while you sat and waited. He came back to a guy walking away uncomfortably looking like he was about to burst into tears , " What's up with him, huh ? " he chuckled , sliding you your drink. " he tried to hit on me, so I told him it straight. I wasn't interested. " You shrugged , " you don't say, " he replied. Ever since then , if someone hit on you he just let you give them that resting bitch face that made men run for the hills. Most men apart from him , personally found any face you pulled stunning .

✧ so , in summary you both have your Flaws mainly with communication , but you both try your best and that's all that matters <3

This is my first time writing lighter so sorry if he's abit out of character !! This request was really fun because I love clorinde

#zenless zone zero #zzz #zzz x reader #zenless zone zero x reader #lighter #lighter x reader #lighter x reader fluff

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charmed-redemption · 10 hours ago

Text

"Please excuse me for a moment."

Anyone who wasn't at the event was not likely to make an appearance. The two highest rankings had arrived. Those with titles moved first, yet Rico was already on the hunt as he saw the one he wanted upon arrival. The queen seemed to stake her claim, yet the prince made it clear he was interested in only one person. Whistledown made put I out for the Ton that the wolf and dragon were getting close and some sought to break it.

"My lord... looking as large as ever."

Finding Bastion, he waded through the crowd, knowing how many wanted attention to secure a March because of who he was. Yet some were hoping to gain favor by taking the place of the dragon so that a prominent courtier could have the dragon. Ambition was an amazing thing, but Rico was not one to be denied, and his prize was then lasted man in the Ton.

"Would you like to have this dance?"

LEG: Diamond of The Season

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fresitasmoribund · 3 days ago

Text

Beyond Marginalia

-`♡´- pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

-`♡´- summary: Having to borrow a book for Alchemy wasn’t your preferred way to meet someone. But when you begin to have conversations in the margins of a textbook with a stranger, you’re more than intrigued.

-`♡´- contains: does this count as a meet-cute?

-`♡´- warnings: i had to dig deep to sound like a very philosophical alchemist

-`♡´- word count: 3.4k

-`♡´- a.n: this turned out longer than I meant it to be

You dreaded having to take Alchemy, but you were desperate for how it would look academically. And you were a little hopeful that you’d at least learn something interesting. You were wrong, for the most part. For such an interesting-sounding course, it was rather… repetitive at times. But you were going to stick through it. All you need is your parchment, trusty quill, and your book – and you’ll be set to pass before you know it.

You lost your book only halfway through the first week of the course.

You scoured through your bag, your dorm, the library, and even consulted with a few paintings. But it had vanished – as if swallowed by the very elements it was meant to explain.

You’d earned a stern scolding from your professor when you sheepishly revealed the status of your book’s location. But what could you do? It was nowhere you could find. The look on your face must have saved you from losing any house points, but she did make sure you knew that you were not to lose any more Alchemy books. Because the class was small and resources limited, she had said, you would have to share a textbook with a student who had a different schedule. You just hoped they weren’t the type to draw anything inappropriate that might somehow get you in trouble.

“Alright, fellow borrower.” You sighed before opening the book. “What wisdom shall you offer me in the form of crude sketches?”

But the person who you shared this book with was quite the opposite of what you had expected. They were already well ahead in the chapters and left some very insightful notes – it was brilliant, really. It made studying much easier – provided they were clever enough. Judging by the meticulous scribbles in the margins, they seemed to be.

Your fellow classmate’s handwriting was immaculate—too immaculate for a typical student. Each and every page they seemed to go over was filled with tidy annotations in deep, almost-too-perfect ink – organized and detailed. There were no random doodles or ramblings – only sharp, precise notes that seemed to outline everything in perfect order.

In the following days that it was your turn with the book, you used the stranger’s notes to your advantage after writing your own. And, more times than not, you shared the same judgement and interpretation of the material.

You were almost catching up with them after setting a goal to surpass them somehow. A little academic competition never harmed anyone, did it?

As you leaf through the worn book one afternoon, skimming over all their highlights and notes, one of them sticks out in a later chapter. Right under the large title, a note was left. One that was unusually snarky for your mystery annotator.

Another whole chapter on transforming lead into gold. Lovely.

A slow smile graces your features as you huff in amusement. They were right, of course. You weren’t sure how many times the subject would be taught.

Your fingers hover over the next page, still trying to absorb the information on metallic transmutations and their metaphysical connections. But your mind keeps wandering back to that note. Whoever it was you shared this book with was getting just as tired as you were – that was a comforting thought.

As you continue your reading, you found more dry comments pointing to your book partner’s growing exasperation.

This is the worst example of alliteration I’ve ever read. Was the author asleep?

And:

Yes, because THAT’S going to come up in the exam.

You were starting to appreciate the break from unnecessary hyperbole that were forcefully crammed together with academic jargon.

The next time you dive into a section, words were mostly underlined. It isn’t until you reach a particularly dry explanation about the relationship between alchemical substances and human nature that you come across another note. You roll your eyes at the overly complicated metaphor about the “sublime unity of opposites” and “the celestial influence of Jupiter” before reading what your partner had to say about it.

More painfully obvious metaphors. At least pretend to be subtle.

