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d-z20 · 7 months ago

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The Agent Next Door (NSFW)

Pairing: Agent Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You don't really talk to your (extremely attractive) neighbour, Rio Vidal, until one day an accident leads to you staying at her apartment for a couple of days. And an awkward encounter results in having your fantasy come true. -OR- Rio finds you injured after you slipped and fell out the shower and decides to look after you (non-magic AU)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, blood, small injury, fluff, smut, fingering (R receiving), oral (R receiving)

Words: 3.4k

A/N: Just wanted to write a bit of Rio caring for reader and well then it turned into smut and I have no regrets. Also I have their whole relationship arc in my head now lol

AO3 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Master List

The Worst Morning Of Your Life (so far)

Rio Vidal is your neighbour. You've noticed her plenty of times before—a striking woman with a sharp, confident look that's hard to ignore. You live in the same apartment building, just across the hall from one another. Most days, your interactions are limited to polite smiles and brief chats in the elevator, her dark suit and badge often catching your eye. You've heard her phone buzz with work calls that end with her curt, professional voice. It's obvious she's someone important—serious and dedicated. You've pieced together that she's an FBI agent, but beyond that, you don't know much about her.

You can't deny that you're drawn to her, though. There's something about the way she carries herself—all self-assured and enigmatic. You've caught yourself staring a few times, your heart skipping a beat when she looks back and flashes a rare, amused smile. It's not just her looks—it's the way she moves, the air of mystery she carries, like she's seen things you could only imagine. It makes you nervous, but at the same time, you can't help but look forward to those fleeting moments when your paths cross.

One morning, your shower decides to betray you—your hot water cuts out just as you put your head under. You let out a bloodcurdling scream, quickly trying to jump out of the shower. Unfortunately for you, your foot slips on the hard floor, and you come crashing down, hitting your head on the sink, landing with a very loud thud. Dazed and confused, you are unsure if you passed out for a second there or not, but either way your head is killing you.

"Fucking brilliant," you mutter to yourself, draping an arm across your eyes to shield them from the light.

At that moment, you heard your front door slamming open and hurried footsteps searching your apartment. You had just about enough sense to yank your towel off the hook and cover up your naked body.

"Y/N?" called a voice just outside the bathroom door.

Shit. It was Rio. You wished the ground would just swallow you up.

"Are you okay? I heard you scream, and then I heard something shatter." You could hear the genuine concern in her voice.

Lifting your head slightly, you noticed the shards of glass from what used to be your bathroom shelf, surrounding you. All you could do was let out a groan and close your eyes at this new development of what was turning out to be the worst morning of your life so far.

This was a bad choice, as a split second later, Rio barged into your bathroom.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" Your neighbour teased, but you could hear the relief in her voice. She moved further into the room, assessing the damage. "Not to ruin such a perfect morning for you, but I might have broken your door getting in here."

You open your eyes, blinking up at her. Taking her in, you noticed she was wearing a cropped baggy tank top and gym shorts. You blink up at her again, and your head throbs with each beat of your pulse, the pain radiating down your neck. You're still dazed, trying to process how you ended up sprawled on the cold bathroom floor with your FBI agent neighbour standing over you. Rio's sharp eyes take in your silence, concern clouding the playful smirk she'd worn just moments before.

"Hey," she says, voice softer now, as she crouches down beside you. She reaches out, fingertips gently brushing your cheek to turn your face towards her. "Y/N, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"

You swallow, trying to focus. Her touch is surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to her usual no-nonsense demeanour. You nod slightly, the movement making your head spin. "Rio," you manage to croak out. "Neighbour, FBI agent. And, apparently, a door kicker."

She huffs a laugh, a brief flicker of relief crossing her face. "Good. That's a start. I don't usually make a habit of barging into people's bathrooms uninvited, but I heard that scream, and... well, I'm glad I did." Her eyes drop down to your arm, where blood seeps from a jagged cut. She curses under her breath, her grip on your shoulder tightening just slightly. "You're bleeding. We need to get you cleaned up."

You glance down at your arm, wincing at the sight of blood trickling down to your hand. "I really know how to make an impression, huh?"

Rio shakes her head, lips pressed together in a tight line. "Let's save the jokes until you're not covered in glass, yeah?" Without another word, she slips an arm under your shoulders, helping you sit up. The world tilts slightly, but her hold on you is firm, steadying you as you get your bearings.

"You're going to have to trust me for a minute," she tells you softly. "Can you stand?"

"Maybe," you say, though you're not entirely sure. She helps you up, careful not to jostle your injured arm, and you try to ignore the heat of her skin against yours, the way her fingers dig into your side just enough to ground you.

Rio's eyes dart around the room, quickly assessing the mess of broken glass and water pooling on the floor. "Alright," she says decisively. "I'm taking you back to my place. We'll patch you up there. Your shower is out of commission, and I don't trust that you won't take another tumble if I leave you alone here."

You don't have the energy to argue, so you just nod, letting her guide you out of the bathroom. The two of you make it to the hallway, but not before she grabs a spare towel and wraps it around you more securely. Her movements are quick and efficient, but there's a gentleness to them that surprises you. It's a side of Rio you've never seen before—one that's patient and caring, not just the tough, sarcastic woman you've exchanged pleasantries with in passing.

As you step into her apartment, you notice it's much more personal than you'd imagined. There are framed photos on the walls—nothing too sentimental, mostly candid shots of places she's travelled to, city skylines, and sunsets. Her living room is cosy, with a worn leather couch and a small stack of books piled on the coffee table.

"Sit," she instructs, pointing to the couch. You sink down into it, feeling strangely out of place but oddly comfortable. Rio disappears into the bathroom for a moment, returning with a first aid kit. She kneels in front of you, carefully prying your hand away from your arm.

"This is going to sting," she warns, pulling out an antiseptic wipe. You flinch as she cleans the cut, her brows knitting together in concentration. "Sorry," she mutters. "I'm used to dealing with criminals and suspects, not clumsy neighbours."

"Criminals don't trip in the shower much?" you quip, trying for humour despite the pain. It earns you a small smile from Rio, her eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"Not usually, no. Though I'll admit you're far more entertaining." Her voice softens again, the smirk fading as she wraps a bandage around your arm. "You scared me for a second there, you know."

The confession catches you off guard. "I did? you ask, watching her face as she finishes tying off the bandage.

She doesn't look up, her focus still on your arm. "Yeah," she says quietly. "I thought something bad had happened. Guess I care more about my neighbour than I realised."

Your heart skips a beat, the words hanging in the air between you. It's the first real admission of anything beyond casual friendliness, and it leaves you breathless. You're about to say something—anything—but Rio stands up, offering her hand to you.

"Come on," she says. "Let's get you some proper clothes and maybe a coffee. You can stay here until we sort out your door and shower."

Rio's grip on your hand is firm as she helps you up, her expression still hovering somewhere between concern and her usual, dry amusement. You follow her into the kitchen, and she releases you, motioning for you to sit at the table. It feels strange being here, in her space, especially after the chaos of your morning. She pulls out a chair for you with a slight roll of her eyes, as if it's absurd that you'd even try to resist her instruction.

"I don't have any shifts for the next two days," she announces, moving towards the coffee maker without glancing back at you. "And considering you might've blacked out for a second back there, I'm not letting you out of my sight. So, you're staying with me, here, until you're back on your feet properly."

You open your mouth to argue, but the look she throws over her shoulder silences you. It's one part worry and two parts something else—something softer, almost protective.

"I can manage," you say, but your voice lacks conviction, especially as you rub your throbbing arm. The bandage is already starting to bleed through a bit. Rio's eyes narrow at the sight, and she steps closer, prodding your arm gently.

"Yeah, you're doing a great job," she says dryly, then nods to herself. "You're staying here."

"Fine," you sigh, though part of you feels a flutter of something—relief, maybe, or the thrill of being looked after by someone like Rio. "But I can sleep on the couch. I don't want to kick you out of your bed."

Rio's lips twitch into a smirk. "I'm not letting you take the couch. You've already proven that you're a danger to yourself in any situation that involves standing up."

You can't help but laugh, despite everything. "So, what, we share your bed?"

She raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to challenge her. "It's a queen size. I think we can manage. Unless you've suddenly developed a fear of co-sleeping?"

The thought of sharing a bed with her sends a rush of heat through you, but you try to play it off with a shrug. "As long as you don't hog the covers."

"I'll do my best," she says, the smirk widening.

The first night is awkward, as expected. You lie stiffly on one side of the bed, while Rio takes the other, the space between you feeling like a chasm despite the closeness. She's warm though, and you can feel the heat radiating from her body and the subtle scent of her shampoo filling your senses. It's both comforting and maddening, making it hard to fall asleep. You’re hyper-aware of every shift she makes, every time her arm brushes against yours. At some point, she turns onto her side, facing you, and you feel her eyes on you in the dark.

"You still awake?" she whispers.

