#it's half timing and the other half's luck

[hcneymooners]

⋆ our bodies, two wounds of love.

bodyguard!sevika x f!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: as the youngest daughter of a highly famous businessman, you're not at all what sevika is expecting upon receiving her assignment.

cw: modern setting, soft!sevika, reader is sugar sweet and slightly shy, reader has long hair, obsessive behavior, dubious consent, as in reader wakes sevi up properly like the eater she is but sevi consents when she wakes up, somnophilia, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, implied/referenced sex, via toys, implied strapping as god intended, overstimulation, impact play, it's pussy slapping, nipple play, squirting and vaginal ejaculation, praise kink, pet names, dom/sub undertones, minor violence, reader speaks german in this for no other reason than i've been watching the empress., soft dom!sevika, love confessions, near-death experiences, non-sexual intimacy, age difference, older woman/younger woman, mommy issues, implied lmfao, makeup sex, arguing, resolved sexual tension, masturbation in bathroom, accidental voyeurism notes: this is set to american by lana del rey. listen here. this is more emotionally heavy, but definitely my favorite. does this plot barely make sense? yes. but is the reward worth it? yes. this is a repost.

out of all her clients, you were the easiest.

sevika shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was, given the research she’d conducted. you were the youngest of four daughters, and the public fed off your penchant for privacy. finding someone like you in her line of work was a rarity: no scandals to cover up, no carefully curated drama for the tabloids. your reputation preceded you—sweet, quiet, and often tired. a homebody, mel had said with an almost indulgent smirk when sevika was handed the assignment.

“you’re lucky,” she added. “the others are a handful.”

sevika didn’t believe in luck.

the flat where she first met you was a monument to your family’s wealth. still it was tasteful—ornate without being garish, quiet grandeur woven into every polished surface. it was the kind of space that swallowed sound and softened the world's edges.

your apartment was beautiful in a way that felt intentional but not performative. soft cream and powder blue walls were traced with delicate vines and florals, the details long faded. it wasn’t pristine—scuffs on the wooden floor and fingerprints smudged onto the low, sculptural table in the center—but it was lived-in, loved in a way that gave the space its warmth.

the table itself was an anchor—organic and raw, its uneven edges smoothed by time, surrounded by cushions in muted grays and pale pinks that had lost some of their color to the steady heat of the sun. a shelf of books stretched to the ceiling, its rows crowded with novels and photography volumes, with stacks of loose papers and half-burnt cigarettes scattered between them. the window beside it was cracked open just enough to let in the sound of rustling leaves, the faint scent of rain-soaked greenery curling through the room like an invisible flatmate.

golden lamps shaped like oversized fans stood at either end of the space, their light pooling onto the woven rug beneath. it cast the room in a kind of half-glow—soft, forgiving—blurring the edges of things just enough to make them feel closer. there was something fragile about how it all fit together like it had been arranged for someone who might leave it behind at any moment.

and yet, it felt distinctly like you. the powdered jasmine in the air, the book splayed open on the armchair, the small dish of rings by the window—it was a home that asked nothing of you but to exist in it. sevika’s stormy gaze caught on an abandoned note on the window sill, the script delicate and curling.

cochem, it read. i miss you. i want to come back to you. i want to disappear inside of you and have you love me again. i want to get lost in the german morning. no one will ever know me, and i’ll be happy, less unfulfilled.

she fingered the edges of the paper, sun-bleached and flaking. then she began to walk again, navigating to what looked like the open door of your study.

you were waiting for her inside, perched in an armchair too big for your frame, as if the room had been designed to diminish you. at first glance, you looked as delicate as the furniture you sat on, barefaced and bathed in soft afternoon light that filtered through sheer curtains. it was the kind of light that made everything look fragile and translucent.

you wore an ivory blouse, thin and shimmering with embroidery that seemed to grow out of the fabric like frost patterns on glass. the neckline skimmed your collarbones, modest but deliberate, while the sleeves flared past your wrists, draping like petals. the cinched waist and pale drawstrings might have belonged to someone dressing for comfort, but on you, it was something else entirely—careless elegance.

the sweatpants should have broken the illusion. they didn’t. instead, they made you seem more unreachable, more unstudied. as if you’d wandered into this world from somewhere else—someplace softer—and were still too young to realize you didn’t belong.

sevika lingered in the doorway for a beat longer than she meant to, her presence large enough to make the room feel smaller. she expected you to bristle at the intrusion, to draw yourself up with the same cool hauteur that so often marked women of your standing. but you didn’t.

you looked up at her, eyes wide and unguarded, and smiled.

“hello,” you said. your voice was so soft, as though you feared disturbing her.

sevika’s eyes swept over you, cataloging every detail: the way your hair—long and heavy—spilled over your shoulders, catching the faint streaks of the incoming light; the way your blouse seemed to ripple as you moved, fabric clinging like a whisper to your skin.

“i’m sevika,” she said finally, voice low and steady. “your father hired my team's services to protect your family. i’ll be your bodyguard.”

you nodded and rose from the chair, the movement unhurried and deliberate. you smoothed your palms over the sides of your sweatpants—grey, nondescript, somehow lovely in the context of you—and stepped closer. you smelled faintly of something soft and fleeting: fresh linen, maybe, or soap.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you said, extending your hand, sincerity tucked neatly into every word.

sevika didn’t take it right away. there was something strange about you—something that tugged at her instincts and told her to look closer. your face was open, unguarded, but there was a sadness there, too, stitched into the curve of your mouth, in the way your lashes fell low. she watched the way you stood there, chin lifted just enough to suggest poise but not pride, eyes wide and unguarded as they searched hers for something she wasn’t used to giving.

trust.

and for the first time in a long while, sevika found herself unsure of what to do. you weren’t like the others, all obvious disdain and high expectations. nothing was demanding about you—nothing calculated or sharp. just the soft curve of your mouth, the quiet pull of your gaze, and a kindness she didn’t quite know how to meet.

she clasped your hand firmly but briefly, clearing her throat as she stepped back.

“we should go over security protocol,” she said gruffly, falling back into professionalism as a defense.

you only nodded, that same soft smile still lingering. “of course. whatever you need.”

whatever you need.

sevika didn’t believe in luck, but standing there, looking down at you—your long lashes fluttering as you turned your gaze away, the afternoon light casting faint shadows through the sheer sleeves of your blouse—she wondered, for just a second, if this was as close to it as she would ever get.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

it took three years for both of you to understand that your relationship had outgrown the typical bounds of client and employee. yes, intimacy was inevitable given the circumstances, but even a stranger would’ve seen something uncanny about how you and sevika were… connected, even for a bodyguard.

love affairs always look different to those inside them. you thought nothing of how deeply you needed her, how fondness for her had quietly rooted itself in you. sevika risked her body—her life—to keep you from harm, and it felt natural to bond, to grow into one another. time spent apart became more agonizing only relieved by the hours you were together, yet you ignored the weight of it.

your sisters often spoke of it, though only behind closed doors. you rarely engaged in their chatter. you had always been this way: dreamy, untethered, with a mind like mist and the heart of a prey animal. lame, your mother had called you, her voice sharp with disappointment. sickly, she added, as if naming your frailty might cure it. over time, it became easier to withdraw, to wrap yourself in silence, and let the world chatter on without you.

but with sevika, life required less effort. you rediscovered a tenderness for the act of living in her presence. she was patient, grounding. she found you tolerable even at your worst, and for that, you adored her. no one else had made you feel this way—not men, not women.

while you preferred women, you had dabbled with men, more out of curiosity than desire. it felt clinical, an attempt to decode them like puzzles, perhaps to better understand why you and your father clashed. women, on the other hand, unraveled you.

the realization of your love came in two parts. the first arrived in the languid quiet of a holiday evening at your family’s upstate estate.

you had overexerted yourself in a lagree class, and sevika, ever watchful, had drawn you a warm bath. you watched her through the crack of the bathroom door, your gaze catching on the soft swell of her hips, the worn strength in her movements as she stretched after finishing readying the bed for sleeping. you often shared when traveling. she sat on the edge of it, her familiar perch, closest to the door. she always did this.

it was the smallest things about her that undid you: the way her hair slipped loose from its strict ponytail, the gentle sway of the gold chain brushing against her collarbones. you’d bought her that chain during a weekend in stockholm. now, the sight of it filled you with a sudden, vicious envy. you wanted to be that close to her—always.

the need consumed you. your body buzzed with an unnamed energy, teetering on the edge of itself. you wanted to crawl out of your skin and into hers, to dissolve completely against her warmth. you wanted her blood to run through your veins, her marrow to fuse with yours. your desire was feral, deranged, trembling like a dying pathetic thing.

without thinking, your hand slipped between your thighs. the thought of her—the sharpness of her profile, the tender press of her hands on your waist at the farmer’s market earlier—burned in your mind. you focused on the ridge of her nose, her beautiful nose. everything about her pleased you.

your fingertips pressed harder into the rosy pearl of your clit, and with a wounded cry, you came undone, trembling, your gaze locked on her through the crack in the door.

as if summoned by your thoughts, sevika lifted her head and met your eyes. her stern gaze pinned you, and you sank beneath the water with sudden embarrassment, your skin flush with heat.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

the next morning, your pleasure still lingered via a morning glow on your skin. you woke to find sevika beside you, her strong shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm of her sleep. you lifted a hand and stroked her brow, cooing softly as she murmured from somewhere deep within her sleep.

she, you thought, is every woman i’ve ever wanted.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

the second realization came during an attempt to kill you.

you were the chosen target—a calculated decision. your public image, carefully nurtured by those who sought to use you, made your death a tragedy worth orchestrating. the explosive had been hidden cleverly in the heart of your favorite restaurant, the one you frequented for its thick slices of fresh bread and macadamia milk.

when it detonated, your world fractured. your vision blurred, your ears rang, and blood trickled warm and sticky down your face. the floor rose to meet you, the lacquered wood pressing cold against your cheek. the world went in and out like the weak signal of a radio. someone was screaming—it might have been your mother, though you doubted she cared enough to wail like that.

through the haze, a hand cupped your jaw, firm but careful, and your head was turned until your eyes locked on sevika’s. her gray gaze steadied you, cutting through the chaos. you raised a hand, your french manicured tips trailing lightly against her cheek. one of them, you noticed, was broken.

“[name]. [name], look at me. don’t take your eyes off me.”

“vika,” you whispered, the name slipping from your lips like a prayer. for the first time, you saw fear flicker across her face.

“it’s me,” she said softly. “you’re going to be fine, but i need to get you up. i need to get you out of here.”

you didn’t want to move. here, cradled in her hands, was where you wanted to stay.

“i can hold you, princess,” she murmured, her voice impossibly tender. “if that’s what you want. but i have to move you first. deep breath, okay? here we go.”

she lifted you as though you weighed nothing, her strength unyielding. you clung to her, your broken nails digging into her skin as she carried you through the wreckage. bodies lay strewn across the floor, and your heart broke when you recognized the familiar face of a favorite server.

“it’s okay,” sevika said, her voice a steady anchor. “look at me. just keep looking at me.”

and you did. your gaze drifted to the soft curve of her throat; your face tilted toward her as though she were the sun.

when she laid you on the stretcher, a terrible fear seized you. you reached for her, desperation clawing at your chest.

“stay with me. bitte. bitte, ich flehe dich an.”

sevika froze. if it had been anyone else, she might have refused and headed back to assess the security breach. but it wasn’t anyone else. it was you.

“i’m right behind you, sweetheart,” she promised, her hand pressing firmly to your stomach. “right behind you. just in that car.”

“danke, vika,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “du bist das, was ich brauche. nur du.”

even as the ambulance doors closed, your eyes never left her. you focused on the faint hum of her engine trailing behind you, the sound steady against the fevered rush of your heart.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

sevika was unforgiving after that, and you selfishly enjoyed the over-attention.

she stole you away, back to your flat, and hovered. always within reach, always watching, her presence as constant as the air you breathed. you hated it. you loved it.

she insisted on being in the room while you bathed, while you ate, while you tried to pretend your body wasn’t trembling from the aftershocks of the explosion. the weight of her gaze pressed into your skin like a second layer. she dressed your wounds with quiet efficiency, her fingers steady but firm, and even when you flinched, she refused to soften her touch.

“you should’ve told me this one was hurting,” she murmured one evening, crouched at your side with a damp cloth in hand. her voice was scolding, but there was an undercurrent of something wounded beneath it—something that hadn’t healed properly since the restaurant.

“it’s fine,” you said, looking anywhere but at her.

“it’s not fine,” she snapped, gripping your wrist a little too tightly before loosening her hold. “you don’t tell me when you’re in pain. you don’t—” she stopped herself, shaking her head as if to clear it.

her jaw worked, muscles tight, and you stared at the curve of her throat as she leaned over you, wiping dried blood away with the kind of precision that only made your chest ache.

“you’re smothering me,” you said softly, more to yourself than her, but her head snapped up like you’d struck her.

“you almost died,” she bit out, and the words made you flinch harder than her grip.

“but i didn’t,” you countered, hating the way your voice trembled.

you could be such a child. it crippled you, your desire to please her, to be less burdensome. she’d kill you if she knew what you were thinking. thank god it was your secret.

sevika’s lips parted, but no words came. just that unfaltering, infuriating look—one that said she knew better, that she always knew better, and that you knew this to be true. you raised a finger, traced the glistening edges of her teeth. she kept her mouth open; she never bit down.

and then one evening, you decided you’d had enough.

“i’m going out,” you said, pulling a thick coat of fur—vintage—over your shoulders.

sevika, seated in the chair by the window, didn’t look up from the blade she was sharpening. “no, you’re not.”

“yes, i am,” you replied, voice clipped.

her eyes flicked up to meet yours, the air thickening.

“why would i agree to that?” she asked, standing slowly, her full height suddenly overwhelming in the small space. “why would i let you walk out of here after i almost lost you last time?”

you laughed bitterly, shaking your head.

“let me? you’re not my keeper, vika.”

“really?” she said, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous octave. “should we do another read of my contact? i’m the person who pulled you out of the rubble. i’m the person who’s been keeping you alive, no thanks to your recklessness.”

“recklessness?” you snapped, whirling to face her fully. “if you’ve learned anything these past years, it is that i am rarely reckless. you promised me. you said you wouldn't be another dictator. you know what my life’s been like. i am allowed to have a life outside of this, outside of what has happened to me.”

her nostrils flared, and for a moment, she just stared at you, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“you think i’m doing this for me?” she asked, her voice rough, uneven. “you think i like this?”

“yes,” you spat, the frustration spilling out of you in an unstoppable wave. “this is the most excitement i’ve given you. you must think i’m so fucking boring all of the time. so, yes, i think you’re enjoying it. it makes you feel important. ”

something in her cracked. she closed the distance between you in two steps, her hand shooting out to grip your chin, tilting your face up to hers.

“i'm enjoying this?” she growled, her breath hot against your skin. “watching you get hurt? wondering if this time i’ll be too late? don’t mistake my care for control.”

her grip softened, her thumb brushing your jaw, and suddenly, the room felt unbearably small. you could see the pulse in her throat, the heat in her gaze as her eyes searched yours.

“sevika,” you said. your self-righteousness had passed, and you were so deeply ashamed. “vika, that was unfair. i’m sorry. forgive me.”

her hand dropped to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the solid warmth of her body against yours. her breath was shallow, her jaw tight, but her eyes—god, her eyes. they burned with something that made your knees weak.

“bitte,” you whispered.

“i’m trying,” she said, her voice trembling, “to keep you safe. to keep myself from—”

she cut herself off, her gaze flicking to your lips. and before you could say anything, before you could breathe, her mouth was on yours.

the kiss was searing, all teeth and desperation, her hand tightening on your waist as if she was afraid you might disappear. you gasped against her, your hands finding their way to her shoulders, her neck, her hair. but just as quickly as it began, it ended. she pulled back, her breathing ragged, her eyes dark and stormy.