The bluntness of it has you exhaling a laugh through your nose. And, before you can stop yourself, you grab your quill and scratch a quick reply in the margin:

Pretending to be subtle doesn’t sound very subtle to me.

A small part of you is regretting what you just did, and you wonder if it was foolish to write back. After all, you weren’t sure if they would appreciate your retort or if they’d even read it. But then again, you are bored and desperate. The small thrill of talking to a stranger in such an unconventional way follows you even after turning the page.

You were halfway through the next chapter when you stumble upon yet another pretentious phrase. The author had described Principia Alchemica – the title of the book – as “a seminal text in the canon of alchemical studies.” You can’t help it. The more you read, the more the book’s lofty language makes you cringe. You always thought Alchemy was meant to be more practical, but this text made everything feel so abstract – so high minded. That’s why you left another note:

“A seminal text.” Sounds messy.

You weren’t too proud of it, but it made you snort just a little. It was a bit cheeky, but honestly, this whole thing was starting to feel like an unnecessary circus of symbolism. You won’t really wait for a reply, but you wanted to let the stranger know you were up for conversation.

A few days later, you open the coursebook again, flipping idly through the pages. You freeze when you spot it.

Glad to see someone else who knows this text is a bit… much. Good one.

You blink. Had they actually replied to you?

Smiling, you continue with your studying since you didn’t have long with the book tonight.

It doesn’t take much time to reach another chapter so weighed down with metaphor that you start to wonder if the author had forgotten they were writing a textbook and not a bad novel. They had seriously chosen the wrong profession. Every chapter feels like wading through a thick swamp of unnecessary poetic language, the concepts buried under numerous layers of parables that strain even your patience.

You skim over the paragraph for the third time, using all the literary skills you have in order to dissect whatever spiritual connection the author was fabricating. He must have been on drugs, was your final verdict.

The author waxed lyrically about “the juxtaposition between the earthly and the divine” and how it reflected in the journey the human soul must take through sin, suffering, and reaching an eventual enlightenment. By the time you reached the end of the paragraph where you swear the author was just repeating the same sentence differently as a form of manipulation, you felt as if your brain had hopped out of your cranium and hung itself to dry.

You frown, your eyes flicking to the margin where another note was scrawled:

If I have to read the word “juxtaposition” one more time, I’ll scream.

You exhale sharply, nearly laughing out loud in the library. You don’t hesitate to reply.

You’ve just written it, mate. Enjoy screaming.

There was that thrill again at seeing your words next to theirs. Somewhere out there, your mysterious book-sharing partner was going to see that and—well, you don’t know what they’d think. But that was part of the fun, wasn’t it?

The thought lingered with you for the rest of the day.

The next Alchemy period, you crack the book open again, pretending to follow along while your professor drones on. You eagerly look for your last note, hoping for a response. Sure enough, it was there – nestled beneath your note in the same sharp handwriting:

Touché. I suppose I’ll suffer through the screaming for now. Are you trouble?

Your lips twitch as you read it. Trouble? You weren’t sure about that, but this was the most fun you’d had in Alchemy since the term began.

Only when the material calls for it. Should I include your tidbit in my study time, or is that just for me?

You tap the end of your quill against the desk, staring at your reply as you tune back in to your lesson. Somehow, this back-and-forth was making the endless drudgery of Principia Alchemica bearable.

You wondered if they felt the same.

The next few days pass in a haze of classes, coursework, and the usual chaos of Hogwarts life. But you were mostly looking forward to every spare moment with the Alchemy book. The weighty tome, which had once filled you with dread, now seemed a little more stimulating.

You’re slouching in one of the armchairs by a fireplace, trying to power through yet another mind-numbing chapter. You were hardly paying any mind to the information – you were more focused on reading the response awaiting you. Your patience is rewarded after you’re done with the tangent on the “alchemy of the human condition.”

I think the author’s overcompensating here. All he needed to say is that purification is about balance and focus.

You dip your quill into the inkpot and write back immediately:

Harsh, but valid.

While you continue to write notes and highlights further than they seemed to have read, you take the initiative to spark a deeper connection with your enigmatic book partner.

This book is absolutely suffocating, but you’re hilarious, so thanks.

You don’t expect a quick reply, but when you check the coursebook in the morning the next day, there it is – tucked beneath your own words:

Glad my misery can bring you joy. Cheers. – R

“R?” Did you know an R? You stare at the initial, tilting your head as if that might reveal their identity. The only people you knew whose names began with R were… well, not many, actually. A few names sift through your mind, but none of them feel right. Still, it was exciting to know the mystery stranger was willing to play along.

From there, conversations and replies were passed through the book more than actual annotations. You used a certain ink for your quill, so you don’t find it necessary to include your initial like they do. Or maybe you liked dragging out the revelation on your end?

You brace yourself for more of the author’s overly philosophical musings, telling yourself that the notes would be worth the metaphorical fluff. There was something about some kind of dance of opposing elements in an existential struggle of mankind that you almost skipped to read something left on the page’s margin.

This chapter is making me question my life choices. You? – R

Earning a sharp glance from Madam Pince for snickering, you scribble back:

I question mine constantly.

You were past the point of caring about what the punishment would be for vandalism. Using the dusty textbook as some sort of communication device was far too fun to pass up. As the days rolled by, the notes were less about the material.