"Yeah," you reply, swallowing hard.

There's a pause, then you feel her hand brush against yours. It's light, almost as if by accident, but when you don't pull away, she leaves it there, her fingers barely touching yours.

"Try to get some sleep," she murmurs. "You need to rest."

"Alright," you say, voice hoarse, and somehow, with her so close, you finally drift off.

Over the next day and a half, the tension between you shifts, It's subtle at first—small, lingering glances from Rio that last a bit too long, the brush of her fingers against your back when she helps you into the kitchen. Her sarcasm returns, but there's a flirtatious edge to it now, like she's testing the waters.

"You're really milking this injury, aren't you?" She teases, handing you your drink to have with the pizza she bought for dinner. "You'd think you broke your entire body, the way you're lounging around."

"Hey," you protest, setting the drink down. "You're the one who insisted I stay. Don't blame me for enjoying the hospitality."

She leans against the counter, arms crossed, a grin tugging at her lips. "Oh, I'm well aware. But don't get too comfortable with me waiting on you hand and foot—I've got to go back to work tomorrow.”

That night, the atmosphere between you shifts even more. When you climb into bed besides Rio, there's no hesitation this time. She turns towards you almost immediately, her hand resting lightly on your hip as if it's the most natural thing in the world. You can feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of your shirt, her breath warm against the back of your neck. It's a small touch, nothing too bold, but it feels significant—an unspoken acknowledgement of everything simmering between you two. You fall asleep like that, closer than before, your fingers unconsciously brushing hers under the covers.

When you wake up, she's already dressed for the day, leaning over you with a mug of coffee in hand. She sets it down on the nightstand with a playful smile. "Morning sweetheart," she says, her voice laced with that familiar teasing tone, but there's a softness to it now. "Try not to do anything risky while I'm gone, yeah? I don't want to come back to find you've taken a tumble without me here to save the day."

You laugh, reaching for the coffee, but there's a flutter in your chest at the pet name, even if she means it jokingly. "I'll do my best," you say. "But no promises."

She smirks, leaning down just enough to press a light kiss to your forehead. "Good. I'll be back later. Make yourself at home."

You do. The rest of the day passes in a strangely pleasant haze, and you find yourself enjoying the small comforts of her apartment. It's quiet without her, but there's a sense of ease you haven't felt in a long time, like you truly belong here. You find yourself smiling for no reason, touching the small trinkets on her shelves, running your fingers over the soft throw blankets she has draped across the couch.

By the time you decide to take a shower, you're feeling entirely too content. You strip down, stepping under the hot spray with a sigh. That's when your thoughts drift back to Rio—how she looked last night, half-asleep and tousled, her arm draped over your waist, her expression unguarded in a way you'd never seen before.

Your thoughts turn to fantasy almost unbidden. You imagine her joining you in the shower, pressing you back against the cold tiles, her hands sliding down your wet skin. You can almost feel it—the heat of her breath on your neck, the firmness of her body against yours. You start to move your hand towards your aching clit, letting out a quiet, shuddering moan, lost in the fantasy of what it would be like to kiss her and have her hands on you.

You don't hear the bathroom door open, but suddenly, you hear her voice—low and amused. "You sure you're okay in here? Didn't have another fall, did you?"

You freeze, eyes snapping open. You can barely see her through the steam, but she's there, standing just outside the shower curtain, and you realise with a jolt that she must have heard you. You heart slams against your ribs as the curtain slides back just a little, and Rio steps inside completely naked, her smirk evident even through the haze.

"I really just can't trust you not to injure yourself while showering, can I?" she says, voice teasing but thick with something else—desire, maybe. Her eyes travel down your body, lingering in a way that sends a shiver through you.

"Rio," you breathe out, half a warning, half a plea.

She steps closer, crowding you against the wall, her hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. "You know," she murmurs, her lips so close to yours now that you can feel the brush of them with every word. "I think you've been waiting for me to do this."

And then she kisses you, slow and heated, like she's been thinking about this just as much as you have. Her mouth is soft but insistent, coaxing a response from you until you melt into her, hands tangling in her hair as you kiss her back just as eagerly. The steam from the shower mixes with the heat between you, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

When she finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, her forehead resting against yours. "I knew it," she whispers, her voice laced with satisfaction. "You've been wanting this so badly, haven't you?"

You nod, swallowing thickly. "Yeah," you admit, barely louder than a whisper. "I have."

She grins, tugging you closer until you're pressed against her, chest to chest. "Good," she says, leaning in to kiss you again, deeper this time. "Because I've been wanting it too."

And with that, she shoves you against the wall. Hard. She's kissing you all over, igniting the skin where each one lands. She nips and sucks at your neck, finding where you're most sensitive. A moan escapes your lips, and you buck your hips, trying to get any kind of friction against your core. For a brief moment, you start to get embarrassed, but then one of Rio's hands finds its way between your legs. She dips a finger between your lips and hums at how wet you already are for her.

Looking directly into your eyes, silently telling you to keep her gaze, she lowers herself to suck on one of your tits, tongue swirling around your nipple, making it harden quickly. The hand not on your clit, starts to pinch your other nipple, pulling another loud guttural moan from you.

Working her mouth down your torso, marking up your body as she goes, Rio sinks to her knees, her face now directly opposite your dripping cunt, eyes still locked on yours.

Her hands deftly grip your hips, steadying you against the wall. "You've got to promise me you're not going to fall again, sweetheart," she all but growls, the arousal evident in her voice.

You nod your head, but it wasn't enough for the woman, who digs her nails into your skin where she's holding you. "Ye-Yes. I promise."

That is all Rio needs before she starts to drag her tongue through your folds. Switching between broad licks along the length between your entrance and your clit, and firmer, more purposeful circles over your bundle of nerves.

You feel dizzy, but you know it has nothing to do with your concussion and everything to do with the woman kneeling between your legs. Despite your head spinning, you manage to bring your hands down to tangle in Rio's hair, pushing her harder into you. You need more.

She moans against you, clearly enjoying how turned on you are. The vibration from the moan goes straight to your core, and you nearly cum just from that. Sensing you're close, Rio pushes two fingers inside you, causing you to curse her name inbetween moans.

You feel her chuckle and then start fucking you more vigorously. "I want to hear you, baby. I want the whole floor to hear you moan my name," she says, momentarily pulling away from your pussy. You can't help but oblige as she starts to curl her fingers, resuming her licking and sucking.

With her fingers curling inside you like that, it isn't long before you climax, legs shaking, cumminng hard over her fingers and tongue. Rio helps you through the end of your orgasm, making sure to hold you up as you come back down.

"Okay, darling, I think we need to sit you down before you lose another fight with gravity," Rio smirks. You can't help but agree; your knees feel very weak and it's taking all of your concentration to stay upright.

"Oh, by the way, I bumped into the maintenance guys on my way in," Rio says lightly, helping you out of the shower. "And they said that your door isn't getting fixed for at least another week. So, it looks like you'll have me to help you shower for a little while longer." Winking, she drags you to her bed, determined to continue what she had just started.

alright folks, I've got a sequel in the works but can't decide on the vibes (there'll be smut regardless): READ PART 2 HERE

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oaksgrove · 4 months ago

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The Perfect Match

pairing: Book Store Owner!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

synopsis: You expected an interview. What you didn’t expect was Simon Riley—the elusive, enigmatic owner of a bookstore that seemed to know exactly what people needed before they did. The assignment was simple: write a piece about the legend surrounding his shop. But the more time you spend with him, the more you realize there’s something undeniably magnetic about the man behind the mask. And maybe, just maybe, the story you’re really uncovering isn’t about the bookstore at all—it’s about him.

warnings: Slow burn, romantic tension, longing, mutual attraction, soft!Simon, mysterious bookstore setting, touches that linger, subtle flirting.

word count: 934

The bell above the door chimed softly as you stepped into the bookstore, and immediately, the world outside seemed to fade.

A hush settled over you like a thick, comforting blanket. Shelves stretched to the ceiling, their wooden frames darkened with age and love, filled to bursting with books in every size, shape, and condition. The scent of old paper and wood mingled with the faint aroma of freshly brewed tea.

You had heard the stories. Everyone had.

The little bookstore that wasn’t just a place for books, but a destination. Where customers left with exactly what they needed—even if they didn’t know it when they walked in. And at the center of it all was the elusive owner, Simon Riley.

Reclusive was an understatement. Simon didn’t do interviews. There wasn’t a single photo of him online. Even the bookstore’s social media accounts were bare, save for cryptic posts about rare editions and book recommendations.

He was a ghost, in more ways than one.

But you were determined. Landing this assignment wasn’t easy, and you weren’t going to waste it.

You approached the counter, where a neatly handwritten sign read: Back in a moment. Browse freely.

Something about the place felt alive. It was almost like the books were whispering to you. Titles caught your eye, pulling you toward sections you wouldn’t normally explore. A worn copy of Pride and Prejudice sat atop a stack, its edges gilded with time. A glossy thriller leaned against a collection of philosophy essays. Each shelf felt curated, not by genre, but by some inexplicable intuition. Nothing seemed randomly placed.