“don’t push me like that again,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

and then she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her, leaving you alone with the echo of her touch.

you crumpled like a paper doll and began to sob. outside, sevika, having turned back, pressed her forehead against the wall. absent-mindedly, the fingers of her prosthetic twitched and aborted their motions, jerking against the door as if fighting to feel you there.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

you needed to repay her for your abhorrent behavior.

you tried through what you knew: lavish breakfasts, waking up early to purchase her favorite flowers and sweets. you’d even carefully cleaned and oiled her prosthetic. sevika said nothing, if only not to further provoke your guilt, but you could tell she felt it was unnecessary. she was always too easy on you.

the universe, however, seemed to agree with you, and the opportunity to protect sevika came faster than you ever expected.

it was another attempt, this time at a crowded gala in the heart of the city. you hadn’t wanted to go, but sevika had insisted—you wanted to go out. besides, you need to be seen. send a message. and she had been there, of course, always in the background, a silent shadow at your side.

you saw the glint of the blade before she did.

it was instinct. your body moved before your mind caught up, and suddenly, you were between sevika and the would-be assassin, your arm jerking upward to deflect the strike with the heavy bracelet you wore. the metal screeched against the blade, and a sharp pain radiated up your arm, but you didn’t falter.

with your other hand, you snatched a knife from the cocktail table behind you. it was small but sharp, and you used it without hesitation. you didn’t feel the burn of the blade as it nicked your palm on the thrust; you only felt the sickening resistance of flesh before the assailant crumpled at your feet.

“get down!” sevika’s voice was a thunderclap, her hand gripping your shoulder as she shoved you behind her. she moved with terrifying precision, her body a blur of strength and fury as she assessed the situation in seconds.

the room was instantly bursting with chaos. a flash of silver caught your eye as sevika swung her prosthetic arm, sending one of the other assailants sprawling. blood slicked the floor, and the copper tang of it hung heavy in the air. your ears rang with the cacophony of fists, steel, and slit flesh.

you shouldn’t have done that; you knew this. the headlines would be more than money could hide.

“fuck!” sevika’s voice cut through the din, sharp and furious, as she turned to find you standing there, breathing hard, your hands stained red. “what the hell did you do?”

“i—i had to,” you stammered, your chest heaving. “you didn’t see him—”

she grabbed your arm, dragging you toward the far side of the room where the air was clearer and less stifling. the fight was dwindling; the attackers were now being rounded up by security, but sevika’s fury was just beginning.

“what were you thinking?” she hissed, her voice trembling. “do you have a death wish?”

you ripped your arm from her grasp, your own anger bubbling to the surface.

“i was saving you! or would you rather i let him stab you in the back?”

“i don’t need you to save me!” she snapped, stepping closer, her broad shoulders towering over you.

“maybe i need to,” you shot back, tears pricking at your eyes. “i refuse to just sit here and watch you die for me. i won’t. you can’t ask that of me.”

her expression faltered, the rage in her eyes dimming, replaced by something heavier, something more understanding. she often forgot how young you were.

“princess, it's not—you don’t understand,” she said. “if anything happened to you—”

“you’d what?” you interrupted, your voice wavering as you stared up at her. “fall apart? i wouldn’t be any different, vika. you're far from inconsequential. i could not survive a world without you.”

the silence between you was deafening. her gaze dropped to your trembling hands, still clutching the bloodied knife, and she let out a low, shuddering breath. more security personnel arrived, breaking the stalemate. the room was secured, and sevika took that as her cue to remove you from the premises, dragging you through the back corridors, her hand iron-tight around your wrist.

the moment the door to your shared suite slammed shut, she spun on you. her eyes glistened as she glared at you, her body taut like a bowstring.

“you don’t get it, do you?” she said, stepping closer. “i can’t—” she broke off, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“you can’t what?” you asked, shifting toward her. “vika, tell me.”

her jaw worked, the muscles in her neck tightening as she tried to hold herself together.

“i feel like i’m so close to losing you,” she said finally, her voice low and broken.

the words hit you like a punch to the chest.

“you won’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “i can’t be without you in any way. i won’t allow it.”

her eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. the space between you was so heavy. all you wanted was to smooth the worried line of her forehead, to share water with her, and wipe her clean.

“you can’t promise that,” she said finally.

you watched as she turned from you and slipped into the bathroom to begin getting ready for bed.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

she woke up with your head between her thighs.

sevika might’ve been more pleased about it if it wasn’t in the middle of the night. still, it wasn’t the worst way to come to.

the warmth spidered from her thighs to her hips before coiling tightly in her stomach. her eyes fluttered open, disoriented and struggling to focus. she heard you first: the wet suck of your mouth against her swollen, brown folds. you moaned somewhere deep and hidden in your chest, your hands tightening around the thickness of her thighs even though she was not yet bucking.

it took a while for her to place herself, and then it crashed into her all at once. she gasped and tucked a hand into your hair, which you removed so that you could intertwine your fingers, pressing them away from her head.

you unlatched from her and pressed a soft kiss into her stomach.

“stay still,” you commanded. “please.”

she allowed it.

you worked at her over and over, pushing the back the hood of her clit so you could roll it between your fingers like a rosy pearl. sevika let her pleasure crest until she shuddered into an unearthly orgasm, her legs snapping shut around your head just as a roll of thunder sounded through the early morning.

"couldn’t sleep?" she rasped.

you slowly unfastened her legs and raised your head from where you had been lapping at her, your full mouth glistening with her arousal. sevika sat up fully, legs shifting beneath the butter-yellow comforter, and stared down at you.

you looked back at her with wide eyes like she’d caught you sinning. you. you with your puppy eyes and open mouth. you, with your sweetness, with your eagerness when it came to her. you like a doe on the open road.

"no," you told her. "i couldn’t accept the idea that you hated me."

she sighed and cupped your cheek, thumbing across the plush skin.

"when you do or say something that displeases me, that doesn’t mean i hate you."

"if you’re displeased," you said, your voice thick across the last word, "then it feels the same to me."

with a huff of irritation, she yanked you up and into her lap, guiding you into a bruising kiss.

it wasn’t like the last time. this wasn’t desperation or fear—it was need. pure, unrelenting need. her hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against her, and you gasped into her mouth, your fingers tangling in her hair.

she shifted you easily, rolling over so that you fell beneath her. her eyes roamed over you, dark and hungry, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“you drive me insane,” she murmured, her voice rough as her hand trailed down your side.

“good,” you whispered, pulling her back to you.

soon, kissing wasn’t enough. you had hungered for her for so long, and she for you.

wetly, your lips broke apart, and she slid back to survey you. the soft, muted light of the room caught on the intricate lace of your undergarments. the set was exquisite; the bra cupped you perfectly. you saw sevika's jaw tighten, her hands flexing at her sides as though restraining herself from reaching for you.

“you look…” her voice faltered, her control waning. “fuck, princess.”

heat spread across your body, and you felt the lace press a little tighter against your skin as your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

sevika leaned in, her eyes never leaving yours. her hand rose, hesitant at first, before her fingertips brushed the embroidered lace at your shoulder. she traced the pattern down your arm, her touch light but burning, before resting her palm at your waist.

“you wore this for me?” she murmured, her voice low and dark, as her thumb swept over the sheer fabric, catching on a pebbled nipple.

“who else?” you answered, a tremor in your voice as her hand slipped to the small of your back, pulling you up into a soft arch.

she hummed in satisfaction and gently pulled your bra down so that it dipped beneath your tits as they spilled further into view. steadying you with a hand on your stomach, sevika leaned down and coaxed a hard bud into her mouth.

the wet heat of her mouth was akin to a strike of lightning. you moaned as she increased the pressure of her teeth, suckling eagerly at your chest as you pushed desperately into her touch. by instinct, your legs rose to cross behind her hips, forcing her to settle on top of you.

she let go of your nipple with a wet pop and switched to the other, beginning to work her way down your body with a pleased exhale. your panties didn’t even put up a worthy fight. they just slid right down, the fabric bunching around your thighs. the scrap of fabric had barely covered your cunt anyway, your thatch of hair poking through as if to tease her.

she watched your lips gleam and glisten, your pussy drooling with arousal and as deliciously plump as the rest of you. sevika pressed her mouth against it, practically a dog in heat, and relished the way you shivered up against her.

“vika,” you moaned and turned your face to the side in the way you did when you were overcome with embarrassment.

“baby,” she murmured, shifting so that she could force you to look at her. “baby, is this all for me?”

you whined, and sevika smirked, dipping her head down to lick a flat stripe up your dripping cunt.

“vika, fuck,” you cried, and she hummed, hooking a hand around one of your legs to pull it up so that you were further exposed. your clit was swollen and calling out for her.

pulling back, she used her free hand to part your lips so that she could watch the way you clenched around nothing. slick ran steadily down to the crack of your ass, a syrupy stream of desire. carefully, she stroked a metallic finger through your heat, holding you down as she began to rub your clit in tight circles.

“look at that pussy,” she murmured. “can’t believe it’s all mine, princess. thank you. thank you, baby.”

sevika couldn’t help herself and lifted her hand, bringing it down to slap against your cunt. you squealed, and she pressed a kiss to your thigh, delighting in your loss of composure. she considered you beneath her, your body slick and shining with sweat as you writhed. she rained two more strikes across your pussy in quick succession, dropping her head down and sliding her fingers in to let your buck into her open mouth and lolling tongue.

“taste so fucking good, princess,” she purred into you. “that’s it. ride my face, sweet girl. take what you want from me. take what you need.”

you gripped the bed, angling her hips so that you could drag her deeper into the cavern of your cunt. mewling, you trapped her between the link of your legs as you snapped upward and arched, cumming with a high sob.

“oh my god, vika.”

“just me,” she teased.

sevika waited for a couple of seconds before pushing up and rearranging you, sliding your back against her chest. carefully, she pushed your legs back apart and tucked three fingers up into your cunt, building a rhythm until she was thrusting hard enough that the overstimulation made you scream. you curled over yourself, your nails raking down her muscled thighs.

she milked you, patient and unrelenting, until you began to bounce on your own. you rode her hand. hard. slowly, your gummy walls tightened around her, whimpering through the flashes of pain and pleasure before you came again with a silent wail. sevika held you as you shook apart, whispering a stream of steady praises into your ear.

“good girl,” she cooed. “look at how good you are, princess. you needed this, huh? you’ve been begging for it, so desperate to cream all over me. such a good fucking girl.”

you slumped down, whimpering weakly as she pulled away from you. you felt her get up, slipping off the bed and walking somewhere into the darkness of the room. soon, she returned but not alone. you began to come back to yourself, and in doing so, you were able to focus on what she held in your hands.

“vika, that won’t fit.”

in her hand was a navy harness and matching dildo, girthy and ribbed. you tilted your head as she closed in, your hands finding her waist as if by instinct.

“sevika,” you whispered, your voice breaking as her lips trailed down your jaw, her teeth grazing your throat.

“quiet, baby,” she muttered against your skin, and you sighed softly, the sound catching in your throat as her hands slid lower, gripping your hips with a possessiveness that made you shiver. "you know you can take it."

you let out a pathetic, wet cry as she prodded at your puffy cunt, and her face softened. she pulled you closer, peppering your face with soft kisses. there was only her—her heat, her weight, her breath against your skin.

again she watched you, gripping you firmly from beneath your thighs as she nestled the tip of the dildo at the entrance of your pussy.

“princess,” she called to you, and you blinked blearily, clutching at her. “consider this forgiveness.”

it was all you ever wanted.

© hcneymooners.

translations.   bitte — please. bitte, ich flehe dich an — please i beg of you. danke — thank you. du bist das, was ich brauche. nur du. — you are what i need. only you.

[dieseldame]

𝗠𝗲𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗙𝗹𝗲𝘀𝗵

Sevika x Mechanic! Reader

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2,2K

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Sevika arrives at your workshop late at night, battered and bruised from a brutal fight, seeking urgent repairs for her damaged mechanical arm.

𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: Angst, comfort, hurt/comfort, slow-burn, first kiss, mutual respect, found family vibes, detailed mechanics, strong female lead, emotional vulnerability.

In the Lower City, time doesn’t move the way it does above. There’s no rhythm here—only chaos. Machines wheeze and hiss, drunk men stumble out of alleyways, and the Shimmer lights the night with its sickening purple glow. A place where even silence feels heavy, where danger coils in the shadows like something alive.

And yet, there’s always the hum of a machine shop somewhere—your machine shop.

Most nights, the noise keeps you company. The grinding of gears, the hiss of steam, the soft vibration of metal meeting metal. You’ve carved a life out of this grimy corner of Zaun: hands blackened by oil, skin marred by burns, heart stitched together with the same steel you shape. You mend what others break, piecing together scraps to give back function. If there’s one thing the Lower City respects, it’s those who can make things work.

But not tonight.

The shop is quiet. Tools lie idle on the workbench, scattered like forgotten relics. You sit slumped against the wall, head heavy, breath shallow—your body aches, but it’s nothing you can’t endure. A stitched wound at your temple pulses faintly; the bruises across your ribs feel tight when you inhale too deeply. It was worth it, though, for what you’d built.

The machine gleams under dim lamplight.

A marvel of metal and innovation, an appendage worthy of the woman it’s meant for. State-of-the-art sensors—so small you nearly went blind assembling them—thread through the new limb like nerve endings. You’d spent months on it. Scavenging parts. Trading favors. Getting into fights when “negotiation” failed. All for this: a piece of art wrapped in cold steel, capable of letting her feel again.

Capable of giving Sevika back something she’d lost.

She doesn’t know. She wouldn’t have let you—wouldn’t have wanted you to bleed for her, as she would say. Sevika was stubborn like that. Built of sharp edges and gruff words.

And yet she always came to you.

As if the broken parts of her knew where they belonged.

The door bangs open, hard enough to rattle the hinges. You don’t jump—Sevika never knocks. She storms in like a thundercloud, leaving the door yawning wide behind her. Smoke curls from a half-burned cigar clamped between her teeth.

— Thought I’d find you sleeping. — she says, her voice rough, but she pauses when she sees you.

Her sharp eyes track the bruises at your jaw, the bloodstained stitches above your brow, the stiff way you’re sitting. A subtle shift passes across her face—something unreadable, but heavy.

You lift a brow. — You’re late.

Sevika scoffs and strides inside, her boots loud against the floorboards. The flickering lamplight catches on the dark red smear down her cheek and the gouge in her mechanical arm—a deep tear through the metal, sparking faintly with exposed wires. She looks worse for wear: hair tangled, coat torn at the sleeve, shoulders tight with the lingering strain of a fight.

You stand, biting back a wince as your ribs protest. — What happened?

She shrugs off her coat with a grunt, tossing it over the back of a chair. Her ruined arm whirs as she flexes it, and for a moment, you think she might try to downplay the damage. Instead, her lips pull into a humorless smirk.

— Some idiot thought he’d try his luck.

— Clearly, he didn’t win.

Sevika snorts, the sound dark and pleased. — Didn’t even come close.

You’ve heard this before—her coming in late, bruised and bloodied but alive. You’ve always admired that about her: the way she endures. Survives. Sevika’s not invincible, but she wears her damage like armor.

Tonight, though, something feels different. You can see it in her posture, the heaviness in the set of her jaw.

— Sit, — you tell her. — Let me look at it.

She does, with minimal grumbling, lowering herself onto a stool by the workbench. Her damaged arm hangs limply at her side, and you kneel beside it, fingers brushing the jagged metal edges. Sparks hiss where the wiring has frayed. It’s worse than you thought—too far gone to repair tonight.

— Damn it. — you mutter.

— Don’t hold back on my account. — Sevika drawls.

You shoot her a dry look before rising to grab your tools. The lamp casts your shadow long across the room as you search for something—anything—that could be a temporary fix. Sevika watches you, one brow raised, her good hand braced against her knee.

— I can’t patch this up, — you admit after a moment. — Not tonight. The damage is too deep.

Sevika grunts, not surprised, but her eyes narrow slightly. — Then what are you waiting for? Find another way.

You hesitate. It’s now or never.

— You’re right. I do have another way.

She frowns, leaning back slightly as you turn and cross the room. Your hand moves to the edge of the sheet that covers your secret—months of work, pain, and sacrifice hidden beneath it. You look at her then, at the woman who sits in your shop like she belongs there, like there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.

— Consider it an early birthday present.

And then you pull the sheet away.

The room seems to hold its breath.

The new arm lies on the table—a masterpiece in steel and precision. It shines silver under the light, sleeker than Sevika’s current appendage, but heavier somehow. Something about the design demands respect. The plating has been shaped to fit her perfectly, every joint reinforced and seamless.

But the real wonder lies in the small, intricate workings beneath the surface. The sensors, invisible to the eye, hum faintly with potential energy. Capable of transmitting touch—real touch. Warmth. Pressure. All the things Sevika’s flesh had lost.

You’d made her a gift.

Sevika doesn’t move. Her eyes rake over the arm, slow and careful, and for the first time in a long while, she looks… surprised.

— You made this? — Her voice is low, quieter than before.

You nod, throat suddenly dry. — For you.