You’re far too quick to suggest fire as a solution. Are you a Gryffindor? – R

Who knows. Are you this judgy about everything?

The following conversation came after a philosopher – Steel Pineneedle – was being referenced for his metaphor of the banquet and the Alchemist’s pursuit of the Magnum Opus. Replying came naturally now.

Or just how not to throw a party.

Their response had been:

Big fan of Pineneedle, are you? – R

The material quickly became background noise. It’s the notes – the exchanges – that keep you coming back. R’s latest message sat in front of you, and you’re struck by how different it is. They’d been teasing you about your studying habits, saying something along the lines of how you’re far too easily distracted. And as much as you roll your eyes at the fact that they’re probably right, you scribble back:

What kind of girl do you take me for?

Your quill lingers in the air, hovering for a moment as you realize the words may have come across a bit… flirtatious. You didn’t intend it to sound like that, but something about it has you smiling to yourself as you shut the book.

When you go back to the margins during your turn with the book again, you freeze.

There was a note with a line through it – but you could still make it out:

A proper fit one, I hope.

You stare at the crossed-out note, your heart skipping a beat. The handwriting wasn’t R’s, you realize. It’s messier, slanted at an angle – a more rushed penmanship. A message under that one – with a scrawling you could recognize – says:

Promise I didn’t write that – R

You breathe a little easier, though your face still heats up. If not them, who had it been? You hadn’t seen anyone else writing on the margins. A friend? The implication of R talking about you to their friends causes your thoughts to scatter. Oddly, you feel pleased.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, gazing at the text again and trying to read it in a different light. But the mystery deepens. With a sigh, you close the book – knowing it’s time for another round of waiting.

Having been buried under a particularly long Potions essay for a few days, you’d been neglecting the Alchemy book—and, more importantly, the notes. You feel a little bad reading over them. They had piled up in the margins, their familiar scrawl weaving through sections you hadn’t touched yet.

Your breath hitches when you stumble upon one:

It’s a good thing I’m patient, considering how distracting you’ve been. Did you finally get through that section, or am I still waiting for a reply? – R

They’ve been waiting for a reply? That’s… oddly sweet. And annoying – though the sweetness outweighs the annoyance. You bite your lip, trying to figure out how to respond.

My life extends beyond our little chats. Glad to know you missed me though.

Something about what followed your comment had you feeling like you were anticipating an outcome. Now, you didn’t have the gift of foresight – your performance in Divination was a testament to this – but your intuition was screaming at you.

You’re a terrible influence. What would our professor say? – R

Nothing you should be concerned about. Let’s worry about the trouble you’re having connecting the human spirit with mercurial fluidity and sulfuric heat.

This is starting to sound like a self-help book. – R

Tell me about it. I think I need a drink to get through the chapter.

You’re very quick to resort to alcohol. Might be an issue. – R

I can read past your jealousy. I’m sure you’d crack first.

Is that a challenge? – R

You find yourself replaying the idle moments as the days blur together. Each sharp-witted note you uncover, you follow like a thread leading you closer to someone whose identity remains vexingly out of reach. And then, after a few weeks of this strange and captivating camaraderie – it changes. A message greets you that’s unlike the others.

Care to meet me in the library? Tuesday, 5 PM. – R

The words seem to leap off the page, and you simply stare at them. Your heart picks up an uneasy rhythm as you read it over and over again. You’re sure you’re imagining it.

This person—this stranger who has been leaving pieces of themselves in the margins of your book—has asked to meet you. In person. Face to face. All the banter, the teasing, the sense of connection that has grown between you, they want to bring it into the real world.

The library is quiet, save for the occasional rustling of pages and the soft murmurs of the students studying in isolated corners. It was a typical afternoon in Hogwarts, the kind where the lights filter through the large windows and cast long shadows. The familiar scent of books and dust soothe your nerves enough to keep you from hanging your head low. You didn’t want to miss your stranger. You walk between the shelves, the weight of the textbook feeling heavier than it usually does.

You pause for a moment, looking around the library. You weren’t sure who you were looking for, and that made you feel a little silly. Another detail should have been disclosed to make this easier – but you were here now. That’s what mattered. Anxiety settles in your chest as you scan every soul in your vicinity.

You swear on your life that you felt an electrical shock when you made eye contact with him.

Well, you weren’t 100 percent certain it was him – but something about those eyes of his made your head feel lighter somehow. The connection was instantaneous. As you approach the table, your heart beats in tandem with your hurried steps.

“Right,” he says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, “so we’re off to burn the book, then go for drinks, yes?”

You blink at him, unsure if you heard him correctly. But then, as your brain computes the twinkle in his eyes and curve of his lips, you can’t help but laugh.

“Burn the book?” you ask.

“Only the bits where I feel like my soul is being drained,” he replies, now smiling wider. “You know, the usual alchemy stuff—‘the eternal balance of elements’ and ‘the metaphysical connection between human spirit and…’ well, whatever they go on about.”

He waves his hand dismissively, as though the words are already forgotten.

The tension in your shoulders eases. Maybe you were expecting a more awkward exchange. After all, you spent nearly a month swapping books and notes without ever knowing who he was. And now here he sat – in the flesh—someone whose personality had captivated you in the margins of a book.