You picked up a leather-bound book with no title on the spine and ran your fingers over the cover.

“That’s a good one.”

The voice startled you. Deep, rich, and warm as the tea you now noticed steaming on the counter. You turned to see a man standing a few feet away, watching you with curious eyes.

He was tall—towering, really—with broad shoulders and a quiet, commanding presence. A black sweater clung to his frame, and his hands were tucked into the pockets of his jeans. His face was partially obscured by a black mask, but what you could see—his sharp, dark eyes and the scruff along his jaw—told you all you needed to know. This was Simon Riley.

“You must be Simon,” you said, extending a hand.

He hesitated, then took it, his grip firm but careful. “You must be the journalist.”

“Guilty.” You offered a smile. “I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me. Everyone told me you wouldn’t.”

“I usually don’t.” His voice had a faint rasp to it, as if he wasn’t used to speaking much. “But… I had a feeling about you.”

“A feeling?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

He tilted his head slightly, gesturing to the book in your hands. “That one. It suits you.”

You glanced down at the unmarked cover, intrigued. “You think so? What’s it about?”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Depends. What are you looking for?”

The interview began stiff, awkward in fact. —Simon wasn’t much for small talk. He answered your questions with short, straightforward replies. Yes, he’d owned the store for years. No, he didn’t believe in magic. Yes, people seemed to find what they needed here.

But as the conversation continued, something shifted. You stopped asking questions from your notebook and started asking him about books instead.

“What’s your favorite?”

He hesitated, then said, “The Old Man and the Sea. Simple, but it stays with you.”

“Do you have a least favorite?”

“Anything with too much fluff,” he said with a wry twist of his lips. “Stories need substance. Something real to hold onto.”

“Is that why you don’t like doing interviews?” you asked, half-teasing.

His eyes crinkled slightly—almost a smile. “Something like that.”

As the hours slipped by, you found yourself forgetting you were here for work. Simon had an understated charm, the kind that didn’t demand attention but earned it all the same. He listened carefully, his gaze steady and his responses thoughtful.

At one point, he pulled a book from a high shelf without even looking and handed it to you.

“This,” he said simply.

You glanced at the title—a collection of essays on writing and self-discovery. “How did you know I’d like this?”

He shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”

“Do you have a hunch about everyone who walks in here?”

“Most of the time.” He paused, then added, “But not like this.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the shop grew quieter, the soft glow of the lamps casting a golden light. You realized you’d spent the entire day there, your notebook untouched for hours.

“Do you always do this?” you asked as he walked you to the door.

“Do what?”

“Figure people out so easily. It’s unnerving.”

His gaze lingered on you, something unspoken passing between you. “Not everyone.”

You hesitated, the warmth in his voice catching you off guard, sending a shiver down your spine.

For the first time, you didn’t know what to say, reluctant to leave.

He opened the door, the crisp evening air brushing past. “Come back if you need anything.”

“Even if it’s not a book?” you asked lightly.

He didn’t answer right away, but his eyes softened, and you could swear there was a smile beneath the mask. “Especially then.”

As you walked away, clutching the book he’d given you, you couldn’t help but think there was more to Simon Riley than anyone could ever put into words. And maybe, just maybe, that was what made him—and his little bookstore—so magical.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash

#call of duty fanfic #call of duty #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod 141 #task force 141 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost call of duty

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lady-lostmind · 5 months ago

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Idiot

Written for @steddiebingo Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Blind Date

Rating: T | WC: 840

Thank you @oh-stars for betaing!!

Eddie shifts nervously in his seat and checks his phone again.

7:16pm

He sighs, turning to glance at the entrance to the restaurant. He knew this was a bad idea. Why did he agree to go on this stupid date in the first place? Who even goes on blind dates anymore?

Fucking Buckley. She promised him this guy was great. Talked him up so much he sounded damn near perfect.

Well, Mr. Perfect is almost twenty minutes late already. He’s probably not even going to show. Or– fuck. Maybe he did show, saw Eddie, and fucking left. That would be Eddie’s luck, honestly. Regardless, he’s not thrilled about being stuck at this stupid restaurant alone. The waitress keeps giving him this little pity smile when he says he’s “still waiting on someone” and he’s pretty sure the couple two tables over are watching him like he’s a fucking car crash happening right before their eyes.

Eddie snatches his phone up again, his leg bouncing in annoyance.

7:21pm

Eddie shakes his head and opens his texts.

Eddie (7:21pm): I hate you.

Buckley (7:21pm): 🥺 What did I do!?

Eddie (7:22pm): Your magical mystery man is standing me up.

Buckley (7:22pm): ????

Buckley (7:22pm): There’s no way.

Eddie (7:23pm): Me and the empty table in front of me are having a great time. Really.

Buckley (7:24pm): Please hold.

Eddie rolls his eyes and contemplates getting up and bailing for the millionth time since he sat down. At this point even if the guy shows up, this hasn’t gone exactly well. He’s annoyed, and embarrassed, and starting to feel like this whole thing was a pity set up or something and–

His phone buzzes on the table and he grabs it, a message from Robin lighting up the screen.

Buckley (7:26pm): Where are you, idiot?

Eddie’s mouth drops open in offense, his thumbs thudding against the screen as he types back.

Eddie (7:26pm): I’m at the fucking restaurant! How does that make me an idiot? Other than thinking this was a good idea in the first place.

Buckley (7:27pm): No. Steve is at the agreed upon restaurant. Idk where tf you are.

Eddie’s brow scrunches together and he shakes his head, scrolling up in their conversation to find the details for tonight.

Buckley (4:13pm): Enzo’s at 7 on Friday. Look hot.

Eddie drops his head to the table with a thunk. He is an idiot.

Eddie (7:28pm): …I’m at Alonzo’s.

Buckley (7:28pm): 🙄

Buckley (7:29pm): Idiot.

Eddie gets up and grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, tossing a ten on the table for wasting the poor waitress’s time and heading out the door.

Eddie (7:30pm): Is he pissed?

Eddie sighs, digging his keys out of his pocket. Of course the guy is pissed. Eddie was pissed two seconds ago when he thought he was the one being stood up.

Buckley (7:30pm): No. He was worried about you.

Buckley (7:30pm): Because he’s amazing.

Eddie curses under his breath as he hurries across the street to his car. He hadn’t even considered something being wrong to make Steve this late. Just assumed he was an asshole and not showing up.

Eddie (7:31pm): Tell him I’m sorry and I’m on my way.

Eddie (7:31pm): Please.

Buckley (7:31pm): I will.

Buckley (7:32pm): You better make it up to him, dipshit.

Eddie sighs and tosses his phone on the passenger seat. He cranks his van to life and hopes he still can.

Eddie pulls up outside the restaurant and slams the van in park, rushing to get inside, He glances at his phone as he walks in.

7:45pm

Fuck. This poor guy has been waiting on him for almost an hour.

He hurries over to the host stand, out of breath and frantic. “Hi! I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. I’m a little late.”

“Eddie?”

Eddie turns in the direction of his name, eyes landing on the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his entire life. He’s waving at Eddie with a huge grin like he didn’t just spend an hour waiting on him.

“Fuck me. I’m such a fucking idiot,” He mumbles under his breath as he stands there, staring like an absolute moron.

Steve drops his hand and shifts in his seat.

Right. Go over there, dummy.

Eddie nearly trips over himself as he makes his way to the table and slides into his seat across from Steve. “I’m so sorry. I went to the wrong place.”

Steve flashes him a pretty grin and shrugs. “That’s okay. I’m just glad you made it.”

Eddie’s heart swells as he realizes this guy means it. He’s genuinely just glad Eddie is okay and got here eventually. He doesn’t even seem annoyed.

Buckley’s right. He thinks he’s probably going to spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to him.

He returns Steve’s smile and nods. “Me too.”

Part two

#steddie #modern au #eddie munson #steve harrington #lady lostmind #steddiebingo #steddiebingocountdowntomidnight

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fr0stf4ll · 9 months ago

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Flavours of Prythian

Coming from that request

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; Y/N, a talented restaurateur’s life is turned upside down when she forms an unexpected bond with Azriel, the mysterious Spymaster of the Night Court. Befriending Elain, who confides in her about a male she’s trying to win over, she eagerly helps her new friend — only to discover the male is none other than Azriel. When the bond between her and Azriel snaps at first touch, she’s torn between loyalty to Elain and the undeniable connection she shares with the shadowy warrior.

word count ; 7.8k

warning; //

notes; Yoo everyone, here is my first one shot ! Thank you again for the request<333 Should I do a more general taglist so that you guys can be permanently on it. Enjoy it, see you <3

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Prythian was a land of many wonders, from the towering peaks of the Illyrian mountains to the lush, rolling hills of the Spring Court. But for you, the true magic of the land was found in its kitchens, markets, and the rich flavors that each court had to offer.