She doesn’t speak. You’re not sure if that’s a good or bad thing, so you keep talking, filling the silence. — The sensors are custom-built. Took me weeks just to get the design right. They’ll let you feel things again. Temperature, textures. All of it. — You glance at her, searching her face for a reaction. — I thought maybe… you’d like that.

Sevika’s gaze drags from the arm to you. Slowly, her expression shifts, softening in a way that feels dangerous. Like something she doesn’t let anyone see.

— You didn’t just make this, — she says, voice low. — Where did you get the parts?

You look away.

Her eyes narrow. — Tell me.

— I got them, — you reply, a little too quickly. — That’s what matters.

Sevika rises then, moving toward you with a deliberate slowness that makes your pulse quicken. She’s too close now, towering over you with that sharp, unreadable look.

Her gaze drops to the bruises at your jaw, the healing wound at your temple. She takes you in like a puzzle she’s solving piece by piece—her good hand lifting to tilt your chin, forcing you to meet her eyes.

— You fought for this. — It’s not a question.

You swallow hard. — Zaun’s not exactly a charity.

— Idiot, — she mutters, though her voice lacks any bite. Her thumb grazes the edge of your jaw—light, careful, as though testing her own ability to be gentle. — You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed.

— It was worth it. — you say softly.

She blinks. For a long moment, Sevika just looks at you—searching, measuring, as though trying to understand something she doesn’t have the words for. You hold her gaze, unflinching.

— You’re a fool. — she says finally.

— Maybe.

Her hand drops, but she doesn’t step back.

— Sevika, — you start, — I just —

— You didn’t have to do this for me.

— I wanted to.

The words hang between you, raw and undeniable. Sevika stares at you, something unspoken passing through her eyes. You’ve seen her fight. Seen her spit blood and laugh through cracked teeth. But this is different. This is vulnerability—quiet and unarmored.

— You’re too soft for this city, — she mutters, but there’s no malice in it. Only something close to affection.

You smirk faintly. — And you’re too stubborn to accept a gift.

She snorts, shaking her head, but her mouth twitches at the corner—an almost-smile.

— Sit back down, — you tell her. — Let me fit it.

Sevika hesitates, then moves. When she lowers herself onto the stool again, you begin the careful process of removing her damaged arm, piece by piece, before fitting the new one in its

place.

The process is slow, deliberate. You work in silence, your fingers moving with the precision of someone who knows their craft intimately. Sevika doesn’t speak, but you can feel her watching you—her gaze heavy, lingering on your bruises, the faint tremble in your hands as you lock the new appendage into place.

The final connection clicks with a soft hum, and the arm comes alive. Its joints shift smoothly, a near-perfect mimicry of organic movement. Sevika flexes her fingers, and the sensors respond, lighting up faintly as they adjust to her.

— How does it feel? — you ask, watching her carefully.

Her brows furrow slightly as she tests the arm, running her metal fingers over the edge of the workbench. The faintest smile pulls at her lips when she feels the texture of the rough wood beneath her touch.

— Strange, — she admits. — I didn’t think… — She trails off, her voice softening. — I didn’t think I’d feel anything like this again.

Your chest tightens. — Good strange?

Sevika looks at you then, her expression open in a way that feels rare, like she’s letting her guard slip just for a moment. — Yeah. Good strange.

Relief washes over you, and you take a step back, suddenly feeling the weight of the night settle over you. Your ribs ache, your head pounds faintly, but it’s worth it—worth every bruise, every drop of blood.

— You’re something else. — Sevika mutters, shaking her head.

— What do you mean?

— You fight, you bleed, and then you do this? — She gestures to the arm with her good hand. — You didn’t have to. Hell, you shouldn’t have. But you did it anyway.

You shrug, trying to play it off. — Like I said, I wanted to.

She leans forward, her new arm resting against her thigh, the metal gleaming under the lamplight. — You’re not Zaun, you know that? Not like the rest of us.

You raise a brow. — What does that mean?

Sevika smirks faintly, but there’s no edge to it. — It means you’ve got more heart than sense.

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. — And you’re just figuring this out now?

Her gaze softens, her smirk fading into something quieter, more serious. — I noticed it the first time I walked in here.

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The weight of her confession—small but significant—hangs in the air.

— Sevika…

She stands suddenly, towering over you, her new arm flexing as she tests its range of motion. Then she reaches out, her metal hand brushing your cheek—light, tentative, as though she’s still adjusting to the sensation. The coolness of the metal contrasts with the warmth of her touch, and your breath hitches.

— You went through hell for this, — she murmurs, her voice low and rough. — For me.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. — I told you… it was worth it.

Her lips twitch into a faint smile, but her eyes stay on yours, searching, unreadable. — You’re a fool. — she says again, softer this time.

— Maybe. — you whisper.

For a moment, the world seems to stop. The noise of the Lower City fades, the sharp scent of oil and metal dulls, and all that exists is Sevika—her presence, her touch, her quiet intensity.

And then she leans in.

Her lips brush yours, firm yet hesitant, like she’s testing the waters. It’s not soft, not sweet—this is Sevika, after all. It’s rough around the edges, but there’s something real in it, something that sets your pulse racing and makes the ache in your ribs worth forgetting.

When she pulls back, her gaze holds yours, unflinching.

— Thank you. — she says, the words rough, almost grudging, but filled with a sincerity that takes your breath away.

You smile, your chest tight with something you can’t quite name. — Anytime.

Sevika chuckles faintly, shaking her head. — You’re gonna get yourself killed one day, you know that?

— Not if you’ve got my back. — you reply, grinning.

She smirks, and for the first time all night, she looks at ease. — Damn right I do.

As she steps back, flexing her new arm with an almost childlike curiosity, you can’t help but watch her, a warmth spreading through your chest. The bruises, the fights, the exhaustion—it’s all worth it.

Because this is Sevika.

And for her, you’d do it all over again.

ㅤㅤㅤ

[msfantasy-comics]

The Ex gets Married

Bruce Wayne x Ex-Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bruce breaks up with Y/n and ends up in a tumultuous relationship with Selina. Bruce finds out about his ex-girlfriend moving on and is heartbroken.

Warning: Bruce does not have a happy ending.

Many years before, Bruce, had to make a life altering decision.

Should he follow his head or his heart?

He loved both Selina and Y/n dearly for very different reasons.

But there was no use pondering the decision further. Selina was a safe bet.

Selina, whilst fickle, was still a woman capable of handling the rough and tough life style that accompanied his alter-ego. Selina’s life parallels his own; their secret life, their deep rooted trauma, their years of personal growth together.

When considering these factors, it was indisputable, he had to follow his head, and in the end he got exactly what he asked for.

An unbridled romantic companion that was only ever present when it suited her.

Selina was never consistent in supporting Bruce. Only being present at the worst of times, and never being available to celebrate the best of times.

Selina was incapable of bonding with his sons. It’s not like she didn’t try, the boys were just utterly disinterested in bonding with a woman who seemed to sail in and out of Bruce’s life on a whim. Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian felt Selina was not going to be around long, so they always turned her down or avoided Selina when possible.

Selina was uncomfortable with the mundane. Drama followed her where ever she went. Her constant blow outs strains Bruce beyond measure.

As usual, Bruce retreats to his cold and lonely bed. It’s been weeks since he last heard from Selina. He stares at the ceiling and wonders what his life could’ve been like had he followed his heart.

You were always the first to hold Bruce and comfort him in his times of need. You were always pushing to celebrate ridiculous milestones and insisting it was important since it was an achievement.

You put in so much effort bonding with his sons. You’d spent days in Bludhaven, looking after Dick in hospital when no one else could. You drove to Jason’s favourite dive bar, drank beer with him every Friday. You attended all of Tim’s extracurricular events. You would drink tea with Damian and listen to him vent his frustrations with his teammates.

Better yet, you were always in bed waiting for him. Arms always spreading open, ready to embrace him after a difficult night out.

Bruce missed you dearly, but he knows he made the right decision. Selina was capable of protecting herself- you weren’t.

Bruce constantly reminds himself of that time Joker almost took your life as you helplessly dangled from the building. Your survival from that encounter was pure luck. If Bruce wasn’t your boyfriend, you would’ve been safe.

So, Bruce made the right decision following his head. Following his heart would’ve brought nothing but heartache.

The house seemed unusually quite. There was no noise, no movement. He hasn’t heard anything from anyone.

“Alfred, where are the boys?” The older gentlemen continues to assemble the cucumber sandwiches, pretending he didn’t hear a single word. “Alfred?” The older man sighs as he contemplates telling the truth, to honouring the lie fabricated by the boys. At last, Alfred opts for the ugly truth.

“The young masters are attending a wedding ceremony.” Alfred answers bluntly, unwilling to be the barer of bad news.

“A wedding ceremony? Who’s wedding is it?” Alfred places the plate in front of Bruce, continuing to avoid eye contact. “Alfred, answer the question.”

He sighs as he pours a glass of water. “John Constantines wedding.”

Confusion crosses Bruce as to why his sons are attending that man’s wedding. “I didn’t know he had a significant other, who is he marrying?”

Alfred looks off to the clock as Bruce waits impatiently for the long drawn out answer. The clock strikes twelve, which floods the house with a melody to notify half the day has passed. Finally, Alfred speaks. “As of 12’oclock John Constantine has married his beloved wife Y/n Constantine.”

All colour in Bruce’s face drains, his mouth goes dry and he’s not sure if his heart is beating. “Y/n… she’s married?” Alfred nods unsympathetically.

“The women you love has married someone that isn’t you.” Alfred’s words rubs salt in Bruce’s already wounded heart. “Incase you were wondering Master Bruce… Selina Kyle had introduced the two around the time you had broken up.” Bruce’s head turns to mush at the news.

It’s not like he intended to get back together with you or anything- so why is he so upset?

Of course you would move on eventually, he knew that. That’s just common sense. Why would you be single for the rest of your life?

Yet despite all common sense Bruce’s heart continues to squeeze painfully, his head thumping away as a growing migraine takes place.

The love of his life has gone on and married someone else.

God.

Is it too late to win her back?

What was he thinking ? Of course it is.

There’s no going back.

Bruce will just have to accept his decision.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Nightmare ships  

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“Most terrifying ship I ever seen?”

Mordray repeated the question as he took a thoughtful bite of his xala and pondered the question.

“I’d have to say a Hive Node ship.”

Lithinio scoffed. “When the seven hells have you ever seen a Node ship?”

“I watched a documentary on it just last rotation.” Mordray countered rather defensively. “And having watched it I have to say I’m glad I never saw one in person since they eat entire ships whole.”

Ninten sighed and rubbed the ridges of his face. “Let me change the question then to “What is the most terrifying ship you have ever seen IN PERSON.””

Mordary took another bite as he took in the updated question while Lithinio stepped in with their own answer.

“I once saw a Dru Hunter Class while part of a convoy escort mission.” He took a sip of his drink and ran his hands through the air as if tracing the vessel.

“From bow to stern it was covered in spikes and upon each spike was a corpse. It was like a ship of the dead come to collect its toll of the living.”

“I heard the stories about those.” Ninten nodded. “Doesn’t matter if you were a victim, an enemy, or just some bad luck bastard in the wrong place at the wrong time; they’d spike you just the same. Where’d you see it?”

“The Dinar Campaign,” Lithinio replied, “they couldn’t beat our warriors on the ground so they’d send out small raiding space parties to hammer the transports and supply ships before ever reaching their worlds.”

“Lost a lot of good lads that war.”

The trio of crewmen turned to see the speaker at the table opposite them had turned around. They wore the uniform of an engineer but had several markings of honorary navy marine, honorary gunner, and even one for honorary helmsman. This could be none other than the legendary Midar Nus, the most famous crewman on the ship.

“Apologies for intruding,” Midar said sheepishly, “I was overhearing your conversation and it drew up some memories.”

‘You are more than welcome to join us sir.” Ninten said as his two comrades nodded and made room at their table for Midar to join. He smiled and took the offer, changing tables and nestling himself down in the now free space.

“No need for that protocol with me lad,” Midar spoke with a wintery grin as he eyed Ninten, “especially since you technically outrank me.”

“Experience counts for more than bars, sir.” Ninten replied without thinking.

Midar was taken aback by the boldness and for a moment Ninten thought he had overstepped himself. Instead, Midar let out a deep booming laugh and patted him on the back as Lithinio and Mordray let out a sigh of relief.

“We could have used a dozen more of you during that scuffle with the Dru; would have saved a lot of my friends.”

Ninten took the compliment and tried to redirect the conversation before he said something to ruin his now good standing with a living legend.

“What about you then? What’s the scariest ship you’ve ever seen?”

The trio listened in half expecting him to say something heroic like “I’ve never seen a ship worth being afraid of” or “I once thought I saw one, but it was really my mate’s in-law”. Instead, the old sailor replied without even pausing to think.

“The ones who piloted them don’t have a name for it officially; only a name they had given to them by a creature of their dark past.”

“Whose they?” Mordray asked as Lithinio smacked him for interrupting the answer.

“Humans crewed the things, though it’s been a thankful many years since I last encountered one of those damnable vessels.”

He leaned in close and slowly cast a frightful gaze across the three of his listeners.

“They called them “Frankenstein” ships.”

None of the three said a thing, partly because none of the three had any idea what that word meant. Midar saw this and further explained.

“There’s a story amongst humans about a human named “Dr. Victor Frankenstein”, and they were so focused on circumventing death itself that they began performing horrific experiments on the living and the dead.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ninten asked “How can you perform horrific experiments if the subject is dead?”

Midar shrugged. “Story goes the mad doctor took the chopped up pieces of several dead humans, sewed them together, and then brought the creature to life.” 

“Putting aside the continued depraved and discouraging nature of humanity,” Lithinio chimed in, “what does this have to do with their ship design?”

“Because,” Midar continued, “like their mad doctor humans have an infuriating habit carving up the parts from other ships and adding those parts to their own.”

He leaned back into his chair as he recounted his first experience. “The first time I found myself up against one of those ships was in the Delta Cluster. We just fought of a border incursion and were tasked with protecting the wreckage while we sifted for survivors.”

“We just finish a patrol when we got a strange energy signature return near the edge of the wreckage. So we went to investigate it and there we found a human ship the size of a frigate slowly drifting through the debris field using a variety of arms to grab bits and pieces of ships.”

“The captain ordered a scan of the ship and the returns were a confusing mishmash of technological parts.”

“A Thorian engine block, a Juriet power core, a Nexium stabilizer…” he said listing out a surprisingly long list of ship parts from different species.

“None of those parts are designed to work with other tech.” Mordray commented. He would know as he was part of the engineering crew and well trained in ship maintenance. “The Juriet power core alone would generate far too much power for a ship that size; dangerously so much that using it could trigger a system overload.”

Midar nodded at the crewman’s insight. “Indeed, were it not for the majority of that power also going towards a Feren Gel class shield system. We found that out when we tried to disable their engines and our volley bounced off the thing like oil on water.”

Lithinio let out a whistle in awe while Midar continued.

“After that the thing began to slowly turn to make a run out of system so we drove in hard ready to grab it with our tractor beams. We were just about to make it when a panel at the rear of the ship opened up and a turret protruded out of it.”

“One shot.” Midar remarked as he held up a single taloned finger. “It took one shot at us and shattered our shield, blew out our engines, and triggered a cascading system overload that left us dead in space as they plowed out of system and made a jump.”

Ninten grumbled as he pondered Midar’s words. “Must’ve been a Telkar railgun. It’d run the entire length of a frigate ship, but it’d pack enough of a punch to deal that kinda damage; but the recoil alone would’ve split a ship that size in half.”

“Which we later found out was counter acted by a Wu’l gravity displacement field. They jacked it to max just as the railgun would fire and the counter action would cancel out the recoil.”

“I’m still confused why these things are so scary to you?” Mordray asked with a hint of a mocking tone. “They sound like garbage barges held together with scraps.”

Midar took on an offended expression and straightened up. “They’re terrifying because you never know what you are going up against. Frigate size packing battleship class weaponry, a patrol craft that can launch mini black holes, a cruiser that interwove nanomachine and organic materials that could repair any damage; every and anything was on the table!”

The ships seemed beyond reason and logic but the enthusiasm with which he spoke there was some truth to each description.

Ninten took a sip from his drink and nodded in appreciation. “Only fitting for the species that defies existence to have ships that actively defy the laws of technology.”  

[orangetintedglasses]

With all that additional helpful information logged and a half-hearted 'no promises he'll still be alive if he tries to pull anything', the Captain hobbled out the other entrance to the lab, dragging Ashton right along with him... leaving the two of them alone. Again.

Thank God.