“That sounds like a perfectly reasonable idea.” You smile to match his. “Will you be crying out Incendio? Shall I? Both of us at the same time?”

“Two’s better than one, I suppose. I’m Remus. Lupin.”

You tell him your name.

Sitting across from him, a quiet thud comes from the book as you drop it onto the table. There is a moment of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable – more like the pause between two people who had known each other longer than the two of you have. You glance down at the book, the one that had sparked all these bizarre, random, and unexpectedly enjoyable conversations.

“Burning it might be a bit dramatic,” he admits, tapping the side of his finger on the edge of the table. “But I think we could do better than just analyzing it. We could always talk about something else.”

You cock your head, intrigued. “Like what?”

“Like…” He pauses. “Anything that doesn’t involve alchemy specifically. We’ve already done enough of that.”

You lean back in your chair. “What else do you have in mind?”

“Well,” he begins, shifting forward in his seat, “we could always talk about how you’re planning on surviving the rest of the term. Because, trust me, I’m not sure alchemy will be the thing that gets you through.”

“Survival,” you repeat, “that’s dramatic.”

“Ah, but it’s fitting, isn’t it? Given the state of our coursework.”

The two of you shared a laugh, and for a while, the world beyond the table felt distant.

You weren’t sure what to say, so you decide to change the subject, asking, “So, what now? You’ve been quite the mystery for weeks.”

“Now?” His voice is quieter. “Now, we figure out how much trouble we’re really in for. Marginalia on a textbook not owned by either of us is still a form of vandalism, so…”

You raise an eyebrow, about to respond with a sharp retort when he holds up a hand, cutting you off.

“Only kidding.” He smirks. “But really, you’ve been a great distraction. I suppose we ought to talk about something else before we get caught talking about it.”

The two of you share another glance, the silence stretching out comfortably between you again. You want to ask more—who he was, what he was really like—but the words didn’t quite come out. Instead, you simply smile back at him.

“I guess we’ll have to wait for our next round of punishment,” you say, your voice lighter than you expected. “But in the meantime, drinks?”

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin #marauders #hp marauders #marauder fanfiction #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders #marauders era #marauders fic #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #x reader #reader insert #x female reader #x fem!reader #female reader

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multi-fandomsfreak · 3 days ago

Note

Heya! I was wondering if you could make a lil fanfic of shadow the hedgehog and mobian!reader

where the reader has a fascination with death and everything morbid due to seeing and being in lots of tragedies and shadow is mostly unaware of this but finally starts noticing the reader’s obsessive like fascination with death and wants to confront them about it

Shadow With A Mobian!Reader Who Has A Fascination With Death

Hey there! Thanks for the ask!

Sorry it took kinda long to do this. Honestly kind of lost motivation to write stuff lately but I think it’s coming back. I don’t know. Regardless, I hope you like it.

Pronouns: Not Mentioned

Warning: ⚠️Mentions Of Death + Suicide (Not Actually Committing But Talks About Wanting To) + Spoilers For Shadow’s Backstory⚠️

Requested: Yes/No

Characters: Shadow + Mention Of Maria

Proofread: ❌

Credits: Art by CoffeeBearSama on Twitter/X + Banner by salintvll (Edited by me) on Pinterest

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- Honestly at first Shadow never noticed or asked about your obsession when it comes to death. He’s quite the loner so he doesn’t really indulge in anyone or their personal interests. That’s just what he’s like. Not that he’s completely dismissive of any of your interests, it's just his response to you telling him or him hearing about it is just ‘okay’. Maybe you could persuade him to join in but it may take a while but he does partake in it.

- Though eventually he does notice your interest in death. He might have heard it from someone else, maybe from you or he just so happened to discover it himself. At first admittedly he was a bit put off by it not outright it’s just he’s never really seen someone even remotely interested in death unless they’re willingly want to experience it. And to be honest even before he discovers how obsessed you were with it he’s still a little concerned that you want to end yourself so he decides to keep a close eye on you in case you actually do want to end yourself.

- However, his worry does become way worse when he slowly discovers how obsessed you actually were with it. He started to notice how you talked about it. The fact you were talking about it so casually, talking in depth about it makes him more concerned than when he discovered it. In his own way he’s genuinely worried about you. I feel like this kind of evolved from what happened to Maria that he feels compelled to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else especially if he’s somewhat close with you.

- When he does confront you about it you may have to spend most of your time convincing him that you're okay. Honestly with the way you're talking about it he’s thinking you genuinely want to end yourself and he doesn’t want that. To him you’ve still got a lot to live for and you shouldn’t cut it short. It probably took a while for him to be convinced that you were alright. You’d probably have to explain how you gained interest in it, more specifically the shit you had to go through which made you like this.

- When you do tell him about the horrible tragedies that’s when it hits him about your obsessive fascination with death. Now he understands why you're like this. He does feel bad for you for experiencing the things you did and thinks that it must be a coping mechanism for you in a way. Even with you convincing him that it's genuinely an interest nothing more he’d still be concerned for you and tell you that if you ever need to talk he’d be there for you and listen to what you need to say.