You had always been drawn to the culinary arts, even as a child. Your curiosity led you to travel across the courts, tasting the distinct dishes of each region, learning from the most skilled chefs, and uncovering the hidden culinary gems that most would overlook. You spent years journeying from the Day Court, where spices danced like sunlight on the tongue, to the Winter Court, where hearty stews and warm bread were a staple against the biting cold. In the Night Court, you discovered the delicate balance of flavors that mirrored the starlit skies above, and in the Summer Court, you indulged in the rich, vibrant tastes that seemed to capture the very essence of the sun-drenched beaches.

Your travels weren’t just about satisfying your own cravings; they were a quest to bring the best of Prythian’s diverse cuisines to others. And so, you did the impossible—you opened a series of restaurants, each one in a different court, each one a testament to the culinary traditions you had learned and made your own. Your establishments became a haven for those seeking not only a good meal but an experience, a journey through Prythian’s tastes and textures without ever leaving their seat.

Your flagship restaurant, nestled in the heart of Velaris, was particularly special. It was here, in the City of Starlight, that you combined the flavors of all the courts into a menu that was as varied and enchanting as Prythian itself. Word quickly spread of the remarkable dishes served within, and soon, it wasn’t just the citizens of Velaris who came to dine—High Fae from every court sought out your creations.

One such evening, as you oversaw the final preparations for the dinner service, the door to your restaurant swung open, and in walked a familiar face—Elain Archeron. Elain had been wandering through Velaris, taking in the beauty of the city, when the warm, inviting aroma from your restaurant had drawn her in.

Elain was known for her gentle nature, her love of gardening, and her keen eye for beauty in all things. But tonight, she was here for something different—a new experience, a chance to explore another form of beauty through the culinary delights that had been whispered about throughout the city.

As Elain took her seat near a window overlooking the Sidra, she immediately felt at ease. There was a sense of comfort and warmth in the restaurant, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself walking over to greet her. She looked up with a warm smile, her eyes bright with curiosity and a touch of shyness.

“Welcome,” you said, your own smile reflecting her warmth. “I’m Y/N, the owner and chef here. It’s a pleasure to have you.”

Elain’s smile widened, and she nodded appreciatively. “I’ve heard so much about this place, I just had to come see for myself. The aromas alone are worth the visit.”

You chuckled, feeling an instant connection with her. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ll make sure the food lives up to the expectations.”

As the evening went on, you found yourself returning to Elain’s table more than once, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. You talked about your travels, the different courts you had visited, and the inspiration behind some of the dishes on the menu. Elain, in turn, shared stories of her own—of her love for gardening, the peace she found in the quiet moments spent among the flowers, and her growing appreciation for the little joys in life, like a perfectly prepared meal.

There was something comforting in the way you both connected, as if you had known each other for much longer than just one evening. By the time dessert arrived—a delicate pastry inspired by the flavors of the Summer Court—you and Elain were chatting like old friends, the conversation punctuated by shared laughter and the occasional appreciative hum as she tasted each new dish.

As the night drew to a close, Elain hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I’d love to come back,” she said, her voice soft but sincere. “Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

You smiled, genuinely pleased by the idea. “I’d like that. You’re welcome anytime, Elain.”

Elain quickly became a regular fixture at your restaurant, her visits growing more frequent as the two of you bonded over shared stories, laughter, and the occasional glass of wine. It wasn’t long before your casual conversations began to take on a more personal tone, with Elain confiding in you about her life, her hopes, and her dreams.

One evening, after the dinner rush had died down and the restaurant had settled into a peaceful hum, Elain arrived with a particular glint in her eye. You noticed it the moment she walked in, her steps lighter, her smile brighter. She took her usual seat by the window, and you didn’t waste any time joining her, a knowing smile on your face.

“Alright, Elain,” you said, sitting down across from her. “You’re glowing tonight. What’s going on?”

Elain blushed, her hands fluttering nervously in her lap. “It’s nothing, really… Well, maybe it’s something. I don’t know.”

You leaned in closer, eyes wide with curiosity. “Come on, you can’t just leave me hanging like that. Spill!”

She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before finally giving in. “There’s… this male,” she began, her voice soft but filled with excitement. “I’ve been trying to get his attention for a while now, and I think… I think it might actually be working.”

You couldn’t help but squeal in delight, clapping your hands together. “Elain! This is amazing! Tell me everything—who is he? How did it start? What’s he like?”

Elain giggled at your enthusiasm, her own excitement bubbling to the surface as she began to share the details. “He’s… well, he’s different. Reserved, I guess you could say. But there’s something about him that just draws me in. He’s kind, in his own way, and he has this quiet strength that I really admire.”

You listened intently, hanging on her every word as she described this mysterious male who had captured her attention. It was clear that she was smitten, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement for her.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked, your mind already racing with ideas. “How are you going to win him over?”

Elain smiled shyly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “Well, I thought… maybe I could start by cooking for him. You know, something simple but special. He loves good food, and I think it might help him see… well, see me.”

You practically jumped out of your seat with excitement. “Elain, that’s perfect! And you’re in the right place—I can help you with recipes, tips, anything you need. We’ll make sure this meal is unforgettable.”

Her eyes lit up with gratitude. “Really? You’d help me?”

“Of course!” you replied, beaming. “This is what friends are for. And besides, I love a good love story. We’ll make sure he can’t resist you after this.”

From that moment on, the two of you were inseparable. Elain would visit the restaurant every few days, sometimes to try out a new dish, other times just to chat and share the latest developments in her budding romance. The more she talked about this male, the more you could see how deeply she cared for him, and it made you all the more determined to help her succeed.

You spent hours in the kitchen together, experimenting with different ingredients and techniques, crafting meals that were not only delicious but also filled with meaning. Elain would watch you work, her eyes wide with admiration as you explained the significance of each spice, each flavor, and how it could be used to convey emotion.

“There’s a language in food,” you told her one afternoon as you kneaded dough for a loaf of bread. “Every dish tells a story. When you cook for someone, you’re sharing a part of yourself with them. It’s intimate, in a way.”

Elain nodded thoughtfully, her hands busy chopping herbs for the soup you were preparing. “I never thought of it like that, but it makes sense. I want him to know how I feel, even if I can’t always find the words.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for your friend. “Then we’ll make sure every bite he takes is filled with love.”

As the days turned into weeks, Elain’s visits became a highlight of your day. She would burst through the door, her eyes sparkling as she recounted her latest interactions with the male who had stolen her heart. You would listen with rapt attention, offering advice and encouragement, celebrating every small victory and reassuring her during moments of doubt.

“He loved the soup,” she told you one evening, her cheeks flushed with happiness. “He said it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. And I think… I think he’s starting to notice me.”

You grinned, feeling a surge of pride. “I told you, Elain. No one can resist good food, especially when it’s made with love.”

She laughed, her joy infectious. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N. You’ve helped me so much.”

You waved off her gratitude with a smile. “Nonsense. You’re the one doing all the hard work. I’m just here to cheer you on.”

But the truth was, you had come to care deeply for Elain and her happiness. It wasn’t just about the food anymore—it was about seeing your friend find the love and connection she so deserved. And as she continued to come back, sharing her hopes and dreams, you couldn’t help but feel that you had found something special too.

Your friendship with Elain had become a source of joy and fulfillment, a reminder that sometimes, the most meaningful connections were forged in the simplest of moments—over a shared meal, a quiet conversation, or a burst of laughter that echoed through the night.

And so, as the seasons changed and the nights grew longer, you continued to help Elain in her quest to win over this mysterious male, knowing that whatever the outcome, you had found a true friend in her. A friend who had come into your life unexpectedly, but who had quickly become an irreplaceable part of it.

Weeks had passed since you and Elain had first started crafting meals together, each one a carefully planned step in her quest to win over the male who had captivated her heart. Every visit, every dish, brought a new story, a new glimmer of hope in her eyes. You were genuinely happy for her, thrilled to see her so full of life and excitement. So, when she asked if she could bring him to your restaurant for dinner, you couldn’t have been more supportive.

“Of course, Elain!” you’d said, flashing her an encouraging smile. “I’ll make sure everything is perfect. It’ll be a night he won’t forget.”

You’d spent the entire day preparing, selecting only the finest ingredients and crafting a menu that would showcase the very best of what your restaurant had to offer. You wanted this night to be special for her—special for them. You had no idea how special it would become, for reasons you never could have imagined.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city of Velaris in a warm, golden glow, Elain arrived at the restaurant with a male by her side. You couldn’t quite make out his features at first, but the way she clung to his arm, her eyes bright with anticipation, told you all you needed to know. This was the one.

As they stepped into the softly lit dining room, you finally got a good look at him—Azriel, the shadowsinger of the Night Court. You had heard of him, of course, through whispers and stories, but nothing could have prepared you for the moment your eyes met his.