The sting of tears was immediate, and Vash's hands were up in a flash-- plucking his glasses off the bridge of his nose so he could rub his face, put pressure on closed eyes that felt too heavy to open again. One slow, deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth-- rattling with disgust and horror and guilt and just about every other emotion that they just didn't have time for right now --and he could push it down, away. Anywhere else until later. Nevermind how hard his heart was beating, or the way his stomach wanted to launch out his throat. How airy and too-light his limbs felt when he took a step forward; signaling the start of their dread-march towards the only room left in this veritable nightmare.

He hopes Wolfwood is right-- that there's nothing to find but old lab equipment and empty tubes --but when has his luck ever been that good in situations like this?

"Taking charge in rough situations comes naturally to you, huh? You're really good at it." he said, forcing some levity into his tone. Still wearing that same empty smile, though, even if he was trying to make it more genuine, "how frustrating must it have been being forced to follow my lead all the time, back then?"

"Yeah, yeah," Wolfwood waves off the Captain, secretly very grateful for him agreeing to split off. Vash is clearly in distress, and, ugh, it does something all... mushy and weird to his heart. He wants to be his strength, but some of the things he might have to do he'd really rather other people didn't witness. Especially a party as unpredictable as bandits. As much as Ashton really didn't serve as a threat to them, they still shouldn't underestimate him. The untrained scared puppies can be some of the most dangerous people to give a gun.

"Just don't kill 'im. Gonna need his help later to wipe this disgusting slate clean. There's gotta be a way to scrub all of this shit off their database or whatever so no one ever does this again. There also has to be a larger shipping entrance to this place somewhere, might be helpful if we wanna get the Plants to a safer standard power station. Not gonna lie, even if we did repurpose this place, it won't stop the Eye of Michael from storming the damn door and continuing their research on whoever ends up working here. They have access to weapons a lot less reasonable than me, I can tell you that."

Weapon. Yeah, that's right. No matter what he does or what Vash says, nothing will change the fact that Wolfwood is a weapon to be used. No amount of kisses or affection can change that. That's something he can ruminate on later over a cigarette, not something to deal with right now.

"There won't be anything alive back there. Eight months is long enough to starve someone, and who knows what was keeping the... keeping the ones in the tanks alive," he speaks with such confidence, but a tiny tiny part of him worries that perhaps something will be alive. Vash seems to intend to pull the plug on them... which is a lot different than what he'd led Wolfwood on to believe. "Now get outta here, this shouldn't take too long."

Wolfwood turns to Vash, happy to hear his voice again before he turns in the direction of the holding cells, ready to advance at Vash's command.

[lizziesangel]

TOM RIDDLE - soulmates don’t exist PT. 7

SDE MASTERLIST - x FEM!reader (POC!friendly)

SUMMARY: everything changes for you when snape gives you a certain memory. will you be able to do the task that dumbledore has given you?

WORD COUNT: +4.7k

GENRE: angst-ish (but not really)

CONTENT WARNING: soulmate & time travelling

to be added to taglist

The sun filtered gently through the glass panes of the greenhouse, casting soft patterns of light across rows of exotic plants and herbs. Herbology class was well underway, and you were elbow-deep in soil and greenery alongside Lucas, who had somehow managed to turn a simple pruning task into an elaborate plan for early retirement.

“Added some lacewing flies and a bit of powdered root of asphodel to this,” he said, pointing to the strangely wriggling plant in front of him, a devil’s snare cutting, “We could probably start our own illicit potion business. Think about it—retirement by seventh year.”

You laughed, wiping your hands on a cloth and shaking your head. “I’m not sure Professor Garlick would be too thrilled if we used her greenhouse as our secret lab.”

Lucas sighed, putting a hand over his heart with exaggerated disappointment. “Ah, the crushing weight of responsibility. We could’ve been legends, Y/n.”

“Legends for getting expelled, maybe,” you said with a smirk as you carefully pruned a particularly thorny stem.

Professor Garlick approached your table, smiling approvingly as she noticed your progress. “Very good, you two! Lucas, Y/n, keep up the excellent work. And do try not to let the devil’s snare strangle you,” she added with a wink.

Once she moved on, Lucas leaned closer to you, whispering, “Imagine the scandal—two young potioneers with enough galleons to buy a private island in the caribbean.”

“You’d probably find a way to ruin it,” you teased, nudging him as you moved to another plant. “And besides, there’s more to life than mischief, you know.”

Lucas gave you an exaggerated gasp, as if you’d said something offensive. “More to life than mischief? Sacrilege!” he shook his head, feigning disappointment. “How did I end up with a friend who has such… practical dreams?”

“Pure luck, Lucas,” you replied with a grin.

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling back. “Fine, we’ll stick to legal Herbology pursuits—for now.”

As the hour went on, you and Lucas worked in comfortable silence, tending to the plants and whispering snatches of gossip about other students when Professor Garlick wasn’t in earshot.

After class, as you gathered your things, you noticed a few Slytherins nearby, casting glances your way. Lucas noticed too, and his expression shifted to something slightly annoyed.

“Why do they always look at us like that?” he muttered, tightening his grip on his bag. “You’d think they’re plotting our downfall or something.”

You shrugged, amused. “Maybe they’re intimidated by your incredible potion-business ideas.”

Lucas grinned. “Obviously. The Slytherins can sense power and ambition from a mile away. They’re jealous.”

The common room was unusually quiet for a Saturday evening, the fire crackling softly as you curled up in your favorite armchair with a book balanced on your lap. The faint chatter of students coming and going was a distant hum in the background, and for once, the usual chaos felt like a comforting lull.

You were only half-paying attention to the words on the page, your mind drifting to the slug club party later that evening. The dark purple dress you’d bought with Lucas hung neatly over your trunk upstairs, waiting for the moment you’d finally have to face the reality of being Tom Riddle’s date. It wasn’t exactly something you could forget, but for now, you tried to focus on your book.

Just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the story, a familiar, weighty thud landed on the armrest of your chair. You looked up to find Shadow—your mysterious cat—perched beside you, his green eyes blinking at you like he’d been there all along.

“You,” you muttered, putting the book down and reaching out to scratch behind his ears. “You’ve been missing for days. Where have you been?”

Shadow didn’t answer, obviously, but he let out a soft purr and nuzzled against your hand as if to make up for his absence. You smiled, feeling a strange wave of relief at his return. Even with his habit of disappearing, shadow always seemed to reappear at the moments you needed him most.

“There you are!” Maeve’s cheerful voice rang out, and you looked up to see her, Alicia, and Lilith coming through the portrait hole. Lucas trailed behind them, holding a box of what looked suspiciously like contraband sweets from Honeydukes.

“We’ve been looking for you,” Maeve said, flopping onto the couch across from you. “Lucas said you were probably reading, but I thought you’d already started getting ready for the party.”

“Not yet,” you admitted, scratching shadow under his chin. “Trying to delay the inevitable.”

“Inevitable?” Alicia repeated, raising an eyebrow as she plopped down beside Maeve. “You’re going as Tom Riddle’s date. That’s not inevitable—it’s gossip gold.”

“Or terrifying,” Lilith added quietly, her brown curls bouncing as she sat cross-legged on the floor near the fire. “I mean, he’s… scary.”

“She’ll be fine,” Lucas said, waving his hand dismissively as he dropped the box of sweets onto the table. “If anyone can survive an evening with him, it’s Y/n. She’s practically unshakable.”

You gave him a dry look. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’ll need it,” he replied, smirking as he popped a chocolate frog into his mouth. “But seriously, it’s just a party. Plus, you’ve got the best dress in the castle. Riddle will look like a second thought next to you.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” you said, rolling your eyes. “As long as I outshine the future dark lord, all is well.”

Your friends laughed, and for a moment, the tension you’d been carrying all week eased. Shadow hopped off the armrest, stretching lazily before curling up at your feet, his purring filling the space between your banter.

“So,” Alicia said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin, “Are we all meeting up after the party to dissect every awkward detail?”

“Obviously,” Maeve said, grinning back. “This is too good to miss.”

Lucas sighed dramatically. “You know, sometimes I think I’m the only normal one in this group.”

“Normal?” you shot back, arching an eyebrow. “You’re the one who suggested starting a black-market potion business during herbology.”

“She’s got you there,” Lilith murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Lucas huffed, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. “Fine. But if Riddle tries anything shady, I’m hexing him. Rules be damned.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you said, smiling despite the knot of nerves tightening in your chest.

Shadow let out a low, rumbling purr as if to say he agreed, and you scratched his ears again, feeling oddly comforted by his presence. No matter what happened tonight, at least you wouldn’t be facing it completely alone.

You stood in front of the mirror in the Gryffindor girls’ dorm, smoothing out the dark purple silk of your dress as you took a shaky breath. Tonight was the slug club party, and while part of you was excited for the evening ahead, while a heavier feeling lingered underneath—a strange mix of dread and curiosity about spending the night as Tom Riddle’s date.

“Okay, let’s see it! Give us a twirl” Alicia’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you turned, showing the full length of your dress to your friends. Alicia’s grinned, her green eyes lighting up as she clapped. “You look stunning, Y/n! Riddle’s not gonna know what hit him.”

You rolled your eyes but did as she asked, spinning in your dress. The fabric flowed around you, brushing your ankles, catching the soft glow of the room’s candlelight. It was simple, but elegant, and it felt… right. Yet there was still a knot of nerves coiling in your stomach.

Lilith, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed, gave you an approving nod. “Seriously, you look incredible. And if he doesn’t appreciate it, well… he’s an idiot.”

“Or, you know,” Maeve said with a smirk, “He’s just Tom Riddle, and he doesn’t appreciate anything.”

“But, honestly, Y/n, you look amazing,” Maeve added, standing back to admire her friend.

You let out a laugh, trying to mask the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “Thanks, guys. but… it feels weird, you know? like, I want to go and have fun, but with him?”

“I just…I don’t know. I kind of want to go, but… Riddle as my date? It’s… complicated.”

Alicia laughed, shaking her head. “You think? He practically just told you that you’re his date, didn’t even ask if you wanted to go with him. Sounds about right for him.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t exactly give ‘polite,’” Lilith agreed, her brows knitting together. “But you don’t have to be around him all night, y’know? Stick with Lucas and his date. He’ll be there, and you can just make a night out of it.”

You sighed, playing with the hem of your dress. “That’s the plan, honestly. But… Riddle just has this way of… getting under my skin.”

Maeve snorted. “I mean, he’s intense. I can see how he’d get under anyone’s skin. But look, just… don’t let him intimidate you, yeah?”

Alicia leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “And if he starts acting all dark and mysterious, just give him one of those looks you do. The one where you look unimpressed by everything.”

You laughed, a genuine smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, I think that’ll be my go-to tonight. I’ll probably need it.”

Lilith smiled softly, her eyes filled with warmth and a hint of pride. “We’re serious, though. You don’t owe him anything, okay? He’s your ‘date’ because he decided he is, but that doesn’t mean you have to feel pressured. It’s just one night.”

You felt a warmth spread through you, a mix of gratitude and reassurance. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Maeve hugged you quickly before stepping back. “You won’t have to find out. We’ve got your back—even if we’re not there. and if Riddle gives you trouble, just remember: you can handle yourself. No one messes with our girl.”

Alicia gave you a little nudge toward the door, grinning. “Go knock ‘em dead, Y/n. you’re going to have an amazing time—even if Riddle is… well, Riddle.”

You took a deep breath, smoothing out your dress one last time. “Alright. Here goes nothing.”

As you left the room, your friends called out goodbyes and last-minute pieces of advice, and you felt a small surge of confidence. Yes, he was intense, and yes, he had a way of unsettling you in ways you couldn’t quite explain. But tonight, you had friends who had your back, even from afar.

The castle was alive with energy as you walked through the halls, your heels clicking softly against the stone floor. Lucas was by your side, his usual mischievous grin replaced with a faint look of concern. “Don’t worry, Y/n,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. “If things get too weird with Riddle, you know I’ll be there to pull you out.”

“Thanks, Luca,” you replied, though the tightness in your chest told you there was no simple escape from whatever would unfold at the party. “But if things get too weird, I might just disappear into the punch bowl.”

Lucas laughed, but his gaze lingered on the door ahead. “If you need a distraction, I’ve got the best one in mind. I’ve already got some tricks up my sleeve for Slughorn.”

Before you could respond, a figure emerged from the shadows near the entrance to the party. You felt your heart skip a beat when you saw him—Tom Riddle, tall, imposing, his dark eyes catching the flickering light as he leaned casually against the stone wall. For a moment, everything seemed to slow, as if the world itself had taken a collective breath.

Riddles’s gaze flicked over to you the second you stepped into his line of sight, his lips curling into that infuriatingly smug smirk. He didn’t even spare Lucas a second glance.

“Ah, Y/n,” he said, his voice smooth as silk, yet carrying an underlying sharpness that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “I see you’re finally ready for the evening.” his eyes never left yours as he spoke, completely ignoring Lucas standing beside you.

“You look... okay, Y/n.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow, a frown tugging at his lips. “You could at least say hello, Riddle. It’s called manners.”

Riddle’s gaze flicked briefly to Lucas, but only for a moment, barely acknowledging his presence before returning to you. “Manners, Creevey?” he repeated, his tone bored, as if the concept didn’t interest him in the slightest. “You’ll excuse me if I have more... pressing matters to attend to.”

Before Lucas could respond, Riddle stepped closer to you, his presence suddenly overwhelming as he reached out and took your arm, his grip firm and possessive. “Shall we?” he said, his voice low and commanding.

Your breath caught in your throat as he began to lead you away from Lucas, his fingers warm against your skin, his touch sending an unexpected jolt through your chest. the tension in the air thickened as he pulled you further into the grand hallway, the buzz of the party growing louder.

“Hey, don’t forget about me!” Lucas called after you, his voice laced with an edge of irritation.

Riddle didn’t even look back. “Of course, we wouldn’t want to forget about your entertaining presence,” he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. The way he said it made you feel as though you were already stepping into a different world—one that was far removed from Lucas and your friends.

As the two of you approached the doors of the party, you felt a sudden surge of nerves, your heartbeat picking up its pace. It was as if the walls of the castle were closing in around you, the weight of Riddle’s gaze heavy on your back.

When you stepped into the grand ballroom, Slughorn was waiting near the entrance, his jovial expression lighting up as he spotted you. “Ah, here they are!” he boomed, his round face flushed with excitement. “The charming Y/n and our guest of honor, the ever-elusive Tom Riddle!”

Riddle’s lips curled into a tight, enigmatic smile as he bowed his head slightly. “Professor,” he said smoothly, his voice as calm and controlled as ever. “I’m honored to be here.”

You gave a tight smile, not sure whether to feel nervous or irritated by the way Riddle was behaving—calm, collected, but almost too detached for comfort. Slughorn beamed at you both, clearly enjoying the spectacle of the night.

As Slughorn led you further into the room, introducing you to a few other guests, you felt Riddle’s fingers gently tighten around your arm, pulling you just a little closer to him. “Don’t get too comfortable, Y/n,” he murmured lowly, his breath brushing against your ear. “I’ll be the one to decide how comfortable you get tonight.”

You shivered involuntarily, a mixture of annoyance and something else you couldn’t quite identify flooding through you. You managed to keep your voice steady, though your pulse raced in your ears. “And if I don’t want to play by your rules?”

Riddle’s smile deepened, his eyes dark with an unreadable emotion. “You’ll learn to, eventually,” he said with a soft laugh, the sound sending an icy chill down your spine. “We all do. It’s just a matter of time.”

Your breath hitched.

Before you could reply, Slughorn was back at your side, beaming at both of you with a glass of champagne in his hand. “Ah, the perfect pair! Tom, Y/n, you two are going to be the highlight of tonight, I can feel it!” he said, his voice booming above the music. “You’re like a shining star, Riddle,” he added, addressing Riddle with an exaggerated wink. “And Y/n, my dear, you’re simply glowing tonight. Glowing, I tell you!”

You gave a tight smile, feeling Riddle’s gaze still lingering on you as Slughorn chatted animatedly, clearly enjoying the attention. But there was something in his eyes—a flicker of something possessive, something dangerous—that sent an uncomfortable shiver through you. The feeling was unmistakable.

The room was buzzing with energy, the soft clinking of glasses, the low hum of conversations, and the elegant swirl of music filling the air. Slughorn, as usual, was floating between groups, effortlessly charming everyone around him. You, however, found yourself slipping away from the crowd, subtly scanning the room in search of someone.