- I do kind of feel like Shadow would be kind of interested in a way. Not like how you are, I have a feeling it’s mostly for confirmation or reassurance. It’s not that big of a surprise that he’s greatly affected by the death of Maria, someone who he’s undoubtedly the closest with. Even if a lot of time has gone by since it deep down even if he doesn’t want to admit it he still wishes that she was still alive and misses her greatly. With your interest in death he may go up to you and ask about it. He really would like your opinion about it though at first not going in that great detail about it. Even though he claims he is not interested in it he kind of wants confirmation that she’d be alright and is proud of him.

- Oddly enough, having these talks with you is very comforting for him. He finds himself being more calm about his feelings when it comes to death himself. I think the fact that he doesn’t have to bottle them up like he usually does and is free to just let it out. As soon as he’s done ranting he can feel himself just relax as he thanks you for letting him talk about it. He likes having these moments with you and he really appreciates you listening to him and the other way round.

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#sonic the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sonic #sonic x reader #sth #sth x reader #sonic series #sonic series x reader #shadow the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow #shadow x reader #maria robotnik #x reader #request

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melancholysway · 2 days ago

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Hey! I've been following your blog for a long time, it's great! I'm also a big fan of the 2007 film! I don't know if you're still accepting requests, but I'll leave it here just in case. I would like to ask about the turtles' reaction to S/O wearing their color. I bet Raph would be possessive if his S/O wore his red color 😏. Merry Christmas and all the best!

thank you! I'm glad you like my blog! I hope you like this! and Merry Chirstmas!!!!!!

TMNT 2007 Headcanons: S/O Wearing their color!

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Leonardo

He loves it!

It gives Leo a sense of pride when you do. It could be anything, a hair tie, a bracelet, even earrings!

Any subtle way of wearing blue would make his heart happy!

“You look so pretty in blue.” - him, all the time

He isn’t as vocal about it as his baby brother, but his gestures show you that he loves when you wear it!

When he sees you coming into the Lair wearing something blue, he’ll walk over to you and smile before giving you a loving kiss.

“I love it, honey.”

If you go out with friends and wear blue, he would feel so appreciated. It’s like you wear it as a sign of letting him now you’re his, and that you’re off limits to anyone else

“Blue? You know what you’re doing wearing that, huh?” You know he loves it, and expect a lot of kisses coming from this turtle once he sees

Wearing it also shows him that you’re paying attention to his interests. He has some unfavorable colors, and he notices that you never wear them when you’re wearing blue.

Put on some blue waist beads! I think I HC in an earlier post that Leo’s favorite body part of hs S/O was their nose, but he loves your waist, too.

If you decorate it with a few blue waist beads, he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close for a kiss.

“For me? You shouldn’t have.” Oh Leo you sly mf-

In short, he’s very appreciative and prideful that you’re wearing blue! Wear it more often!

Raphael

This man is a happy turtle when you wear red

He’s prideful, and even possessive. When you wear it outside or any social scene away from him, it’s like he’s left his mark on you. Red- that’s his color

For all my ladies: If you want to tease him, wear an off the shoulder top that shows your red bra strap underneath. He’s gonna go feral

“Did anyone eva tell ya that ya look so sexy in red?” Oh, he knows what he’s doing

He’s smooth with his words, albeit a little flustered internally that you even thought about wearing his color and putting it on

Wear it when you go to the Lair

it’ll show his brothers you’re his and his only

Mikey’s also less likely to hug you for long periods of time, it’s Raph’s nonverbal threat to him

I HC 2007 Raph knits like bay Raph, and he’s definitely knitting you something red! A scarf, quilt, anything!

Raph manages to get you a red helmet for when he takes you on bike rides with him

He’s letting all of New York City know who he’s riding with is his.

He’ll also love it if you wore red lipstick or lipgloss. This turtle is making sure your lip print is on him somehow someway on any part of him.

There’s something about red lips that gets him going

“Ya know what you’re doin,’ ain’t that right princess?” Yes, yes you do

Seeing him get all hot and bothered over you wearing red is something you live for

In conclusion: he wants you to wear it! Show everyone you’re Raph’s S/O!

Donatello

Donnie is a little naive at first

He doesn’t even notice when you start adding subtle hints of purple to your outfits

A belt here, earrings there- but, he doesn’t notice

It isn’t until Raph lets him now

“What color shoes does Y/n have on?”

“Um…purple?”

“And what color jacket did they have on yesterday?”

“Purple. Look, why does this-”

“Shutup- and what’s your favorite color?”

“Pur- Oh” Yeah, he doesn’t notice it. To be fair, Donnie is so busy being Bill Nye the Science Guy in his lab, that he’s usually tired by the end of the day when you come over after work.

He’ll apologize to you profusely for not noticing at first

But the next day he sees you and you’re wearing that purple sweater you like, he knows.

“Purple’s just not my color, is it dove?”

He. loves. It.

He feels a small sense of pride. You? Wearing his favorite color?

He always has this shy smile on his face when you come to visit him, sporting his favorite color.

“You look so pretty in my color.” Maybe the occasional nosebleed, too.

I think 2007 Donnie would melt if you have piercings, and changing a nose ring or stud to a purple one would send him to heaven.

He thinks it’s perfect- he loves whenever you wear it (and still feels bad for not noticing in the beginning)

Michelangelo

He notices right away- Mikey loves the color orange! Of course he’s going to notice!