Elain beamed as she introduced the two of you, her voice filled with warmth and pride. “Azriel, this is Y/N, the wonderful chef I’ve been telling you about. And Y/N, this is Azriel.”

He extended his hand to you, his expression polite, reserved. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, his voice deep and smooth.

You reached out, intending to greet him with the same friendly courtesy you offered all your patrons. But the moment your hand touched his, something shifted in the air—a sudden, overwhelming rush of heat and energy that took your breath away. The bond snapped into place with such force that it nearly knocked you off your feet.

For a split second, the world around you faded, and all you could feel was the pull, the undeniable connection that tethered your soul to his. His eyes widened in shock, and you knew he felt it too—the bond, the realization that fate had just entwined your lives in a way neither of you had expected.

But as quickly as the bond formed, reality came crashing back down. Elain was standing there, her eyes full of hope, completely unaware of the storm that had just erupted inside you. She had no idea that the male she was so clearly infatuated with, the one she had been working so hard to win over, was now bound to you in a way that went beyond anything you could have ever imagined.

Panic surged through you. How could this happen? How could you possibly accept this bond when it would mean shattering the friendship you had built with Elain, when it would mean taking away the one thing she wanted so desperately?

You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

With a forced smile, you quickly withdrew your hand from Azriel’s grasp, the warmth of the bond lingering like a phantom touch. “It’s nice to meet you too,” you managed to say, though your voice sounded hollow even to your own ears.

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you, confusion and something deeper flickering in his hazel eyes. But you couldn’t let yourself look too long, couldn’t let yourself feel what was brewing inside you. Not when Elain was standing right there, her happiness hanging in the balance.

“Please, take a seat,” you said, stepping back and motioning toward the table you had specially prepared for them. “I’ll make sure everything is perfect.”

Elain smiled, oblivious to the turmoil in your heart, and took her seat. Azriel hesitated for just a moment before following suit, his eyes never leaving yours. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the unspoken questions hanging in the air between you, but you didn’t dare meet his eyes again. You couldn’t.

As the evening went on, you did your best to stay professional, to act as if nothing had changed. You brought out dish after dish, each one more exquisite than the last, all while ignoring the fire burning in your chest. Every time Azriel tried to catch your eye, every time he tried to speak to you, you found a reason to turn away, to focus on something—anything—else.

Elain chattered on, completely unaware of the tension building between you and Azriel. She complimented the food, praised your skills, and even mentioned how much Azriel seemed to be enjoying himself. And through it all, you kept up the facade, kept pretending as if the bond snapping into place hadn't turned your entire world upside down.

But it was getting harder. With every glance Azriel sent your way, with every quiet question he tried to ask you in passing, it felt like the invisible thread between you was pulling tighter, demanding to be acknowledged. Yet, you refused to give in.

As the night dragged on, the tension between you and Azriel grew unbearable. He could sense it—you knew he could—but Elain remained blissfully unaware, happily recounting the gossip from the latest happenings in Velaris, smiling every time she caught Azriel glancing her way.

Azriel's eyes kept drifting back to you. Not once, not twice, but every time you approached the table, as if he couldn’t stop himself. You could feel the weight of his gaze burning into you, the way his expression darkened each time you brushed past him without so much as a word. He knew you were avoiding him, and he didn’t like it.

When you brought out the final dish—an indulgent dessert meant to close the evening on a sweet note—Elain excused herself to step outside for a moment, leaving you alone with Azriel for the first time since the bond snapped.

You could feel his presence before you even turned around, the quiet intensity of his gaze. And as you set the plate down in front of him, you knew you couldn’t avoid this confrontation any longer.

“Y/N.” His voice was low, barely more than a murmur, but the way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine. “We need to talk.”

You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes firmly fixed on the table in front of you. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, your voice cold and distant, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you.

Azriel leaned forward, his voice dropping even lower. “Don’t lie to me. You felt it too.”

The bond. He didn’t have to say the word for you to know what he meant. It was a truth that hung in the air between you, undeniable and impossible to ignore. And yet, you had to. You had to protect Elain, to protect your friendship, no matter the cost.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, your heart aching with the effort it took to deny the pull you felt toward him.

Azriel’s expression darkened, his hand curling into a fist on the table. “Don’t do this, Y/N. Don’t shut me out.”

But you couldn’t let him in. If you let him in, if you allowed yourself to even consider what the bond meant, you would be betraying Elain in the worst way possible. How could you even think about being with him when she had spent weeks confiding in you, trusting you with her feelings for him?

“No, Azriel.” You stepped back, your voice firmer this time. “I can’t.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Why? Because of Elain?”

You winced at the mention of her name, the weight of guilt pressing heavily on your chest. “She cares about you. A lot.”

Azriel's expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Y/N, it’s not like that between Elain and me.”

But you shook your head, refusing to let yourself believe it. “It doesn’t matter. She’s my friend. I can’t—I won’t—do this to her.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with tension, a storm of emotions swirling just beneath the surface. Azriel opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, the sound of the door opening broke the silence.

Elain re-entered the dining room, a bright smile on her face as she made her way back to the table. “Sorry about that,” she said cheerfully, oblivious to the charged atmosphere between you and Azriel. “What did I miss?”

You forced a smile, masking the turmoil raging inside you. “Nothing,” you lied, your voice steady even though your heart was breaking. “Just making sure everything’s perfect.”

Elain beamed, clearly pleased with how the evening had gone. “It really has been perfect, Y/N. Thank you so much for everything.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he finally looked away, the tension in his jaw clear as he nodded in agreement. “Yes… thank you.”

You nodded once, offering them both a stiff smile before excusing yourself from the room, your chest tightening with every step you took away from them.

As you retreated to the quiet of the kitchen, your hands bracing against the counter, the reality of what had just happened began to sink in. The bond had snapped. Azriel was your mate. And yet, you couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept it.

You had promised yourself you’d never hurt Elain. And if shutting down every advance Azriel made, if pushing away the one person the Cauldron had chosen for you was the only way to keep that promise, then that’s exactly what you would do.

Even if it tore you apart.

Back in the kitchen, you leaned heavily against the counter, your hands gripping the cold marble surface as you tried to regain your composure. The bond had snapped, and with it, any sense of stability you had managed to hold onto throughout the evening. The world felt off-kilter, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering on the brink.

One of your sous chefs, a sharp-eyed female who had worked with you since the restaurant’s inception, noticed your pallor. She set down the pan she was holding and approached you, concern evident in her eyes.

“Y/N,” she began cautiously, her voice gentle but probing, “are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You forced a nod, though you knew your expression wasn’t convincing. “I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice was shaky and unsteady.

She frowned, clearly not buying your response. Her eyes scanned your face, taking in the unusual paleness of your skin, the way your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the counter. “You don’t look fine. Do you need to sit down? Maybe get some air?”

You shook your head, trying to brush off her concern, but the weight of the bond pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. “No, I’ll be okay. It’s just… been a long night.”

She hesitated, still studying you closely, before glancing around the bustling kitchen. “But, Y/N,” she continued, her tone turning more inquisitive, “it’s strange. You always insist on preparing Miss Elain’s meals yourself, especially when she’s bringing a guest. But tonight, you didn’t even touch the preparation. You left it all to us.”

You froze at her words, the reality of what had happened sinking in even deeper. She was right—normally, you would have insisted on handling every detail of Elain’s meal, wanting to ensure that everything was perfect for your friend. But tonight, when it mattered most, you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to do it.

The truth was, the moment you realized Elain was bringing someone special, you couldn’t bring yourself to touch the ingredients. You had let the staff handle everything because deep down, some part of you knew something was about to change—something you weren’t ready to face.

“I…” you started, but the words caught in your throat. You swallowed hard, trying to find some semblance of an explanation. “I just thought… maybe it was time to let you all handle it. You’re more than capable.”

She tilted her head slightly, her frown deepening as she searched your eyes. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

You nodded again, more firmly this time, even though the lie tasted bitter on your tongue. “Yes, I’m sure. I trust all of you with the kitchen. You don’t need me hovering over every detail.”

She didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she didn’t press the issue further. Instead, she offered a small, supportive smile. “Well, if you ever need a break, don’t hesitate to step out. We’ve got things under control here.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I appreciate it.”

With a final nod, she returned to her station, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the crushing weight of the bond you were trying so desperately to ignore.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to push away the overwhelming emotions swirling inside you. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the image of Azriel’s eyes, the way they had widened in shock and recognition when the bond snapped into place. You couldn’t forget the warmth of his hand in yours, the way the world had seemed to narrow down to just the two of you in that fleeting, life-altering moment.

But Elain… you couldn’t do this to Elain. You couldn’t shatter her hopes, her dreams, just because of a bond you had never asked for. So, you did the only thing you could—you steeled yourself, pushed down the emotions threatening to break free, and vowed to keep your distance from Azriel, no matter how much it hurt.