Lucas had been acting unusually off tonight, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with something more subdued. He’d mentioned earlier that someone had asked him to the Slug Club party, and ever since, he’d been on edge, occasionally glancing across the room as if he were searching for someone.

You couldn’t help but wonder who the mysterious person was. It had to be important if it was causing Lucas, the master of wit and sarcasm, to lose his usual calm. You caught sight of him standing near the punch bowl, chatting with Cressida and Maeve, but his gaze was fixed elsewhere—across the room.

You tried to focus on the scene, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being drawn into a curiosity you couldn’t fully explain. Trying to mask your distraction, you turned your attention back to the room, but your gaze involuntarily flicked toward Lucas again.

“This is getting a bit sad to look at, don’t you think?” Riddle’s voice was smooth, his tone oozing amusement as his sharp eyes locked on you. He was standing so close now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. “I’ve been watching you watch him. Curious about who he's looking for, aren’t you?”

You stiffened, trying to ignore the sudden prickle of unease as his words seeped into your mind.

“How about I save you the trouble?” Riddle continued, a slight smirk curling on his lips as he leaned in just a little closer, his voice low and chilling. “His name’s Jace Fenwick. A sixth-year Hufflepuff. Somewhat popular, though a bit of a loner when it comes to socializing outside his little friend circle.”

You stared at him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “How do you even know this?”

Riddle ignored your question, continuing with unsettling ease. “Fenwick doesn’t really have the best reputation. You see, his father’s a wizard who supports the ‘dark side’, though he’s kept it quiet—surprising, considering the family’s connections. He’s been known to flirt his way into getting what he wants, but never quite manages to hold anyone’s interest for long. He’s been eyeing Lucas for a while, though I suppose you could say the feeling is mutual. He’s the kind of person who likes to think of himself as a knight in shining armor, always trying to rescue the underdogs, but really, he’s just after the thrill of the chase.”

Your pulse quickened as you tried to absorb the torrent of information Riddle was throwing at you. “Why would you even know all of this?”

Riddle’s gaze darkened, his eyes glittering like polished stones in the dim light of the party. “I observe, L/n. It’s a habit of mine,” he said casually, almost too calmly. “You should really stop wasting your time wondering. It’s a little too obvious.”

You weren’t sure if his words were meant to unsettle you, or if he was simply indulging in his usual method of rattling people. Either way, it worked. You felt your heart beat a little faster, a strange mix of irritation and discomfort swirling in your chest.

“Did you even ask Lucas if he wanted you to interfere with his personal life?” you shot back, trying to keep your composure.

Riddle raised an eyebrow, his expression never faltering. “If I didn’t interfere, how would you ever know the truth about anyone, hmm? Especially a person like Lucas Creevey.” He paused, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper as he added, “It’s not exactly a secret that he’s not as invincible as he likes to believe.”

You swallowed thickly, biting back a retort. You didn’t need to hear more about Lucas’s life from him. The unsettling calm with which Riddle delivered his revelations made you uneasy. He wasn’t just reading people; he was dissecting them with ease, like a magician pulling apart the strings of a carefully crafted illusion.

“And here you are,” Riddle continued, his gaze never leaving you as if savoring every word. “All caught up in someone else’s drama. Does it bother you? To see the people you care about distracted by their own petty games? You’ve become rather… fixated on him, haven’t you?”

Your lips pressed together into a tight line. “I’m not fixated,” you said sharply, though your tone wavered slightly under his stare. “Just concerned.”

“Of course,” Riddle said, his voice dripping with a mix of sarcasm and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Concerned. How noble.” He straightened up then, his posture almost regal as his eyes lingered on you. “Tell me, Y/n, are you always this… naive?”

“Do you see someone else in him?”

Yes. Harry.

You blinked, your mind spinning with the tension that had suddenly thickened between the two of you. His words, while meant to provoke, felt like something much darker, as if there were a deeper meaning lurking beneath them. You couldn't tell whether he was mocking you or simply enjoying the control he seemed to hold over the conversation.

Before you could respond, he offered you one last lingering glance, his lips curling into that knowing smirk.

“Anyway, the party’s waiting. You should enjoy yourself tonight,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “But don’t forget—I always know more than you think.”

With that, he turned on his heel, walking away as though he hadn’t just stripped away every ounce of comfort you'd felt about tonight.

As you watched him leave, you couldn’t help but feel unsettled, the fragments of his words replaying over and over in your mind. He knew too much. And, strangely, you couldn’t decide whether that terrified you even more… or intrigued you.

The party was winding down, the soft strains of music from the orchestra fading into a low hum, and the chatter of students gradually thinning as they gathered their coats and prepared to leave. You had spent most of the evening trying to keep your distance from Tom Riddle, still wrestling with the unsettling pull he had on you and the fear that he was, in fact, the very creature you had learned to despise—Voldemort.

But despite your best efforts, your gaze had often strayed toward him across the room, the way he carried himself with such eerie confidence, the way his dark eyes seemed to lock onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Every time you tried to leave his orbit, he would reappear, always speaking in a way that left you breathless, or even more confused than before.

Now, as the party came to a close and the last guests began to file out, you tried to make your way to the door, hoping to slip away quietly and forget the unnerving conversation you’d had earlier. But just as you turned the corner of the corridor, you found yourself face-to-face with him.

Riddle stood there, his figure silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway. His eyes glinted in a way that made your heart skip a beat, and you froze, instinctively taking a step back.

“Leaving so soon?” His voice was smooth, almost too calm, like he’d been waiting for this moment. “I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. “I was. But it’s getting late, and I—”

“I’ve been studying you, Y/n.” Riddle’s words cut through your excuses, his tone suddenly serious, leaving you no room to avoid him. “You’re different. In a way that’s difficult to ignore.” His gaze flicked over you, the piercing, calculating intensity making you feel exposed, like he could see right through you.

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you swallowed hard. “What does that mean? What are you talking about?”

“You’re not like the others,” he said, a slight edge to his voice. “You’re not easy to read. You don't act like the others in your little group. There's something beneath the surface, something…” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully, “…intriguing.”

Your breath hitched at his cryptic words, a mixture of confusion and wariness settling in your stomach. “I don’t know what you’re implying, Riddle,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, but the way he was looking at you made it difficult to concentrate.

“I think you do,” Riddle said softly, his voice almost a whisper, like a secret just between the two of you. “But you won’t admit it. Not yet.”

You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Something in his voice, something about the way he was speaking, felt like a challenge—a game he was playing at your expense. But despite your growing unease, a strange part of you was compelled to hear him out.

“Stop playing games,” you said, trying to hide the uncertainty creeping into your tone. “What do you want from me?”

Tom took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t want anything,” he said, his voice low and tinged with something darker.

“At least, not yet.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could form the words, he reached out, his hand brushing your cheek with an almost unnerving gentleness. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as your body responded to his touch against your will.

“And what if,” he began, his voice now a mere breath, “I wanted to see what would happen if I took a little more than I should?”

Your stomach twisted, and you could barely process his words before he closed the space between you, his lips crashing against yours in an unexpected, forceful kiss.

Time seemed to stop. Your thoughts scattered, leaving you dizzy and breathless as you stood frozen for a moment, your body in complete shock. His lips were soft yet demanding, pulling you into a kiss that was far too consuming for your mind to catch up with. The weight of his presence—his power—pressed down on you, and for a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to melt into it, unable to tear away.

But as soon as it had started, he pulled back, his eyes dark with something unreadable, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. His fingers lingered on your cheek, tracing the outline of your jaw as if he were memorizing the feel of you beneath his touch.

You blinked, still reeling, your mind in a whirlwind. Your breath was ragged, your chest rising and falling unevenly, and you struggled to make sense of what had just happened. But as your heart hammered in your ears, you realized one thing clearly—nothing had felt the way you thought it would. You had expected revulsion, disgust, fear. Instead, something different stirred inside you, something both thrilling and terrifying.

“You really are a puzzle, Y/n,” Riddle said, his voice now softer, more deliberate. “I think I’m starting to like the challenge.”

Your mind raced, trying to process his words, the kiss, and the way your body still felt the lingering effects of his touch. But then it all came rushing back—he was Voldemort. The person you were supposed to hate. The monster who had caused so much pain and suffering.

And yet, you couldn’t deny the fact that he’d kissed you.

But you didn’t have time to think about it. The hallway seemed to close in around you, and you found yourself taking a hesitant step back, your thoughts a jumbled mess. The weight of the moment hung in the air, thick with tension and unanswered questions.

“You’ll understand in time,” Riddle said, his voice almost teasing as he took a final, lingering glance at you. “I promise you, Y/n—this is far from over.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, breathless, confused, and aching in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

The world around you felt too heavy as you tried to collect yourself, but one thing was certain—everything had just changed between you and Tom Riddle.

i am SO SORRY it took so long to update 😓😓- go to taglist request to be added, otherwise you will NOT be added

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[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem!Florist!Reader

Chapter Three: Chrysanthemums - Joy

Summary: You and Andrew meet outside of your workplace for the first time for a completely platonic coffee on him.

Word count: 2385

Author's note: i am so sorry that this took so long 😭 last week of school combined with finals combined with life i guess hindered me from writing. but i'm back on track!!! hopefully you all enjoy and if i don't update again soon happy holidays <3

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes @padfootblackswh0r3 (if you want to be added just let me know!)

fic below the cut <3

This is not a date.

That was your affirmation all of Friday morning, repeating it to yourself.

You muttered it under your breath as you fixed your hair. It was mumbled as you laid out your outfit, specifically chosen to be fashionable but casual: your favorite sweater and a nice pair of jeans. You whispered it before spraying your perfume, a scent you had to dig through your closet for five minutes to find. Ironically, the scent was nothing close to floral. You said it to each of your houseplants as you watered them. They remained unconvinced.

Slipped on your shoes. Locked up your flat. Walked down the stairs. You repeated your mantra every time, because maybe if you said it enough times, it would become true.

By the time you made it to your car, you had said it so many times it felt like breathing. Your hands gripped the wheel. You locked eyes with your reflection in the rearview mirror and whispered your phrase of the morning one more time for good luck.

This. Is. Not. A. Date.

Stepping down on the gas pedal, you began to drive.

On the drive there, you prepared yourself for all possible scenarios. This kind of thinking came naturally — it always did, especially in situations like these. You ran through what your reaction would be if he showed up, what it would be if he didn't. What you would do if he had an insanely complex coffee order, or if he ordered a drink with six shots of espresso. What if he tried to order for you, or if he made some backhanded comment about another woman at the cafe? You doubted he would do any of these things, but you believed it's better to be safe than sorry. This thinking only paused when you parked in front the coffee shop and caught a glimpse of Andrew waiting inside. All of your previous repetition and fretting had made you ten minutes late, a fact you weren't fond of and hoped Andrew wouldn't chastise you for.

The moment you stepped into the coffee shop, all of your previous affirmations were thrown out the window. It wasn't a date. But after seeing Andrew you wished that it was.

It wasn't any particular factor. It wasn't the black denim jacket he was wearing, or the way he'd tied half his hair up, leaving the other half down. It wasn't even the smile on his face, reserved like he wasn't sure how to react properly when he saw you. It was a combination of everything; his presence alone was enough to make you flustered. So flustered that you were very close to forgetting to say anything when you walked up to him. Thankfully, at the last moment, you actually spoke.

“Hey! Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long,” you greeted him with a small smile.

“Oh, no. I just got here, too. You're alright.”

You walked inside together, and you looked around at your new surroundings. It was a small business, quaint and cozy, with framed photos of artworks by local artists; it was exactly what you would imagine a coffee shop that Andrew picked to be.

Because all of your overthinking (or what you preferred to call planning) on the way there, you ordered your coffee with ease. Andrew recited his order, a black americano, a surprise to you. You watched as he paid and gave his name for the order, the barista already recognizing him. He turned his head towards you and offered an explanation:“I’m a regular. I always come here whenever I need a pick-me-up.”

“I’ll have to come here more often, then,” you replied.

You found a small table in the corner and sat down to claim it for the both of you while Andrew stood by the counter, waiting for your coffee. What a gentleman.

You had yet to notice any flaws in him, only making your self-imposed rule of this not being romantic harder to follow. There had to be something about him that was off. There was no way he was so caring and endearing and funny all at the same time; he had to have an imperfection eventually. You didn't find it in the few minutes you watched him stand around, occasionally fiddling with his hands or putting them in his pockets. Your efforts grew even more futile as he walked over with the coffees in hand, setting them down on the table.

He shedded his jacket and carefully placed it on the back of the chair before sitting down in the chair opposite you. This simple action caused the fact that you barely knew Andrew to pop up in your head. Despite how connected to him you felt already, you had only met him twice before. On both occasions he wore long sleeves, so seeing him without a jacket for the first time gave you a much appreciated surprise.

His right arm had an entire sleeve of tattoos.

He had turned his arm into a mural for myths and legends. A portrait of a falling Icarus, wings disintegrating beneath a red sun. A tortured Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his back. Dante and Virgil arm in arm wandering through a circle of hell. Writing in script filled the empty space, seemingly verses from poems. It was all centered around two words placed across his bicep: Noli Timere. You’d be lying if you said it didn't make you even more attracted to him than you already were.

You could've spent hours just looking, analyzing every line of ink. It felt as though you did, though it's much more likely it was only for a few seconds. You were brought back to Earth by the sound of his voice.

“It's rude to stare, y’know?”

There was no real annoyance in his voice, but it caused you to attention like you had been caught. An explanation mumbled its way out of your mouth.

“I’m so sorry, I just- I like your arm. Tattoos. Your arm tattoos. They're…”

Beautiful? Enticing? Very attractive?

“…cool.”

You took a sip of your coffee, finding it the perfect time to cover up your embarrassment, as well as the flushed face that came along with it. Luckily, Andrew didn't notice (or if he did, he didn't mind) and continued the conversation, accepting your compliment with a crooked smile.

“Thanks. I try to put a lot of thought into them, give them some meaning, so they're all based on these stories that are important to me.”

“Makes sense. I’d hate to get a tattoo just to regret it a few years later. Even worse, a few months later.”

“Too many of my clients have had that exact issue. Come in a year after and ask for a coverup. Makes me question my work sometimes.”

“Clients?” You asked with a tilt of your head.

“Oh, right. I never mentioned it.” He paused to take a drink from his cup before continuing. “I’m a tattoo artist. The parlor I work at’s only a few blocks away from your shop, believe it or not.”

“Wow. Small world, I suppose. Maybe I could stop by someday and say hi.”

The boldness of your statement didn't fully process in your brain, and you quickly backtracked.

“If you’d be okay with that, of course.”

“Yes. Absolutely. You can come by whenever I don't have a client.”

“Call me over if anyone gets a tattoo of a flower and I’ll be there to explain everything it means. There is always the very dangerous possibility of someone getting a flower that means jealousy or a rejection.”

He didn’t reply, just flashed a smile, and the silence between you seemed… awkward. Combined with the way he was fidgeting with his hands, it almost made you think he was nervous.

“I’m actually thinking about buying a bouquet to put on the front desk,” he admitted.

“Really?”

“Yeah. A lot of people, they get nervous before their appointment, whether it's their first tattoo or their tenth. Having flowers right when you walk in might ease some of the tension.”

“That's a great idea. I know I’m biased, but flowers do tend to brighten my day."

“Do you have any ideas?”

You bit at your bottom lip as you thought, finally speaking again once you racked your brain for what could work.

“Chrysanthemums are a favorite with customers. Those mean joy and optimism. I could start with those and build from there.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“That's all I’ve got right now, but I’ll see what else I can come up with later. After coffee, I’m much more… insightful.”

As if to prove your point, you took another sip of your coffee, a longer one that left only a quarter of the cup left.

“So… this is official? You're placing an order?”

He nodded.

“If that's how this works, then yes. I’d like to place an order of one chrysanthemum bouquet for the purpose of making my customers happy. Please,” he replied genuinely.

“Your order will be marked down as soon as I get to the shop.”

“Feel free to take your time, by the way. I don't mean to pressure you. It's not like I have a deadline, and I know you probably have a million other things you have to do.”

You considered reaching for him, your fingertips flexing in his direction, but you restrained yourself, choosing words instead.

“You're not pressuring me at all. You made your order. Now you're asking me to do my job. My job that I love, by the way. If anything, I’m thrilled that you're so interested.”

The real question is whether you're more interested in my job or me.

You weren't bold enough to say what you were thinking, but you never had been. You had gotten so used to biting your tongue it was a miracle it was still in your mouth. You spoke again, but selected a much safer option of what to say.

“It's gonna take a few days since there's some orders before yours, but I have your number on file so I’ll call you when I finish it up.”