“I see the earrings, come give Mikey a kiss~!” - him the second you step in the Lair

He always points out what you’re wearing thats orange.

Any shade or pattern that includes orange, he sees it!

Mikey (a little much like Raph) likes when you wear his color since it’s an indicator that you’re his!

“Angelcakes is wearing my color! See that? I’d be jealous too!” - Mikey to Donnie

It’s like a game of I Spy for him, he’ll try and find anything in your outfit that includes orange

And when he finds it, expect a bear hug!

He’ll also make you a bracelet or give you a trinket that’s orange; anything you can have that’s his color!

If you wear makeup, putting on a nice shade of orange eyeshadow or eyeliner would make his heart soar!

Taglist:

@bee-1n-space @ducky-died-inside @xnorthstar3x @miss-andromeda

Masterlist

Join my TMNT Discord!

Join the TMNT Community!

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #raphael #leonardo #donatello #tmnt 2007 #tmnt imagines #tmnt headcanons #tmnt x reader #michelangelo #tmnt leo #tmnt raph #tmnt raphael #melancholysway

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rey-jake-therapist · 2 days ago

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JDP: [T]hat was the very crown with which Sauron himself was once killed. So taking ownership of it and using it as a weapon comes full circle. The victim who had been killed by the crown in episode one is now the aggressor able to use it for his own ends. We also know it's a powerful artifact that had the ability to…banish for hundreds of years a Maiar as powerful as Sauron. Being able to use it as a weapon that could penetrate Galadriel's collarbone, we knew that it would do some serious damage. PM: Spiritual damage in addition to physical damage. JDP: If I'm playing Dungeons & Dragons, I don't even want to know the damage potential of an artifact like Morgoth's Crown.

--Patrick McKay, J.D. Payne - The Rings of Power Season Two Finale Explained (Vanity Fair)

(Presentation 'stolen' from @fluffycakesistainted's post, only to avoid hacking it, I hope you can forgive me :) )

So I got curious following this line about Dungeons & Dragons... Why did JD Payne bring it up? I know absolutely nothing about Dungeons & Dragons, but I made a little research out of curiosity....

In D&D,

An artifact is a rare and powerful magic item in Dungeons & Dragons. The means to create artifacts are either unavailable to mortal ken, or else long forgotten. Artifacts are often unique or finite in number, and cannot be destroyed except by specific means.

Sounds like Morgoth's Crown could indeed belong there. For fun, I looked for the list of artifacts that are available in D&D, and oh oh, what did I find?

The Crown of Horn

Now doesn't it remind you a bit of our Crown...

The history of this Crown of Horns is very interesting:

The Crown of Horns was an evil, intelligentartifact of great power.[4] While its origins were murky, the Crown was believed to have been forged either in ancient Netheril,[2] or by Myrkul, the former god of Death.[6][3] The artifact carried with it a long history of corruption, mayhem, and tragedy.

Myrkul, Melkor, Morgoth... God of death, Dark Lord....

Right under this description of the crown, there's a quote from a female character named Laeral Silverhand. It gets more and more interesting:

"We found an artifact, the Crown of Horns, and I in my pride decided that my powers of will and magic were sufficient to counter the evil I sensed within it. I wore the Crown, and it claimed me as its own. Years went by, terrible years during which I lost Laeral and became the Wild Woman, the Witch of the North. I remember little of those years, which in many ways is a blessing." — Laeral Silverhand, in a letter to her nephew Danilo Thann, Ches 3, 1368 DR.[8]

I'll go back to Laeral Silverhand later on. Before, here's what they say about the powers of the Crown of Horns:

It is unknown what powers the artifact had before it was possessed by Myrkul other than its sentience and its capability to interfere with the minds of its wearers. After its possession however, the Crown imbued the wearer with several considerable necromantic powers.[10] They were granted an aura of undeath similar to those that surrounded liches, became immune to necromantic spells[4] and all manner of death magic.[3] Following the god's destruction, the vestiges of Myrkul could strongly influence the actions of whomever wore the Crown of Horns, making suggestions within their consciousness, possessing them outright, and even altering their moral and ethical outlook to more closely resemble his own.[4] No individual could remove their crown unless Myrkul's essence wished for his artifact to find a new host.[3][5][10] Over time, anyone wearing the crown became increasingly paranoid, specifically about their possession of the Crown itself. Eventually, they succumbed to the call of madness and undeath, and became a lich themself.[3][4][5][10]

The description keeps going on, I won't copy/paste it all, but basically, it sounds like this crown has powers of control and fascination similar to the One Ring.