You would be there for Elain, just as you always had been. You would help her win over the male she had been trying so hard to impress, even if it meant denying your own heart in the process.

Because that’s what friends did. They put each other first, no matter the cost.

And as you stood there in the kitchen, surrounded by the comforting sounds of sizzling pans and clinking utensils, you made a silent promise to yourself: you would protect Elain’s happiness, even if it meant sacrificing your own.

—

Azriel sat in the sitting room of the townhouse, surrounded by the familiar faces of the inner circle, yet he felt completely out of place. The evening had been an unexpected whirlwind of emotions, leaving him reeling from the bond that had snapped so suddenly and without warning. He had come here to find solace, to clear his mind, but every thought seemed to spiral back to you—the way you had looked at him, the way you had recoiled after the bond had formed during dinner at your restaurant.

He couldn’t understand it. How could something so significant be brushed aside so easily? He had tried to reach out to you, to understand what was happening, but you had shut him down, leaving him to grapple with the weight of the bond on his own.

The others were chatting around him, the sound of their laughter and conversation filling the room, but it all felt distant, muffled. Azriel’s mind was too clouded to focus on anything they were saying. He was trapped in a loop, replaying the moment over and over in his head—the spark, the connection, the way your eyes had widened in recognition before you quickly masked it.

He was so lost in thought that he almost missed it when Rhysand mentioned your name.

“You know, Y/N’s restaurant is one of the best in Velaris,” Rhys was saying, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “Feyre and I went there a few nights ago, and it was nothing short of incredible.”

Feyre nodded enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up at the memory. “The food was amazing. Every dish was like a work of art. She really has a talent, doesn’t she?”

Mor, who was lounging on one of the couches, joined in with a grin. “That’s not even the half of it. Y/N’s got restaurants all over Prythian—one in each court, if you can believe it. She’s become a bit of a legend in the culinary world.”

Azriel’s heart sank further as they continued to praise you, each word driving the knife deeper into his chest. It wasn’t that he disagreed with them—he knew you were remarkable, talented, someone to be admired. But right now, every mention of your name was like salt in a wound that was already festering.

Cassian, who had been listening with a smirk on his face, finally spoke up, his tone playful. “Sounds like Az here missed out on one hell of a meal tonight. Maybe he’ll have to go back and get a taste of what everyone’s raving about.”

Azriel tensed, the comment hitting far too close to home. He knew Cassian was just joking, but the implication—the reminder of what had happened tonight—was too much to bear. Without a word, he pushed himself up from his chair, his movements abrupt enough to draw everyone’s attention.

“Az?” Feyre called out, concern lacing her voice as she watched him head for the door. “Are you alright?”

He didn’t trust himself to respond. Instead, he muttered something about needing some air and quickly left the room, the weight of their gazes heavy on his back as he made his escape.

As the door closed behind him, an uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Everyone exchanged glances, clearly taken aback by Azriel’s sudden departure.

“What’s gotten into him?” Rhysand wondered aloud, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Cassian, never one to let an opportunity for humor pass by, snorted and shook his head. “Probably just realized he’s been a brooding mess all night and couldn’t handle the idea of someone actually having a good time.”

Mor chuckled, though there was a trace of worry in her eyes. “Or maybe he just can’t handle the fact that Y/N’s cooking is so damn good, it knocked him off his game.”

Rhysand sighed, glancing toward the door Azriel had just walked through. “He’s been off since he got back tonight. Maybe something happened.”

Feyre bit her lip, her expression softening. “I hope he’s alright. He seemed… different.”

Cassian, ever the optimist, leaned back in his chair with a lazy grin. “He’ll be fine. Az is tougher than all of us combined. He just needs some time to brood in his room, and he’ll be back to his grumpy self in no time.”

The group shared a few more laughs at Azriel’s expense, but the concern in their eyes never fully faded. They all knew Azriel well enough to understand that when he withdrew like this, it meant something was seriously bothering him.

Azriel’s footsteps were heavy as he made his way to his room, the quiet of the hallway amplifying the thoughts swirling in his mind. As soon as he entered, he shut the door behind him and leaned against it, closing his eyes as he tried to block out the noise, the chaos of emotions inside him.

He couldn’t shake the feeling of your hand in his, the way the bond had snapped into place like it had always been there, waiting. The connection was undeniable, and yet… you had denied it. Denied him.

Why? The question gnawed at him, refusing to let him rest. He had seen the recognition in your eyes, the brief moment when you had felt it too. But then, you had shut down, shut him out as if the bond meant nothing.

It was more than just confusing—it was painful. Azriel had spent centuries in the shadows, watching from the sidelines as his friends found their mates, found love. He had accepted his place, accepted that perhaps it wasn’t meant for him. And then, in the span of a heartbeat, everything had changed. You had changed it.

And now… now he was left in this strange limbo, caught between the undeniable pull of the bond and the walls you had erected between you.

Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides as he fought the urge to storm back to your restaurant, to demand answers, to make you acknowledge what had happened. But he knew he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t force you to accept the bond, couldn’t force you to feel something you clearly weren’t ready to face.

With a frustrated sigh, Azriel pushed off the door and crossed the room, heading to the window that overlooked Velaris. The city was peaceful, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, but his mind was anything but. He rested his forehead against the cool glass, his eyes scanning the distant lights of the city below.

“Why?” he whispered into the empty room, his voice tinged with a desperation he rarely allowed himself to feel. “Why won’t you let me in?”

But the night offered no answers, only the quiet whisper of the wind as it brushed against the windowpane.

—

The next day passed in a blur. You threw yourself into your work, letting the familiar rhythm of chopping, stirring, and plating distract you from the turmoil brewing inside. The restaurant had been busy, as always, with customers filling every table, their laughter and chatter echoing through the dining room. But despite the bustle, you couldn’t shake the heavy weight in your chest—the bond that you were trying so desperately to ignore.

When the last customer had left, you sent your staff home, insisting that you would handle the closing on your own. You needed the time alone, needed to clear your head without the distraction of others around. As the front door clicked shut behind the last of your employees, you finally allowed yourself to breathe.

The kitchen was quiet now, save for the soft sound of the knife in your hand as you prepped ingredients for the next day. The rhythmic motion of slicing through vegetables was soothing, almost meditative. But as you worked, you couldn’t help but feel the tension still coiled tight in your chest.

You were focused on the task at hand, chopping carrots with practiced precision, when a voice cut through the silence, making you freeze in place.

“I bet you could be good with a sword with how you work that knife,” came the familiar, deep voice, tinged with a hint of amusement. “Personally, I wouldn’t want to be those carrots.”

Your hand stilled mid-slice, the knife hovering just above the cutting board. You knew that voice all too well—Azriel.

Slowly, you turned to face him, finding him standing just inside the doorway to the kitchen, his expression guarded but his eyes full of determination. He had changed out of his usual leathers, dressed instead in a simple tunic and trousers, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his gaze.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension from the previous night hung heavy in the air, thick and suffocating. You could feel the bond thrumming faintly between you, a constant reminder of the connection you were trying so hard to deny.

But you knew why he was here. You had been avoiding him all day, refusing to even think about the conversation you knew was coming. But now, with the restaurant empty and the two of you alone, there was no escaping it.

You set the knife down on the counter, wiping your hands on a nearby towel as you steeled yourself for what was about to happen.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay calm as you faced Azriel. The tension in the room was almost palpable, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between you. You had been dreading this conversation, but there was no avoiding it now.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” you said, your voice firm, though you could hear the tremor in it. “We can’t do this, Azriel.”

His brow furrowed, confusion flashing in his eyes. “Why not? Y/N, you felt it too. The bond—it snapped into place. We can’t just ignore that.”

You shook your head, your heart aching at the look on his face. “I’m not ignoring it. But I can’t—I won’t act on it. Not when Elain… Not when she’s been trying so hard to win you over.”

Azriel’s eyes widened in realization, and he took a step closer to you, his expression softening as he reached out. “Y/N, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Elain wasn’t trying to win me over… not in the way you think.”

You hesitated, frowning as you tried to make sense of his words. “What do you mean? She’s been telling me everything, Azriel. How she’s been trying to get your attention, how much she cares about you… I can’t do that to her. I won’t be the one to hurt her like that.”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, clearly frustrated but determined to set things right. “Y/N, you don’t have the full story. Elain… she’s not interested in me like that. She’s been trying to make Lucien jealous.”

You blinked, taken aback by his words. “Lucien? But… he’s her mate. Why would she do that?”

Azriel nodded, his expression softening as he saw the confusion in your eyes. “Yes, he’s her mate. But they’ve been going through a rough patch lately. Lucien’s duties as emissary for the Night Court have kept him away, and Elain’s been feeling… neglected. She thought that by spending time with me, by pretending there was something more between us, she could get a reaction out of him. It was never about me, Y/N. It was always about Lucien.”

You felt your heart drop as the realization hit you. “So, you were just helping her as a friend?”