“I’ll be there. With my wallet, this time around.”

You thought about your proposition before realizing there would be a much more effective, though maybe you just wanted to visit Andrew’s job for a change.

“I mean, you said your place is only a few minutes away, right? I could always deliver it. Gives me an opportunity to get some fresh air during my day. Besides, you're probably much busier than I am, so it might be harder to find the time. Meanwhile, I can deliver it as soon as it's done, and everything works out.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“I know. I want to, though.”

He sighed and shook his head, a reaction you originally feared was out of annoyance, but you felt a small amount of relief when you noticed the smile that accompanied it.

“You need to stop doing nice things for me. Otherwise I’ll go bankrupt from buying you so much coffee to compensate.”

“I also accept gratitude payment in compliments, thank-you-cards, and checks.”

“What about credit cards?”

“Ooo, sorry. Compliments, thank-you-cards, and checks are your options.”

He chuckled, a deeper and richer laugh than before.

“Fine. You want a compliment? You're incredibly kind for doing all of this for me, and I sincerely appreciate it. Thank you.”

Another sip from your cup to hide the flush of your cheeks, though no amount of caffeine could calm the butterflies in your stomach.

“That covers your gratitude payment for now. I still need real money, of course,” you muttered. “And you're not getting your way out of it this time.”

“I would never. You can't pull the same con on the same person twice.”

“Oh, so it was a con? Did those flowers even go to your mother?”

“Nope. Underground flower smuggling ring.”

“Ah, I should've guessed. Tell your flower-loving crime boss that I’m thankful for all that you've done for me, but I unfortunately need to get going, because it's 9:30 and the shop opens at 10.”

Andrew complied. You two wrapped it up, and he put his jacket back on, covering up his tattoos much to your dismay. Your coffee cup, now empty, was discarded by the door.

“Thank you so much. For the coffee, for the company. Everything. Especially for the coffee, though, considering you barely even drank yours,” you commented, pointing at the half-full cup still in his hand.

“You’re welcome. And trust me, I was going to drink it, but I found myself much more engrossed in the conversation.”

Andrew grabbed the door and held it open for you, and you walked past him and thanked him. Both of you stood on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop, unsure of how (or if you even wanted) to say goodbye.

“This is where we must part ways,” he said with a sigh.

“You say that like we're never going to see each other again.”

“A lot can happen in a few days, Y/N. You have no idea what the universe has up her sleeve.”

“Do you have some kind of knowledge about an apocalypse that I don't? Because when it comes to that kind of stuff, sharing is caring.”

“Just… prepping for the future, I suppose. If there is no apocalypse, I’ll see you when my bouquet’s finished.”

“I’ll see you then. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

You walked to your car, only a few footsteps away, the smile slowly fading from your face as he walked in the opposite direction. You sneaked a glance over your shoulder at him before opening the car door.

Sitting down in the driver's seat, you took a deep breath to bring yourself back to reality. Your mantra had been proven right: that was not a date. It just felt like one. A very successful one at that. He was a gentleman, listened to what you had to say, gave you a compliment, and you even set up an incentive to meet again. This not-a-date went better than most of your actual dates, and it was with a guy who, to your knowledge, had no romantic interest in you.

You were totally and utterly screwed.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Reify

Summary: Izuku's been hiding a secret for years. Ever since he touched a bug and it came back. Ever since he woke up in a hospital with his mother crying.

Standing above the body of All Might, he has to make a choice. He does.

He won't let himself regret it.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Izuku couldn't move. His feet felt like they'd grown roots into the ground, anchoring him to the spot. He stood there, shaking, as he stared at the choking form of All Might. The man was on the ground, a hand clutching at the rebar that had been shoved through him.

 “What a pity,” the villain, All for One, said with a sigh. “I’d hoped for more of a challenge.”

 The laughter from the other villains rang in Izuku’s ears as he stumbled to the number one hero.

 All Might’s breath was coming slower. His eyes were glazing over. He was dying.

 Dying because of Izuku.

 Ever since Izuku got into the hero course, using nothing but a sign he’d pried loose during the entrance exam, All Might had supported him. Sure, the man admitted he thought Izuku would end up failing in the beginning but Izuku hadn’t. All Might had supported him chasing his dreams when few others did. He’d gone on public record saying he supported the Quirkless hero student, and it caused half the people against Izuku to support him.

 It hurt when All Might said he had thought Izuku would wash out, but then the man said he’d hoped the teen wouldn't. Izuku was introduced to a secret from the hero about his Quirk and why the man felt so vindicated that Izuku was clawing his way into heroics.

 It made Izuku feel so guilty, knowing he was lying.

 But he’d hidden it for so long…

 Staring at the dying hero, Izuku knew. He knew that he couldn't keep it a secret anymore. Not now.

 Izuku stayed next to All Might, the man grimacing as he removed the pole through him. Izuku didn't know why.

 No, he did. It's better to bleed out fast than not.

 Izuku reached out to hold the man’s hand as he died, and the hero's gloves felt slimy as he grasped them. Izuku barely heard the laughter of the villains behind him or the whirl of the media drones hovering over them. Instead, Izuku removed the jacket he'd been wearing, moving to cover the wound in All Might’s chest. As he did, he also brushed the man’s neck.

 Light came back to his eyes, and pure luck let Izuku block his harsh breath as the wound knitted itself back together in a second.

 “Don’t move,” Izuku said under his breath. “Don’t touch my skin either. I'm sorry for lying.”

The internal timer Izuku had for his Quirk was ticking—five minutes. He had to stall and then have All Might move.

 It was enough.

 Izuku stood up and turned to the villains. He stared at these people who decided to attack children and threw around phrases like ‘hero society is a failure’ or ‘you could be something better’ or ‘they don’t understand you, do they?’ These people saw the darkness of society and decided to make it worse by harming others.

 These people didn’t care that they hurt people as long as they got what they wanted.

 “I’ve been lying for a long time,” Izuku stated conversationally. He began walking towards the villains, his hands going to drag out the weapons they hadn't bothered taking off him. The mocking looks the villains had to see him pull out the Escrima sticks made Izuku want to laugh. Going on about being better than hero society, only for them to not see him as a threat.

 “Oh?” Shigaraki looked curious. “So you do hate hero society?” Izuku rolled his eyes, wondering how the villain kept going on about it. Yeah, it wasn't a lie—Izuku sure as hell didn’t like the current hero society, but as he’d told Stain, most people were aware of the problems; it was just hard to make a move.

 “When I was five, I found a dead cat. It was beaten by a group of teenagers for a laugh. My mom scared them away, and I touched the cat. All its wounds healed, and it sat up. Then I touched it again, the wounds came back, and it died,” Izuku said. His hands felt clammy. He’d never spoken about this before. He never dared voice the words hidden in his mind.

 Only his mother knew.

 “An illusion, Quirk,” All for One said. Izuku chuckled as he kept walking.

 “Oh, my mom thought so. It’s happened, someone casting an illusion like that. But I was sure I brought the cat back. I begged to try with bugs, and we did.” Izuku swallowed. “I brought back all the bugs, and they died when I touched them a second time. We also learned of the timer. Five minutes from my touch.”

 All for One hummed, sounding interested. The villains on the ground looked bored and less interested, though. The redheaded woman rolled her eyes, disbelieving. The young blonde girl seemed to enjoy the show, bouncing on her toes with a vicious smile.

 “We thought they'd die again. It costs energy for me to bring things back, and as a kid, using it too often made me tired, so Mom insisted I make sure to touch them again. But then, one day, I decided I wanted to see what would happen. She let me.” Izuku took a shuddering breath. “Another bug died after the five minutes was over. But the bug I brought back lived. Until I touched it against, but the other bug stayed dead.”

 Izuku kept walking. He could tell All for One didn't know what he was leading to. The villains looked bored and unbelieving, except for one with burn scars held on with staples. His eyes were wide, and he looked at All Might, who luckily seemed to be keeping still.

 “We tested it a bit. I can, in fact, control who is affected as long as they're in my eyesight.” Izuku swallowed. “We didn't tell anyone. Mom was terrified of it, and I at first didn't understand until I saw a news report about a girl being kidnapped for her Quirk. I understood then. So I kept quiet.”

 “Oh yeah, sure,” snorted the lizard guy, Spinner Izuku thought his name was. “You were scared people could find out you can raise dead animals.”

 “It takes energy. A lot of energy. When my mom died, my father’s doing. He tried to burn our apartment down, and Mom breathed in too much smoke; when she died, I touched her hand. Passed out and woke up two hours later in the hospital.” Izuku took a shuddering breath. “Mom was alive, but a woman her age had died from smoke inhalation despite not being near the fire. A freak accident or maybe something else, they said. We knew.” Izuku stopped walking. He smiled. “It's been three and a half minutes,” he flipped the sticks in his hands. “Wanna take some potshots, All Might?” Izuku knelt, jabbing the weapons into the ground as the hero stood up. The jacket fell away to reveal a ruined hero suit but a healed chest just as the hero launched a low-level punch, causing air to rush at the villains.

 Izuku barely held onto the Escrima sticks, clutching them tightly.

 “Young Midoriya-“ All Might began, but the crackle of ice caused Izuku to spot Todoroki, creating a smooth ice bridge that ran right past Izuku. The sound of engines echoed as Iida ran across it, Uraraka holding onto him as she offered a hand to Izuku. He grabbed it as Shigaraki screamed,

 “Get the brat!”

 “I have to stay in eyesight of the villain!” Izuku shouted to his friends as he was dragged along by Iida, weightless thanks to Uraraka. She looked at him with pained eyes.

 She knew. She knew what he was doing.

 “Okay!” she called back. Iida swallowed but nodded. Both knew what this meant.

 Izuku was killing someone. He was choosing to do so.

 Neither could articulate how they felt, but they knew it was a possibility. After the USJ, a special class discussed how sometimes heroes were put into a compromising situation and how sometimes they would have two choices: life or death.

 Izuku wasn't sure if this counted. He thought so, given that it was All for One, the boogeyman of stories. But he didn't know if they would let it slide.

 “It is alright, Tomura,” All for One laughed darkly. “I doubt such a mere boy can kill me. Leave, and let me handle this,” he ordered.

 Izuku didn't know if the guy was just arrogant or if he had a trick up his sleeve. As his friends spirited him away, Mt Lady knelt to offer her hand, letting the teens grab on so she could lift them to put on a roof. Her face was grim as she looked at Izuku.

 She knew, too.

 Every hero on the battlefield knew. Izuku could feel it. He saw how Best Jeanist’s face pulled hard into itself, his eyebrows pinching together. How Gran Torino hit harder.

 They all knew what Izuku was about to do.

 Izuku stood on the roof watching as the fight went on, his timer counting down. Any… one, two-

 All for One dropped to his knees. His hand went to his chest.

 “What?!” the man choked. “No! My- NO-” he fell over, and Izuku closed his eyes.

 He’d just killed someone.

 He didn't fully regret it.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Notes on this AU:

-Izuku is touch starved. Since Inko can't touch his skin without dying, they don't often hug or anything. They have to take a lot of precautions.

-Inko has a lot of guilt over the death of the woman. She doesn't talk about it but she sometimes wonders what if she'd touched Izuku while he was unconscious to save the other woman’s life. She feels terrible about it.

-All Might supported Izuku partly because it was the right thing, partly because Izuku proved himself and partly out of spite. ‘Remember when you assholes said a Quirkless person can’t be a hero? Here he is.’

-Aizawa did not fully support Izuku at first. He was actually going to expel him to ‘show the world is against him before letting him back in,’ but Nezu hacked the machine to give correct points, proving Izuku was 11th out of the whole class. Nezu also sent a message stating, ‘Quirkism is not welcome, as you know.’ This threw Aizawa off his game, and when he confronted Nezu, the principal ripped apart any argument by rephrasing it as Aizawa’s old naysayers did. Drove it home for Aizawa. He is now in therapy and a much better teacher.

-Bakugou is currently suspended. Aizawa, with therapy, isn't as expulsion-happy. (I also refuse to believe that he leaves the black marks on their records because, oh god, wtf is that dude.) Also, Bakugou has been toeing the line until his final exam, when, like canon, he smacks Izuku, which is an instant fail for the blonde. He tries to attack Izuku and is now suspended. They're debating about full expulsion, but it's a mess.

-Of 1A, only Hagakure was firmly against Izuku. Aizawa did move the lowest-scoring member to Gen Ed for a week, and it was her. She was pissed off. She has always struggled with being invisible and comforted herself with the idea that at least she was useful, unlike Quirkless people. Ultimately, they had to swap her for a 1B member because she kept harassing Izuku. She is in therapy and on a tight leash.

-IDK who swapped with her. Monoma maybe.

-The only reason Bakugou and Hagakure weren't expelled is that it's actually more challenging to get expelled from the Hero course than you think. Aizawa may scare them, but with how much UA relies on its reputation, the board is super leery of expelling anyone. That being said, Bakugou, with his history of physical assault, is closer than Hagakure, who was verbal. Plus, she is actually doing alright in therapy compared to Bakugou.

-Izuku is best friends with Uraraka and Iida.

-Bakugou wasn't at the USJ. He had been temporarily suspended for a few days after the Battle Trials and would have gone with 1B instead, but the attack happened. Due to this, Kirishima never latched onto him. Instead, Kirishima is best friends with Tododoki and helps Izuku get him to use his fire.

-Bakugou’s Quirk and aggression are why he’s still in 1A, and no one wanted to remove Izuku from his support.

-Uraraka won the sports festival -AFO was arrogant enough to think his healing and durability Quirks would keep him alive. However, Izuku’s Quirk doesn't swap the wounds. What it does is trade lives. All Might died, and there must be another death to balance it. So, AFO didn't stand a chance.

[francisofthespook]

Daryl SFW Alphabet !!

I'm leaving for a roadtrip tomorrow and idk how active I'll be so here's a little something I wrote today. Writing this def gave me some good ideas for some oneshots... :)

Words: 3,291 (including the prompts)

Warnings: None really, mostly fluff/ one teeny tiny little mention of suggestive content but it's literally like half a sentence/maybe some allusions to violence

Template from: https://the-coldest-goodbye.tumblr.com/sfw-template (@the-coldest-goodbye )

((I only proofread this once so I may go back in and edit it if I find any mistakes))

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

At first, Daryl, would be super affectionate, but only in private. He might interlock a pinky with you while you’re all around the campfire at the quarry and the farm, but when no one else is around he would be so mushy. Maybe later on, around the time they get to Alexandria and they begin to feel some safety and stability, he would be a bit more affectionate in public. He would place his hand on the small of your back and stand close to you while you talk to the Alexandrians to subtly let them know you were taken, and maybe he would kiss your temple before he or you went out on a run without the other.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Daryl would be your best friend at first. He would always find a way to make you laugh, even if he wasn't really trying to. He would bring you little things he finds while he's out hunting like pretty flowers and rabbit's feet for good luck. He would always stick up for you when the group makes you feel like your suggestions are stupid. There would be a slight shift pretty soon into the friendship though where he realizes that he wants something more. He wouldn't say anything, he would wait for you to make the first move, or at least until he was pretty positive you felt the same way. He wouldn’t want to risk ruining your friendship if you didn't feel the same way. He would happily be your friend for the rest of your lives if that's all you could give him.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Y E S! Daryl loves cuddles, there is nothing that makes him feel more loved than at the end of the day, regardless where you are, when you guys lay down and you curl up into his arms. He would usually stay awake for a little longer than you to make sure that it was safe…( totally not because he loves watching how your face relaxes when you finally fall asleep…) (and definitely not because your little snores warm his heart so much…) (and for sure not because he is enamored by the cryptic mumbling you do in your sleep, always trying to stay as still and quiet as possible so he can try and decipher what you're saying…)

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

There is nothing Daryl wants more than to be able to settle down with you. But given the state of the world, it wouldn't be easy for a while. Sometimes at night, before you get to Alexandria, he would almost tear up watching you fold your clothes and arrange your shared tent, longing for some normalcy in this world so that he can just enjoy his life with you instead of having to fight for it every day.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Early on in your relationship, Daryl might try to leave you a few times. Not because he has fallen out of love, but because he’s worried you're too good for him. He thinks so little of himself and that you deserve better than him. Sometimes just a small thing can trigger this thinking and he will go off into the woods for a while to try and work through his thoughts. But you always find him and tell him that you don’t want anyone else, only him. Once he finally feels comfortable enough in the relationship, there is absolutely nothing that can tear you apart. The only thing that would end the relationship, is if one of you dies.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Daryl had never envisioned himself settling down and getting married. But when you guys get together, he is so overwhelmed by his love for you that he kinda starts to want that. Of course, it isn't really a possibility now, but he would find you a ring one day while out on a run and bring it back to you. He would walk you down to the edge of the prison yard where no one can see you and lay with you in the grass for a while before he rolls over and gently grabs your wrist, lifting it up and slipping the ring onto your finger. “Daryl Dixon, are you proposing to me?” you would say in a smug tone. “Dun need a ring to know I’m yers, but thought it would look pretty on ya” You wouldn't say much after that, not wanting to ruin the moment. This world was filled with so many uncertainties that it was scary to get so close to someone. But at the same time, the ring would become a symbol to you of what you were fighting for, a world where you could just be safe and have a happy life with your partner.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Typically, Daryl is the biggest softie around you, ‘no’ is not a word in his vocabulary when it comes to you. He would be so careful with you that it almost sometimes frustrated you. But when it came to your safety, he would be a bit more firm, blatantly telling you ‘no’ when you ask to come on a riskier run. He would not take any chances, so sometimes he was a bit more rough when he really had to put his foot down. But you knew that he was only like that because he cared so much so it doesn’t really bother you.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Being hugged by Daryl would be one of your favorite things in the world. He would engulf your entire body like a warm blanket and hold you firmly close to him. He would always put one arm around your back, the other holding your head while he leaned his own into your shoulder. Sometimes he would gently rub your back in soothing circles while he embraced you and whisper sweet nothings into your ear when no one else was around.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It would probably be a while before Daryl told you he loved you, but he would have known it for a long time before actually saying it. He would probably wait for you to say it first, not wanting to scare you off by making things more serious. As much as he would want to make a big deal about it, his anxiety would get the best of it and he would probably say it in passing one day, without bringing too much attention to it. 