Now about Laeral Silverhand:

Laeral Silverhand (pronounced: /ˈlɛərɔːl/ LAIR-awl[15]), born Anamanué Silverhand and formerly known as the Witch-Queen of the North[3] and later the Lady Mage of Waterdeep, was one of the Seven Sisters, a Chosen of Mystra,[14] and the Open Lord of Waterdeep during the late 15th century DR.[3] Together with her partner Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunsun, they led the Moonstars, a dissident faction of the Harpers, which sought to guide the cities and countries of the North toward a shared destiny.[

She had a fascinating life, not very different from Galadriel's actually, who may have been an inspiration? They're both witches with a lot of powers in their hands, for a start. I don't know, but here's what's said about her connection with the Crown of Horns:

Under an assumed name, Laeral eventually established herself as a hard-drinking and fearless adventurer, coming to lead an adventuring band known as the Nine. In the Year of the Wandering Maiden, 1337 DR, Laeral and the Nine discovered the ancient Nethereseartifact known as the Crown of Horns in Yûlash. The Crown was actually planted for her to find by the Netherese lichAumvor The Undying, who wished to use the Crown to influence her to marry him. The plot failed when Laeral donned the headpiece and the Crown's powers conflicted with Laeral's spellfire and drove her into madness.[30]

(The Nine... they seem to be very different characters from Sauron's Nine, but it's nevertheless a funny coincidence).

"The Crown was actually planted for her to find by the Netherese lichAumvor The Undying, who wished to use the Crown to influence her to marry him.".... Well well well, Inchresting....

It's also said that the Crown's powers "drove her into madness" and "claimed her at its own".... I wonder if something similar could happen to Galadriel, because of the wound left by Morgoth's Crown? But it would be Sauron who would claim her, perhaps?

It is also said that "Laeral ceased her prolific creation of magical items after she was freed from the Crown of Horns", which isn't without reminding me of Galadriel who said "I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel."

To be clear, there's no mention of stabbing using the Crown of Horns as a weapon. But the fact that JD Payne mentioned Dungeons & Dragons and what an artefact like Morgoth's Crown could do in this context give me pause, especially considering the similarities between these two crowns, and Galadriel and Laeral...

#trop #trop meta #trop speculation #jd payne #patrick mckay #dungeons & dragons #morgoth's crown #galadriel #sauron #haladriel #saurondriel #the rings of power

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enlynstory · 3 days ago

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⟢ No One Noticed

Shipping: non-idol Yang Jungwon x reader

Synopsis: Yang Jungwon, a hopeful and kind young man, unexpectedly becomes the love interest of a girl who’s been struggling with rejecting people.

Warnings: self isolation, fear, betrayal, ex friendships. lmk if there are any more please and thank you :)

Wc: 605

It wasn’t unlike her to shut people out; in fact, it was something she did effortlessly. She wasn’t a people person. The mere idea of showing even a hint of care for someone especially when she felt no tendency to irritated her to her core.

She lived by a motto: "Better alone than surrounded by false connections." It was a belief forged from a painful past, one that had shaped her reluctance to let anyone in.

That was until she met him.

She met someone who shared kindness and cooperation, someone who didn’t care if she tried to push him away, someone who was willing to fight for her. She met Yang Jungwon.

The two had met in a college class. They were paired together for a three-week business project, and it wasn’t like she could turn him down—it was the final project, so she had no choice but to work with him.

He had noticed her before, in class. He always thought she was pretty and seemed kind, but he never had the chance to talk to her.

When the partners were announced by the professor, he waited, hoping her name would be called.

“Yang Jungwon and… Y/N.”

It was a relief to him when it was her, but what he hadn’t expected was that she barely spoke and seemed reserved when he approached her for the first time.

He noticed how she didn’t even look at him. She was silently staring down at the notebook on her desk.

“Y/N, right?”

At the time, he frowned, finding himself thinking about that encounter more than once. It didn’t take long for him to realize she didn’t like people.

One afternoon, the two of them sat in a coffee shop when a family with two loud kids walked in.

“I hate people,” she said.

He laughed at how bluntly she said it, and for once, he saw her smile.

He began to notice how she looked whenever someone tried to talk to her after class—how she seemed to disregard their presence. He saw the fear in her eyes when someone even walked by.

“I don’t like to intrude on people’s lives, but… why are you so afraid of getting to know someone?”

She was taken aback by his question. It was just another project session, the usual Mondays they spent together.

“My past,” she said.

It wasn’t like him to pry, but this time he did. She hesitated for a moment, then spoke.

“My best friend betrayed me after she grew tired of supporting me. She shared my personal struggles with others for attention.” She sighed loudly. “It hurt more than any other pain I had felt before, so I decided to shut everyone out.”

If he had noticed that last project session would be their final one, he would have seen the sadness in her eyes.

She had grown accustomed to him, and it made her feel strange. The simple thought of being around him seemed to lift a weight off her shoulders. But in the end, she knew she had to let him go for her own sake.

The day after they submitted their project, she saw him walk into class. She immediately looked away, knowing their time together was over.

Of course, Jungwon noticed. He always did.

He saw how she immediately looked down at her notebook when he walked up to her.

“You’re not trying to get rid of me now, are you?” he asked with a grin.

It was just like Yang Jungwon to notice, because unlike everyone else, he didn’t want to be the one she pushed away.

[AN]

This is my first story, yayyyy!!!! I’m not sure…how but this was a quick thirty minute write, so if you find any errors please feel free to correct them!! All the help is greatly appreciated!!🫶🏼🫶🏼

Thank you for reading💖

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masorciereviolette · 3 days ago

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An Unexpected Bonding Ch. 1

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Warnings: none yet

Word count: 1,124

A/N: Here’s the first chapter, I think for now I’m just gonna post the intro and the first few and see how well it does but as of rn I have 6 written / perfecting, currently completing the 7th. I hope you all like it and please lmk if anyone is interested in more!!