Azriel nodded again, his gaze steady as he took a step closer to you. “Exactly. I was only doing this to help her. I never had feelings for her in that way, and she knows that. We were just… playing a part to get Lucien’s attention.”

You swallowed hard, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place. “She didn’t tell me any of this.”

“She probably didn’t want to worry you,” Azriel said gently. “Or maybe she wasn’t ready to admit it to herself. But I promise you, Y/N, there’s nothing between Elain and me. There never was. She’s still trying to figure things out with Lucien, and I was just trying to help her.”

You looked away, your mind racing to process everything Azriel was telling you. You had been so sure, so convinced that you were protecting Elain by shutting Azriel out. But now, with this new information, everything felt uncertain, like the ground had shifted beneath your feet.

“Azriel, I…” you started, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond. You had built up walls around your heart, walls meant to protect both you and Elain from the pain of betrayal. But now those walls were crumbling, leaving you vulnerable and confused.

Azriel took another step closer, his voice gentle as he spoke. “Y/N, please. Don’t shut me out. Let’s talk about this—really talk. Give me a chance to show you that this bond isn’t something to be feared. It’s something that could be… everything.”

You stood there, trying to process everything Azriel had just told you. The confusion, the guilt, the realization that you had misunderstood everything—it all came crashing down at once. You looked away from Azriel, your gaze dropping to the floor as you struggled to make sense of it all.

“Okay,” you finally muttered, more to yourself than to him. “Now I actually feel like a dumbass.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you cringed internally. But when you glanced back up at Azriel, you found him staring at you with wide eyes for a moment—before a warm, rich laugh escaped him. It was a sound you hadn’t expected, a sound that cut through the tension and made your own lips twitch into a reluctant smile.

Azriel shook his head, still chuckling softly. “You’re not a dumbass, Y/N. Just… someone who cares a lot about her friend.”

You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders relaxing slightly as the weight of the misunderstanding began to lift. But even with the air between you lightened, you couldn’t shake the lingering worry, the uncertainty of what this all meant.

“I just… I don’t know you that well,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, more hesitant. “And this bond… it’s a lot to take in. I was so worried about Elain’s feelings that I didn’t even stop to think about how I felt. About how to navigate this.”

Azriel’s expression softened further, and he took a careful step closer, making sure not to crowd you. “I understand. The bond is… overwhelming, especially when it comes out of nowhere. And I know we don’t know each other well yet, but that’s something we can work on. We don’t have to rush into anything, Y/N. We can take this one step at a time, if that’s what you need.”

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze fully for the first time since the bond had snapped. There was no pressure in his eyes, no demand—just a quiet patience that made your heart ache with a strange mix of relief and something else, something warmer.

“But… what if this doesn’t work?” you asked, your voice small, the fear you had been trying to suppress finally finding its way out. “What if I can’t be what you need?”

Azriel’s eyes softened even more, and he shook his head gently. “Y/N, you don’t have to be anything but yourself. The bond doesn’t demand perfection—it’s just a connection, a starting point. We figure the rest out together.”

You swallowed, feeling the sincerity in his words. The fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of your mind, but it was tempered now by something else—a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, this could work.

“Okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, but Azriel caught it nonetheless.

He smiled softly, his wings shifting slightly as if in relief. “Okay,” he echoed. “One step at a time.”

For a moment, you both stood there in the quiet of the kitchen, the bond humming faintly between you. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t without its complications, but it was something. And for the first time since the bond had snapped, you felt like maybe you could handle this—together.

Azriel extended his hand, not as a demand, but as an offer. “How about we start with something simple? A walk, maybe? Just to talk, get to know each other.”

You hesitated for a moment, the anxiety still lingering, but then you nodded slowly, reaching out to take his hand. His grip was warm, reassuring, and as his fingers closed around yours, you felt a little of that fear ease away.

“Yeah,” you agreed, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “A walk sounds good.”

And as you both stepped out of the kitchen, hand in hand, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe—just maybe—this was the beginning of something worth taking a chance on.

#azriel fic #rhysand #azriel #cassian #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #sword #a court of thorns and roses #acotar series #acotar fanfiction #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar x reader #acotar x you #elain

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probablybadrpgideas · 2 years ago

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THINGS I AM UNREASONABLY ANNOYED ABOUT BY GAME SYSTEM

D&D: Please put a disclaimer that you are not a universal system. Every time I see someone try to do a political mystery game in D&D, I take 3d10 psychic damage and have to make a death saving throw.

Pathfinder: Look. If i wanted to play a game about fighting Cthulhu there is an extremely famous game specifically designed around doing that. Literally no-one is ever going to say "Wow, I want to play a Cthulhu themed game! Time to stat up a musical halfling from a magical fantasy land!".

Chronicles Of Darkness: Just admit no-one uses any of your rules. You have Social Door Rules and Integrity Conditions and Corruption Levels and I bet at most 50% of COD players could tell me which of those I made up. Just admit people aren't dressing up as Alucard The Bringer Of Shadows because they want to sit down and do calculus.

World Of Darkness: You know that old guy who's still doing his job even though he is way too old to do it any more, but he's now an institution so you can't get rid of him? Like that. The 90s called and they want literally everything about this back.

Call Of Cthulhu: I appreciate the commitment to authenticity, but maybe stop hiring actual disgraced mental asylum directors from the 1920s to design your sanity system?

GURPS: Look. Look. Listen. We both know that you just want to write history textbooks. These are history textbooks with a few stat blocks begrudgingly put in. If you just give me a book on early Chinese history I will read it and go "ah, very interesting!". You don't need to put in a list of character choices. We're all nerds. We'll read them. Live your best life.

Powered By The Apocalypse: I actually can't think of anything wrong with PBTA. That's not a bit, this is literally the perfect system. Take notes everyone else.

Mutants and Masterminds/Heroes System: Your systems have probably the most customizable character creation in the world and you both just make reskins of the Justice League over and over again. Maybe we only need one "thinly veiled copyrighted characters" setting? You can fight over it once you decipher your combat mechanics.

FATE: Ok I won't lie, I have no idea how the fuck FATE works. I have read the rules repeatedly and played three games and I still have no idea what invoking an aspect means. I don't know why. I grasped the rules of fucking Nobilis but this one just psychologically eludes me. This is more a problem with me I guess, but I'm still annoyed.

Warhammer 40k: Have you considered spending less on avocado toast? Then you might be able to afford to charge less for things?

Exalted: Apart from the lore, the setting, the mechanics, the metaplot, the character creation and the dodgy narrative implications, I can't think of anything to improve here.

#rpg #roleplaying games #can't wait to see which of these get me cancelled #ableism cw

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jellyfishsthings · 1 month ago

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Wayne Diaries

WARNINGS: this came to me in a dream, geniually a crack fic, for the general plot it follows the story of the reader, who finds out is the child of Bruce and Diana, a drunken one night stand that resulted in her and now she tries to be a part of the family, also Bruce and Selina have twins named Amanda and Martha, two three year olds who run the monor like mafia bosses, also the episodes where they mention their alter egos wouldn't be posted .... that's pretty much it, hope you enjoy it because it is the first fic I have written for them and there will be more in the future hopefully

navigation , dc navigation

You hadn’t known what to expect when Diana led you up the steps of Wayne Manor. You’d met Bruce once—formally. Stiff handshake, brief glance, and the quiet kind of gravity that pulled every room into his orbit. You didn’t know how to look him in the eye for too long without feeling like you were being x-rayed. It had been too hard already to show vulnerability to Diana, the mother you just met two months ago.

Now he was your father, your biological father.

Now you were living in his house. The gates of Wayne Manor loomed ahead, all ornate iron and mystery, as if the building itself had opinions—and none of them were welcoming. You took a breath, squared your shoulders, and reminded yourself: you deserve to be here.

You held your overnight bag like a lifeline as Alfred opened the massive front doors.

"If it helps," he said with a soft, knowing smile, "the rest of them felt this way too."

"Terrified?" you asked.

He inclined his head. "More like quietly bracing for impact."

As he led you through the halls—each one more intimidating than the last—you heard a crash, followed by a shout.

"Damn it, Dick, that was antique!"

"Then it shouldn’t have been in the middle of the cartwheel zone!"

You turned the corner and saw what could only be described as a chaotic gymnastics battle royale. Dick Grayson was mid-flip, Donna Troy held up a scorecard that read “9.2,” and Damian Wayne stood beside her, giving half-hearted commentary into a foam mic with “Wayne Diary” painted on it.

"You’ll want to go slow on the introductions," Alfred said lightly, as if he wasn’t leading you directly into a war zone. “The family can be... enthusiastic.”

"Stick the landing, Donna!" Dick Grayson shouted, standing barefoot on the coffee table.

Donna Troy, who was apparently not above flipping through midair in the middle of a mansion, did a near-perfect roundoff back handspring, skidding to a halt in front of the fireplace. She looked smug.