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Only God himself could save someone from the wrath of a jealous Daryl. It was never something that he really had to deal with while you guys were on the road, maybe a few times here and there, but let's just say that the guys you ran into who made remarks won't ever make them again. When you get to Alexandria, he would have to reel in his rage a bit more, given these were people you would have to live with. But there would definitely be a few guys who suffered a fist to the face when they looked at you a certain way. The residents of Alexandria picked up pretty quickly that you were off-limits.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Daryl would kiss you alllll the time. He would kiss your head a lot since he’s much taller than you and there wasn't much privacy in the early days. You guys would never get into anything too passionate in public obviously, but behind closed doors, it was like he was the thirstiest man alive and you were the last drop of water left on earth. Before he would leave for a run he would hold the sides of your head with both hands and press a long kiss into your forehead before giving you a small peck on the lips. 

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Children make Daryl a little uncomfortable at first. He never really knew how to act around them and what not to say. But over time he would grow very fond of Judith and RJ. When you guys get to the Commonwealth, you would basically adopt them. He would treat them like his own, playing with them when he had time off and reading them books in the evening. He wouldn’t want kids of his own, which was fine because you wouldn't either, but he would be more than happy being the appointed guardian of Rick's kids for the time being.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Much to your dismay, Daryl was a morning person. In Alexandria and the Commonwealth, he would get up early in the mornings and make you something to eat while you slept a little while longer. He would quietly slip into your room and gently wake you up before handing you the plate of whatever he threw together. You guys would just sit in bed for a bit while you ate and talk about what you had to do for the day. Usually, he would eventually have to go do some sort of work, so he would tuck you back in and give you a kiss on the forehead before heading out and letting you catch a few extra hours of rest.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

In the evenings, you would cuddle up close to each other while you would whisper stories from your childhood. Over time, this nightly routine would become an exchange of stories, and he would share a few short memories from his own childhood. When you both eventually either ran out of stories or simply began to forget them, you would both talk about the future. What your imaginary house would look like, and how many cats you would adopt. When you had those talks, he would end them by leaning close to your ear and whispering “one day”, before giving you a kiss and drifting off to sleep.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Figuring out Daryl would be like trying to put together a puzzle with pieces you find hidden around a maze. Every once in a while he would drop a little tidbit about himself and you would memorize it and store it away, placing another piece in the slowly growing puzzle until you eventually begin to see the picture. Each time you would reference something he had told you before, or picked up something for him on a run that reminded you of a story he told you, he would fall deeper and deeper in love. It was the little things that meant the most to him, he was never one for grand gestures.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

To this day, the group still cannot comprehend how well he’s able to keep his patience with you. There were more than a few times that you made dumb mistakes, or got hurt, but he rarely broke. Sometimes, he would crack just a tiny bit when you did something that could've gotten you injured, but he would take a deep breath to calm himself down before apologizing and reminding you that he's not upset, he just doesn't want you to get hurt. 

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

You would begin to think that Daryl knows you better than you know yourself. Not only did he remember every single thing you ever told him, no matter how big or small, but he also became an expert in analyzing your every move. He could spot your emotions sometimes before you even understood what you were feeling, always knowing how to approach you and talk to you based on your mood and expressions. You wouldn’t realize it at first, but when he begins to bring you little things like candy you mentioned once that you used to like, or your favorite color sweater, you knew he was in deep. No one had ever made you feel more loved or more seen than he does.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He would probably just enjoy all the quiet moments you were able to have together. Maybe his favorite would be the day you both went out to an empty field near Alexandria, devoid of walkers and had a picnic in the grass. You laid around for a while, watching the clouds pass by before you realized that he was watching you and not the sky. “What?” You stifled a laugh and asked him. “Nuthin’. You're just so beautiful” You blushed a deep red and that only made him grow more enamored. He wasn't able to help himself, he leaned over and kissed you. He knew it was risky, but his need for you overtook him and you made lazy love in the field.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

In his mind, Daryl’s number one job is keeping you safe. Yes of course, he cared greatly about the group’s safety, but you were always top priority. Hell hath no fury like Daryl when he’s coming for someone who hurt you, on the rare occasion that they got through him. He would die for you in an instant, no hesitation. It would worry you, how much he risked his own life to keep yours safe, but you knew that it was a moot point. There was nothing you could say or do to convince him to back down. He would protect you until he was no longer breathing.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Daryl has never really been in a relationship before, so he doesn't know what to do. He's constantly asking Carol for ideas of gifts, dates, and small kindnesses he can do for you to show how much he loves you. She would tell him that he just needs to follow his heart and do whatever feels right, not try to force it. On the rare occasion that you had the time and safety, he would plan little dates. Taking you out to a spot that he had cleared the day before while telling everyone else you were going on a run. He would give you little handmade bracelets, trinkets he found while he was out, and cook for you as often as he could. But would feel like no actions could ever portray how much he loves you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

You would be frustrated by how quick he would be to defend your honor. Even when someone would say something so small and insignificant, if Daryl thought it was an insult, fists would begin flying. But secretly, you loved how defensive he was of you. And you had to admit, it was pretty funny seeing Spencer whimper and scurry away from Daryl whenever they locked eyes, it's a shame his nose never did heal right.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Daryl doesn't care at all how he looks, unless he thinks that you don't like something. He would let you cut his hair when it got too long, and trim his beard when it got unruly, but you thought he was perfect just the way he is so he was content with himself. He would be a little insecure about his scars when you guys first get together, but it wouldn't take too long for him to feel comfortable enough with you to take off his shirt.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

When Daryl was without you, it was like a piece of his heart was missing. He would constantly be on edge and anxious to get back to you. He had fallen so hard, it would be actually impossible for him to exist without you anymore. Runs were hard, especially when he would be gone for a week or more, but he would keep a little polaroid photo of you in his vest pocket to try and fill a tiniest bit of the void that you left. 

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Daryl would write you notes. Whether it be a sticky note on your pillow in the morning when you woke up telling you that he had run to Ricks and would be back soon, or a note he slipped into your backpack before you left for a run telling you to be safe, and that he would miss you and couldn't wait for you to get back. When he is working on the bridge, he sends you letters by ‘mail’, making whoever is running back and forth to Alexandria drop it off on your porch. These letters would be longer, detailing what all they had done that day and how much he missed you. You would write letters back to him and every time he saw the courier coming up on the camp, he would rush over and grab your letter before retreating back into his tent to read it. He keeps all of them in a small box hidden under his bed, and sometimes when he can't get to sleep at night, he’ll read them for a while until he's able to drift off.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Daryl wouldn’t like it when you wore makeup. Sometimes you would find an old tube of concealer or eyeshadow while you’re out and you would take it home and wear it for a bit. He didn't necessarily think it looked bad but he thought you were beautiful just the way you were, so he would tell you that you didn’t need it and sometimes try to hide it so you can't use it again. Although, he did love it when you got wine drunk and put on your reddest lipstick and gave him kisses all over his face and chest while giggling and telling him how much you love him.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Daryl is such a blanket hog. When he first falls asleep he cuddles up next to you and holds you close, but as the night goes on he begins to slightly toss and turn, and usually he ends up taking the covers with him. It wasn’t unusual for you to wake up in the middle of the night to a chill breeze and see Daryl on the other end of the bed with the covers half hanging off his side, half wrapped around him like a cocoon. He would always feel bad when he woke up and saw you were uncovered, so eventually, he would find an extra large blanket that covered you both, no matter how much he moved around.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

My Fair Lady's Maid (Regency!Aemond x Lady's Maid!Reader)

Part 3: With a Little Bit of Luck

Frustrated with his grandsire's tedious and thorough process of choosing him a "suitable" bride, Aemond makes a declaration that a lady's maid could be indistinguishable from a true noblewoman so long as she was sufficiently dressed and educated in embroidery, conversation, and the like. Otto takes this as a challenge, and gives Aemond four months to turn one of Helaena's lady's maids into a noblewoman.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: none

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: Finally had a burst of inspiration for this last night, and here we are!

With a Little Bit of Luck

Miss Doolittle stood at the base of the stairs in her little basement apartment. It wasn’t really an apartment, even if she’d lived there for nearly three years. In truth, it was a cellar. The owner of the house above had graciously put a small bed in it when she first rented it, but he also continued to keep his winter stores and several chests of assorted junk there, taking up nearly half the space.

Still, it wasn’t so bad. Back then, when she hadn’t wanted to go out, see anyone, or do anything, those chests of junk had entertained her. And she loved the smell of the dried apples. Even if it was small, it was cozy. There was enough room for everything she owned in the world, which, admittedly, wasn’t much.

All of it was now stuffed into her rucksack; still, the bag wasn’t full. It likely would have been if she’d been able to buy that clock at the market yesterday, but she didn’t want to think about that now. She was already too sad.

It didn’t make sense, her sadness. She was leaving this cave to go and live in a manor house. She would never be woken by rats again, and she would have enough money to buy a hundred clocks. But this had been her home for the past three years.

She squared her chin and adjusted the strap of her rucksack. She’d started over before. It was how she ended up here. And this time… this time would be easier, she knew it.

So, she walked up the stairs and out of that little basement, hoping she had enough time to run one last errand before the cart from Kingswood came to take her to her new home.

The village green, like her apartment, could not truly be called its name. Not since the village council decided to put gravel paths all over it and plant all kinds of trees, bushes, and flowers in most of the blank spaces between the paths, while others were left empty for vendors to set up for market day. It was pretty, but it made crossing the green and finding the person she was looking for even harder.

Luckily, he seemed to be in a good mood today. All she had to do to find him was follow the sound of his fiddle.

“Egg?” she called when she came to a patch of trees and bushes that were now big enough to obstruct her view. She knew he was somewhere in there, but she couldn’t see him.

His bow scratched against his fiddle before falling silent. “Is that you, Little Girl?”

She wanted to protest the nickname but didn’t. He’d been calling her that since she was a little girl, and he was a vagabond teenage boy who played the prettiest music she’d ever heard. “It’s me.”

The bushes rattled, and a moment later, the man Miss Doolittle knew as ‘Egg’ burst into the open and hugged her so hard she nearly fell over.

“God, am I happy to see you!” He started spinning her back and forth, and several trinkets spilled out of her bag. “I thought I’d missed my chance to say goodbye!”

She finally gave up resisting and smiled as she hugged him back. “Not yet. They aren’t picking me up ‘til noon.” Which left them a little under a quarter-hour to catch up before she had to meet the Kingswood coachman in front of the church.

Egg finally set her down, running a hand over his shaved head. She’d never actually asked if he shaved it, but he was too young to be bald, and she’d seen several nicks on the back of his head that looked like they came from a razor. He immediately bent down to pick up the knick-knacks he’d accidentally forced her to spill. “If I’d known you were leaving Rosby, I would have come back sooner. Why didn’t you send a letter?”

“Where would I send it? You only stay in the same place for a week at most.” Besides, she didn’t have much spare money to spend on sending a letter. “You leave as soon as your bar tab gets too high.”

“True,” Egg admitted. He finally finished tucking her trinkets away, then strapped his fiddle to his back and offered his arm. “And it seems I’ll have to add Kingsgrave to the rotation if I ever want to see my Little Girl again, even though it’s quite far.”

She looked over at him, confused. “I’m not goin’ to Kingsgrave. I’m goin’ to Kingswood.”

He stopped suddenly, tugging on her arm hard to get her to face him. He wasn’t smiling anymore. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen Egg not smiling before. It unsettled her.

“You’re going to work at Kingswood?”

She nodded.

“What position?”

“I’ll be a lady’s maid.”

“To Lady Helaena?”

“Yes.”

He bit his lips. He wasn’t just not smiling. He was angry. His eyes had grown dark, and his brow furrowed.

“Is that bad? Have you heard bad things about Lady Helaena? I know they say she’s odd, but I haven’t heard anyth – ”

“I have no quarrel with Helaena, no. I just…”  He again ran a hand over his head, his fingers digging into the skin in a way Miss Doolittle was sure was painful. He tucked his chin in for a moment and took a deep breath before looking back up. He was smiling again, but it was strained. “I’m just worrying about my Little Girl. Ignore me. Helaena is very kind.”

She sighed in relief, slumping into his side as they began walking again. “That’s good. I’ve been lookin’ forward to this for so long, I’d hate if it ended up a nightmare.”

Egg looked at her with a brow raised. “You’ve been looking forward to this?”

“Well, yeah.” His tone sounded doubtful. Did he not think she could do the job? “I know I’ve never had an actual job before, but I do now. I’ll work real hard, I swear it. I’ll be a proper lady in no time, you’ll see.”

“I’ve no doubt you can be a proper lady,” Egg said while ruffling her hair. “I just don’t know if I want you to be. I like you very well, just as you are, I’ll have you know.”

She liked herself too, mostly. Sometimes she wished she was taller or had prettier hair. Every once in a while she took a dislike to the color of her eyes, but it usually faded. Whenever she had to decide whether to pay rent or buy a nice warm meal at the pub, she wished she was someone else entirely.

But if she were taller, it would have been hard to climb down the small staircase to her cellar. If her hair was different, Harry wouldn’t have told her how much he liked it almost every time she saw him. And if her eyes were a different color, she wouldn’t be reminded of her mother every time she caught her reflection.

“I’m not going to become a whole new person,” she declared. Egg looked dubious as he led her to sit on a stone bench across the road from the church. “Just… more refined. Now stop griping at me and talk about something else!”

Egg threw his head back in a great, wide smile as he laughed. “Only since it’s your last day in Rosby, Little Girl. What do you want to talk about?”

The first topic that came to mind was the two men from yesterday, the kind one and the brute. But that was too maddening. “You know about Lady Helaena, right?” He nodded. “Then tell me about the rest of them?”

He hesitated for a long while before he bit his cheek and began. “They’re the same as all the others. The lord of the house has a stick shoved so far up his ass he can’t bend over. The grandfather is a desperate social climber. The th.. second son is something of a rake, but good-hearted. Helaena though, she’s a good girl. Strange, but good. She’s very kind, like you. I think you’ll get along. … How do you feel about insects?”

Miss Doolittle laughed. “I’ve lived in a dirty basement for three years. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Egg said with a secretive smile.

God, she was going to miss him. His humor, his music, that smile. It had been very easy to fall in love with him when she was a girl, though she’d since grown out of it. He was one of her dearest friends, but far too… Egg for her to ever truly love or marry him. Still, she was envious of how happy he always was, even with no money in his pockets.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” She dug through her knapsack to find the little coin purse she’d made from a beautiful curtain Mrs. Cunningham discarded when it was torn. She extracted the two crowns and one half-crown she had left over from what that horrible man had thrown at her the day before. “These are for you.”

Egg’s blue eyes went wide. “Where the hell did you get that?”

She thought for a moment how much to tell him before deciding on simply, “A customer.”