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Her steel gaze locked onto yours, unblinking, searching.

“You… helped me?” she rasped, taking a tentative step toward you.

The shadows around you peeled back, revealing a soft cloaked human outline

“I couldn’t very well let them harm you….or attempt that is-” you replied softly, your voice like a melody carried on the wind as you approached her

Agatha staggered down off the pyre, her knees buckling slightly, but she didn’t fall. You caught her hand gripping her arm softly, your hold steadying her.

“Why? Why would you do this?” she asked, her tone a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” you answered. “I’ve seen your pain, your struggle. You deserve better than what they tried to give you.”

Agatha’s breath hitched, and for the first time in years—she felt something other than fear or anger. It was warmth, faint but growing, seeping into the cold recesses of her soul.

But as quickly as it came, her walls slammed back up. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her shoulders straightened, she pulls her arm from your grasp stepping away. “You’re bound to me now,” she said sharply, her words tinged with a mix of acceptance and resignation. “Whether either of us likes it or not.”

You tilted your head, studying her. “And do you? Like it?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust things I don’t understand.”

“Then let’s understand it together,” you said gently, stepping closer.

For a moment, Agatha said nothing. The air between you crackled with unspoken words, emotions too complex to name. Finally, she nodded, a reluctant yet undeniable acknowledgment of the truth neither of you could deny.

“Fine,” she said, her voice steadier now. “But don’t think for a second that I’m letting my guard down.”

You smiled, a soft, knowing expression. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

As the night deepened, Agatha turned away from the scene of devastation, her steps heavy but deliberate. You followed silently, your presence a constant, comforting shadow. The pull between you both grew stronger with each passing moment, an invisible thread that neither of you could sever.

And deep down, Agatha knew—despite her stubbornness, her mistrust, and her fear—that she didn’t want to.

The nights following the pyre were marked not just by silence, but by an undercurrent of dread that Agatha could never quite shake. Even as the crackling firelight cast a warm glow, shadows danced in her mind—memories of her mother’s cold eyes, the betrayal of her sisters, and the terrifying truth she couldn’t escape.

Her power wasn’t like theirs. It never had been.

You had seen it firsthand. When the witches had turned their magic against her, trying to destroy her, it was Agatha who had destroyed them. She hadn’t wanted to, but the magic had acted on instinct, surging out of her like a beast unchained. It had swallowed their power whole, draining them dry until nothing but lifeless shells remained.

She hadn’t meant to kill them. She hadn’t even known she could.

Now, as she sat by the fire with you, the guilt weighed on her like lead. Her hands rested in her lap, trembling slightly, and though you didn’t say anything, you could feel the turmoil through the bond—the fear, the shame, the self-loathing.

“Why are you still here?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet.

You glanced at her, surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You saw what I did,” she said, her tone sharp but brittle. “You know what I am. What I can do. So why haven’t you run?”

You tilted your head, studying her. “Because I know that’s not who you are, I can’t explain but it’s a feeling I suppose.”

Her jaw tightened, and she looked away, her hands clenching into fists. “You don’t understand,” she muttered. “It’s not something I can control. Every time someone uses magic against me, I… I take it. All of it. And it doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left.”

Her voice broke, and she took a shuddering breath. “Do you know what it feels like? To be afraid of your own power? To know that the people you love, the people you trust, see you as a monster?”

“I don’t see you as a monster,” you said softly.

She laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and sharp. “That’s because you don’t know me. Not really.”

“I know enough,” you replied, your voice steady. “I know you didn��t ask for this. I know you’ve been hurt by people who should have protected & guided you. And I know that no matter how much you try to push me away, you don’t want to be alone.”

Her eyes snapped to yours, a mixture of anger and vulnerability flashing in their depths. “You think this bond makes you special? That it gives you the right to lecture me?”

“No,” you said calmly. “But it does mean I’m not going anywhere. Whether you like it or not,now we’re in this together.”

Agatha stared at you, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. For a moment, she looked like she might argue, but then something in her seemed to break.

“You should be afraid of me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You should hate me.”

“But I don’t,” you said simply shrugging.

Her gaze softened, and for the first time, her walls cracked just enough for you to see the raw, aching heart beneath.

“I don’t know how to stop it,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I’ve tried everything—spells, rituals, even… dark magic. That’s why they turned on me. They thought I was evil. Maybe they were right.”

“They weren’t,” you said firmly. “You’re not evil, Agatha. You’re just… lost. And it’s okay to need help finding your way.”

She looked at you, her eyes searching yours, and for a moment, she seemed to consider the possibility that you might be right.

“This bond,” she said softly, “it’s different. I don’t know why, but… when I’m near you, the magic doesn’t feel so… out of control.”

You reached out tentatively, your hand brushing against hers. “Maybe that’s because we’re meant to help each other. Maybe we’re stronger together.”

Her fingers curled around yours, hesitant but steady, and the warmth of her touch sent a spark through the bond.

“Stronger together,” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

And in that moment, something shifted. The walls she had built so carefully began to crumble, piece by piece, and for the first time in a long time, Agatha allowed herself to believe in the possibility of hope.

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #aaa #agatha all along #agatha x reader #animagus

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