His surprise melted into mischief. “What kind of customer?”

“What, exactly, are you implying?”

“Nothing! Just wondering if you’d decided to sell something other than flowers, and if so, how much you charge? Because I’ll give these right back if…”

“You’re disgusting!” she shrieked as she hit him with her bag over and over until he finally held his hands up in concession.

“You have my sincere apology.” He righted his mussed clothes, then looked at her. “But really, Little Girl, why are you giving me these?”

Because just looking at them makes me want to vomit. She sighed. “Because I don’t need it – I’ll be making my own money soon. You need it, though.”

Egg’s eyes turned thoughtful and soft. It was the kind of look she would once have swooned over. “You’re too kind. I worry you’ll lose that at Kingswood. That place and those people will wring it out of you if you let them. Promise me you won’t?”

“I promise,” she whispered, dropping the coins into his outstretched hand. She wrapped her hand around his, closing his fingers around the money. “If you promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

He laughed, shaking their joined hands. “I’ll do my best. But with a little bit of luck, I’ll always have people like you around to help me out.”

She started to chide him, to warn him that he’d eventually need to learn to rely on himself, even if she knew he’d only laugh it off. But a sharp whistle and the crack of a whip sounded from the end of the street, and both their heads turned to find its source.

A two-horse cart had turned onto the main road. Not an unusual sight in itself, especially for a market town. But it wasn’t market day. And it was no ordinary cart, but one she’d only ever seen in illustrations in books. The cart of daring gentlemen and rakes. Its back wheels were twice the size of those in the front and carried seats made of green-painted wood and black leather that gleamed in the sunlight.

“Of course, they sent the fucking phaeton,” Egg murmured, giving a name to the vehicle. He stood quickly, pulling her up with him, and embraced her tightly. “Good luck, Little Girl. I’ll miss you.”

Then, he left. Releasing her from his grasp so swiftly she stumbled back a step. By the time she’d caught her breath, he was gone, without even the music of his fiddle to hint at where he’d gone.

“I’ll miss you too,” she whispered to the wind, hoping it would carry her words to him.

Only a few hours later, she was stepping out of the cart and onto the gravel drive of the Kingswood Estate.

The estate itself sprawled across half the woods, according to the coachman, Arryk, who had informed her when they officially crossed onto the property miles ago. The house, a term which seemed to Miss Doolittle to be a massive understatement, was near the center of it, within a smaller, but still enormous, gated park.

It was beautiful, with pale stone walls coated with ivy, gleaming glass windows framed with iron, and surrounded by flowers of every shape and color. And it was to be her new home.

Well, she was to be one of its servants. But still. Servants could call it home, too.

But what servants could not do was enter through the main doors. Instead, Arryk led her around the side of the house and through a smaller, much dirtier door into a stiflingly hot kitchen.

A woman who appeared to be around two hundred years old – the cook, presumably – barked orders at several kitchen maids with such ferocity it was a wonder that fire spewed only from the oven and not her mouth. As young men in fine suits filed into the room and began picking up silver trays laden with steaming food, the woman took a deep breath and started yelling at them instead.

Arryk leaned closer to Miss Doolittle. “Don’t do anything to get on Cook’s bad side,” he whispered, what sounded like genuine fear wavering in his voice. “She’ll roast you alive.”

As if she had heard him, the cook whirled around on him, her warm brown eyes blazing like hot coals. “What are you standing around for, Mr. Cargyll?” she bellowed. “And who’s this little waif?”

“Lady Helaena’s new maid.” His voice cracked like a boy’s.

The old woman huffed as those burning eyes examined her intently. “Put her in Mrs. Rivers’ sitting room and get out. I’ll not have you tracking horse shit in my kitchen.”

Arryk nodded hastily, the movement like that of a soldier accepting a command from his general. He took two steps forward, indicating Miss Doolittle should follow when he and everyone in the kitchen froze where they were.

Miss Doolittle followed their stunned gazes to the base of a narrow staircase and the two people who had just descended.

The first was a woman, neither old nor young, with deep black hair that flowed down her back in a long, silky sheet. Though she wore the dress of a servant, the keyring hanging from her waist indicating that she was likely the housekeeper, there was a certain power in her green gaze that made Miss Doolittle think the woman had been a queen in some other life.

But the thought did not last long, for her eyes drifted to the man standing just behind the housekeeper.

Shit.

The finest man she’d ever seen. With silver hair, one eye of crushing blue, one a milky white, and an angry red scar running across his face.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She hadn’t even met Lady Helaena, and she was about to be sacked.

Or, judging by the wicked delight in the man’s eyes and his crooked smile, perhaps she was about to be eaten alive.

The housekeeper turned to face the man, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Lord Aemond, do you know this girl?”

Lord Aemond.

Forget being sacked or eaten. He could simply have her executed. It may even be a mercy, to spare her the humiliation that burned within her like a thousand raging bonfires.

He turned to the housekeeper, the movement too graceful and smooth. “I’m afraid I do.” He looked back at Miss Doolittle. No, he looked past her. “Mr. Cargyll, I will not be needing you to take me to Rosby tomorrow, after all.”

Then, he did look at her, and the cold in his eyes felt like an icicle shoved through her heart. She wanted to run. To scream. To shrink into nothing just to escape him. She wanted to run all the way back to Rosby, find Egg, and beg him to take her far, far away from here.

But she remained where she was, under the hateful gaze of her new employer, unable to so much as blink as he smiled a ruthless, joyless smile. “I’ve been hoping to see you again, flower girl. I have a proposition for you.”

Egg’s joyous, carefree voice echoed in her mind.

With a little bit of luck.

He’d never specified whether it was good luck or bad luck.

[astracora]

A Mandated Holiday Break - Chapter 2

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1050

Written: 21st December 2024

Notes: Post-relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

He doesn't book time off, not specifically. If he has something to do, Sylus will do it. The positives of running his organisation is that he doesn't need to answer to others, though he's not so foolish as to just up and disappear. Not again.

Unluckily for him, however, he's a busy man. It's a good thing, he's busy, and successful. When a business deal fails, it's because there's a better one to be found. If fates wants to gnash its teeth, if his luck wants to turn, he'll wrangle it under command and move forwards.

It was always a positive until he found you, now it's a bother. Not always, power means safety, money means security, having Onychinus under thumb means he can somewhat secure your presence in the N109 zone with far less worry.

Still, he's too aware that you do not want to be a bother. He knows the doctor is a busy man, he knows you're worried about disturbing the fish, he also knows that the prince pushes himself too much.

By extension of caring for his kitten, he finds himself caring for them. It's... bothersome.

(Nice.) A voice that sounds like yours, kind and warm and loving. Lilted like a song, whispers in his head.

Being busy equates in your mind to being unavailable.

He'd sent Mephisto out with a note, an invitation of sorts. Had he left it to you, he knows you'd go back to solitude and sitting at your phone, fighting the urge to message and call and cling. As though those who loved you wouldn't drop their responsibilities in seconds to be available. (Within reason, he's sure the doctor does stay more responsible than the fish does to his job.)

He can afford to let his job sit and stew. Can let others handle things. He doesn't enjoy it, you've made comments about him being a control freak. He isn't. He assures you, he trusts himself. That's all.

Mostly.

He does hire capable people though, would never make the mistake of another Sherman. Not if it resulted in a repeat of the past.

Tied up, bloodied knees, eyes wavering and lips trembling. False bravado on the edges of a burned out soul.

He's... excited though, to return to his base. Like his joined heart is jumping. He's not unused to the feeling, has learned so many new things in this new life at your side. Regret, joy, excitement, nervousness, fear.

It still bears marvelling though.

His Soul will be in his hands for a week. Perhaps he can convince their odd little accompaniment to lay down their varied weapons as well.

As he finds his way home, the exhaustion of long nights wrapping up long deals, he finds you. Curled up in front of the hearth, Luke and Kieran are slumbering next to you. A game of kitty cards lies forgotten and scattered, as though a tornado had run through it.

Mephisto is nestled in the crook of your neck, looking far more like the kitten he assigns to you than a crow.

He's as quiet as can be but the twins are used to sleeping light, and they blink tired eyes at him. Masks abandoned on the table, lined up next to each other carefully. "Hey boss."

Kieran grumbles something, rubbing his face and scratching at the scars on his neck, his teeth all visible as he yawns wide.

"We kept the hunter company for you Boss." He manages to speak properly this time, chasing sleep to the back of his mind, and grinning at Sylus as Luke's head slumps onto his shoulder. Dazed and still half out.

For him. He muses, as though he doesn't know that they eagerly await your visits as well. He's unsure if it's curiousity. After all, you bear the scars from Ever like they do. If it's amusement at watching their Boss change more in your presence. Or if it's simply that they like you. Like that you're soft where he's sharp, that you're kind where the world is not. That you care, and so many don't seem to. Not in the twins past, and certainly not in his.

Whatever their reasons, he trusts the twins when it comes to you. He knows they came to him to see him die, but when it comes to you, his only orders are to keep you safe. Allow for your happiness.

"They probably need more sleep." Luke adds, protective, giving their boss a look as if to say he better not disturb them. As though he found amusement in their sleepless nights.

His huff is unbecoming, but it escapes him without his permission. Giving the two an unamused look that makes them snicker until they look over at your sleeping form guiltily.

You let out a small noise in the back of your throat before rolling over, curling around Mephisto like you're protecting him from the world.

He thinks it's possible you are. In your dreams. Fighting monsters and fiends all to protect the people you love.

He's blessed, he thinks. That he's amongst the number. Even more blessed that he is not one of the fiends you fight.

Well. Playfully and with affection in your eyes, but no longer blood at your claws.

Still, the floor isn't comfortable, and he's tired too. Surely you'll allow him to relocate you and himself to expensive, cool sheets and tangled limbs.

As he lifts you, strong arms under legs and around the back of your neck, tight to his chest, he nods at the twins and ignores Mephisto's sleepy (if a robot can be capable of sleep) squawk of indignation at losing his heat supply.

You turn your head into his chest, rubbing your cheek against his expensive shirt. His name leaves your lips on an exhale, not even bothering to open your eyes as you know he has you, and he's here to keep you safe (though you barely need him for such a thing, a thing that makes him unbearably proud and unbearably sad.).

His steps falter, looking at you, hearing his name. So warm, so sweet, so perfect. As you drift back off, he walks down halls that aren't long enough. Into his lair and to a place he can't be disturbed with you.

[transmechatrist]

How does it feel, they almost wanted to ask, dying? It felt like a shadow; the danger of it looming over them every second of every day. They would almost imagine relief, when it finally found them. For their paranoia, strung up so tightly, to finally snap. Like a long exhale after holding their breath.

But they don’t ask. Guide their focus instead from the musings of their own pitiful mortality to what it actually meant, the answer he’d given them. Dying hundreds of times…? The gears in their head finally begin to turn.

He must have thousands of bodies, then. Manufactured. That’s what the uploading was about.

…Oh gods. Their gaze breaks his, towards the screen, where the diagnostic was still ticking away. What must his fucking code look like…? They couldn’t tell if their churning anticipation was more dread or excitement.

Copied from the original source each time? No, no. Otherwise he wouldn’t have memories. Perhaps the memories were down- and uploaded, but his other code came copied from the source-? But then how would any modifications done on his system ever get saved…? Wait, they’d skimmed something about that—

They pick up the papers again, flipping through and reading properly this time, now that they understood what they were looking at.

The source code was seperate.

It finally clicked. How it reminded them of half-baked theories they’d skimmed over on forums, filing them away for later as they researched their actual project at hand. Him. They must have been theorising about him.

Their eyes shoot up at Revenant. The sim in their workshop was hundreds of years old.

And so was his code.

Their instinct is an incredulous how are you still alive?, but they knew he most likely would not have the answers. Really solid base code, most likely. With a big shot of dumb luck.

There’s a soft ding from their computer. The diagnostic was complete.

They glance at it, then fix their eyes on him. A small show of the papers, the slightest raise of an eyebrow, “anything else I should know?”

They addressed the definition of the word for some GUIDANCE, and the simulacrum watched them patiently, head still rested back in his chair. Seemed to be thinking aloud when they spoke, so Revenant gave them another minute.

They were starting to get the picture.

One small piece of a very big, horrible picture.

"Hundreds of times under Ego Retention," he answered, nonchalant. Holding their gaze in his weary golden glow. "Hundreds more in the decades since." No matter what parts of his code they looked at, it was bound to reflect the scars left by CENTURIES of his suffering.

[starry-bi-sky]

catch me looking up nightingale symbolisms for tales of the passerine. if danny's using the name of a songbird for a hero name, regardless of familial connections, i will utilize the symbolism tied to the bird. Anyways general gist of the nightingale symbolism i've seen, other than what wikipedia told me, is that nightingales were frequently symbolisms of spring renewal, loss/death, love, etc. catch me about to incorporate music into Danny's character

[semiotomatics]

lol. i think ive reached my limit.

[invinciblerodent]

I know it's probably because the poly options (and Halsin's entire romance in general) were added later, but it's still kind of weird to me how, even if you're actively romancing two people at the same time, the game only lets you do Zethino's test once.

Like, I get that it's probably so that players won't just abuse the system to get +/-6 approval from someone over and over again for 100 gold each, but it just comes off as slightly odd from a story standpoint that they can both be standing there, and you'll just... choose one of them over the other willy-nilly, without anyone saying anything.

Honestly, instead of tweaking Astarion's specific lines and expressions in act 1 for the 13th time (and yet keeping his grammar wonky in act 3?), they could have just made this dialogue repeatable, and made each additional attempt cost an absurd amount of gold or something.

(I did and recorded both, but went with Halsin's for my save- Shadowheart has been on 100 approval since like act 1, whereas for Halsin, this is what finally put him over 80 lol.)

[freaky-flawless]

Alright I finished it... just overall not great. I don't really feel like I gained anything from reading it. And there are a good few things that are genuinely problematic.

As for the story itself...it could have been interesting but the writing was so bland. There's a scene at the end that should have been pretty intense where the Ghoulfriends confront the big bad and save the whole school but the writing is so straightforward and bland that it was so unsatisfying. And the solution was so weird and specific.

I know we kinda joke about how useless Bloodgood is, but she was something else in this one. She didn't even get brainwashed like everyone else, from the start she was super ooc and forgetful because she got struck by lightning lol. Lowkey, she shoulda got fired.

I will say Rochelle did grow on me a bit. She definitely had the main character role and did show some character growth. And I did like how the author was mindful of the fact that she's made entirely of stone, and the trials that come with being that heavy. But her constant quoting of the "Gargoyle Code of Ethics" and her constantly correcting people grew old quick.

Other than that the only saving grace of this book is the illustrations. Ugh, they are so good, and I hadn't seen a lot of them before. Darko Dark did a great job, and I love his design for Sylphia (the "villain") he even made the trolls look cute despite the authors less than kind descriptions of them.

Do I recommend anyone read this? No, not really. Unlike the Lisi Harrison books, it didn't give a fresh perspective on the series, it's kinda just a worse version of the actual canon. And on top of that the writing itself is super lackluster, the Monster High Diaries books are way better written despite being half the length.

That being said, wish me luck with the next one. It appears Toralei might feature heavily in it, despite not being mentioned a single time in the first one.

I'm like halfway through the first Ghoulfriends book and main three are so annoying. I'm hoping it's like a character flaw thing, where they'll recognize it and get better over the course of the series, but oof. Gitty did these ghouls so wrong.

They're beefing with Cleo for no reason...Venus flipped out on her out of nowhere (in the middle of class, unprovoked!!) for using paper bags and then sprayed her with hypno pollen, meanwhile Rochelle, who is in her own relationship, is hardcore flirting with her man!!! I wish the author had been more original when it came to giving them a "frenemy" there are so many options aside from Cleo! (Honestly Operetta would have been an interesting choice, but whatever)

Robecca's characterization is the most tolerable, but she's incredibly rambly, and the author decided to give her a bad sense of time for...reasons. And despite being British, she uses oddly Southern phrases while talking...its super strange. With Venus and Rochelle, I can see where her mind went with writing their characters, but Robecca honestly seems so opposite to her canon personality.

And her backstory was kinda mangled too. It's acknowledged that she was disassembled, and recently reassembled, and even that she previously lived with Mrs. Kindergrubber, but she's treated like a brand new student. No acknowledgement that it was Ghoulia who put her back together!

I understand giving the characters a fresh take, but it would have been pretty simple to integrate the actual canon. Robecca and Rochelle were introduced in the same movie, they were new to Monster High, just not new to all of the characters.