“Ten out of ten,” Damian said, holding up a cardboard sign scrawled in red Sharpie.

“That’s not even laminated,” Steph complained from behind a tripod.

Tim, seated beside her and carefully adjusting a microphone, looked up and waved a little. “New subject in the frame. Confirming visual. Steph, start rolling again.”

You stood frozen. Damian turned.

“You're new.”

You nodded slowly.

He turned to Steph. “She’s new.”

“I know, I invited her to star in today’s episode.” Steph grinned wickedly and waved her phone like it was a magic wand. "Smile for the first ever crossover of Wayne Diary: Myth Meets Mayhem."

You were still processing that when Jason burst into the room wearing a trench coat, sunglasses, and what you sincerely hoped was a fake mustache. He collapsed onto the couch.

“Abort. Abort the public polling segment. Gotham is unwell.”

“Did you ask the question?” Tim asked.

Jason nodded solemnly. “I asked thirty people if they’d date Bruce Wayne. The answers ranged from ‘absolutely, that man screams damaged billionaire’ to ‘only if he keeps the eyeliner.’”

You turned slowly. “Why would—does he wear eyeliner?”

Cass silently slid past the camera, holding up a makeup palette.

You rubbed your temples. Steph trained the camera on your face.

“On a scale of one to accidentally drinking glitter glue, how overwhelmed are you?”

You sighed. “Somewhere between ‘this is a sitcom’ and ‘I should’ve stayed on the orphanage.’”

Stephanie returned to her position which was being perched on the arm of a couch like a gargoyle, after a solemn nod and warm smile. Tim sat beside her with a headset on and a laptop open, whispering things like, “Okay, if she survives the intro, I say we move to confessionals by lunch.”

You just blinked.

“Welcome to Wayne Diary,” Steph said brightly. “You’re officially part of the content pipeline now.”

“Content—what?”

Before you could protest, you were handed a mug that said “I Survived Wayne Brunch,” shoved onto a beanbag, and positioned under soft lighting.

“Alright,” Steph said. “Question one: are you more terrified of Bruce, Diana, or group dinners?”

You stared at the camera, at the siblings surrounding you, and muttered, “Yes.”

The first official week in the manor was like living in a reality show that refused to tell you the rules.

Your room was larger than any apartment you’d ever seen, but the noise bled through every wall. Somewhere, someone was always arguing, laughing, or accidentally blowing something up in the name of "science" (read: Tim).

You had developed a theory—chaos levels increased exponentially in this household based on the number of Wayne's awake at any given time.

Cass appeared in your doorway silently one morning, handed you a mug that said “World’s Okayest Sister,” and pointed to the living room. You followed.

Cass and Steph had set up an interview corner. They’d hung a soft curtain as a backdrop, adjusted the lighting just so, and were prepping cue cards while Tim fiddled with the sound system.

🎥 Episode Title: "Meet the Myth Baby"

Shot: Close-up of you in front of the fireplace, bundled in a hoodie five sizes too big—possibly Dick’s—looking equal parts tired and overwhelmed.

You: “I don��t even know where they get some of this stuff. Tim asked me how I felt about vengeance. Like, on a scale from ‘meek librarian’ to ‘season two anti-hero.’ I’m just trying to figure out how to turn on the shower without it talking back.”

🎥 Cut to: Jason sipping coffee.

Jason: “She’s cool. A little shell shocked. She has that look I had when I first moved in, like someone switched my blood with espresso and said, ‘Run.’”

🎥 Back to you, wide-eyed.

You: “Someone put a batarang in the cereal box.”

🎥 Steph (off-camera): “That’s Bruce’s love language.”

🎥 Clip: Damian sprints through the hall, your book in hand.

You (chasing him): “Damian, give it back or I swear on God I’ll put Nair in your shampoo!”

It was peaceful. Too peaceful.

You were curled in the library, reading quietly, sunlight pooling over the pages of a rare Themysciran text. Then the air shifted.

Damian appeared in the doorway like a cat with malicious intent.

“I’m borrowing that,” he declared.

“No, you’re not.”

He lunged.

You shrieked and took off after him, shouting colorful curses. He darted past Alfred, who sighed but did not intervene. Past Jason, who immediately started filming.

"Ten bucks says she tackles him before the koi pond."

Tim: “Already betting on chapter titles: ‘Library Larceny Ends in Near Drowning.’”

You finally tackled Damian mid-hallway. The book flew. Cass caught it one-handed.

Donna looked up from her coffee. “Do you all do this daily?”

Cassie: “Hourly.”

🎥 Cut to the twins, Amanda and Martha, in their own ‘segment’ holding juice boxes.

Amanda: “We saw her chase Dami with a sandal.”

Martha: “She said a bad word. Two of them.”

🎥 Back to you in confessional, face in hands.

You: “I’m not a fighter. I’m a reader. I wanted a library card, not a grappling hook.”

🎥 Episode Title: “Operation: Parental Recon”

Cass had stolen Bruce’s calendar.

“Why is that... concerning?” you had asked.

“Because it says ‘dinner with C,’” Tim replied, whispering like you were in a spy movie.

Jason, holding binoculars and wearing a fake mustache, explained: “That’s obviously Selina. Which means they’re on a date. And it is our civic duty to observe and gather intel.”

Cue the worst stakeout in Wayne history. All of you in terrible disguises—Jason wore a neon tracksuit, Cass had a fake baby doll strapped to her chest, Steph tried to pass you off as a foreign exchange student named “Philippa,” and Damian wore a fedora and trench coat two sizes too big.

🎥 Cut to: the group huddled in a car, parked awkwardly across from the restaurant.

Dick: “Do you think she’s gonna propose?”

Cass (writing on a notepad): ‘Selina looked at Bruce and laughed. Record: 2 laughs, 1 almost-smile.’

Steph: “Their server is named Dante. That’s a date name.”

You: “This is absurd.”

🎥 Cut to: Amanda and Martha in the backseat with their faces pressed to the window.

Amanda: “They kissed! Blegh!”

Martha: “Nuh uh. He just did the bat-glare.”

Back at the manor, everyone sat around the dining table watching the raw footage.

Selina: “You filmed my date?”

Jason: “In fairness, you’ve done worse to us.”

Selina: “True. Carry on.”

🎥 Episode Title: “From Mascara to Manor: Is This Real Life?”

You sat in front of the camera, fingers knotted together.

“I didn’t grow up with this. With any of this.” You laughed awkwardly, pushing hair out of your face. “Sometimes I feel like I’m dreaming. Like if I blink too fast, I’ll wake up in a dorm room or something.”

You exhaled slowly.

“I don’t know if I fit. They’re all so loud. So connected. They move around each other like magnets and mess and muscle memory.”

You paused, eyes flickering off-camera.

“But... sometimes I catch them watching me. Not in a creepy way. Just like... they’re waiting. Like they’re trying to make space without saying it out loud.”

You smiled, just a little.

“Maybe I’ll find my place in the noise.”

🎥 Comment pinned by WayneDiaryOfficial: “You already have.”

Dinner was never normal, but tonight was... special.

Yara (off camera): Here we see two very stubborn people trying to parent their long lost child

Dick (also off camera): In this battle of wits who would win as they desperately try to make up for the long lost time

🎥 Shooting like it’s a wild animal documentary

Bruce sat stiffly at the head of the table. Diana sat beside him, her posture regal and her expression unreadable. Amanda and Martha were smearing mashed potatoes on each other.

“I think she needs more structure,” Bruce muttered, glancing at you.

“She has discipline,” Diana replied. “What she needs is freedom. And more protein.”

“I allow freedom.”

“You installed tracking in her shoes.”

Bruce blinked. “Safety protocol.”

Selina sipped her wine across from them. “You’re both wrong. She needs a punching bag, a decent therapist, and a new pair of boots.”

Steph: “That’s a blog title if I’ve ever heard one.”

Amanda threw a pea. It hit Tim square in the forehead.

“Why do they have better aim than me?” he whispered.

Selina deadpanned: “Genetics, honey.”

🎥 Episode Title: “Vigilante Thirst Traps & Fishbowl Dares”

One morning you woke up to find Steph and Tim knocking urgently.

“Emergency filming. No time to explain.”

You were half-dragged downstairs where a table had been set up. In the center: a fishbowl filled with folded papers.

“Wayne Diary: Lightning Round,” Steph announced. “Each paper is a challenge. You read it, you do it.”

You pulled the first one: “Dramatically re-enact Alfred scolding Bruce in Shakespearean style.”

You stood tall. “Master Wayne, wherefore dost thou insist on brooding in shadows, clad in cape and consequence?!”

Cass clapped. Tim cried actual tears.

Jason pulled: “Ask strangers what they’d name Bruce’s next child.”

Twenty minutes later, you were all in the park.

“Sir,” Jason asked, “if Bruce Wayne had yet another child, what should their name be?”

The man answered, deadpan, “Regret.”

🎥 Episode Title: “Jason Todd vs. The Streets of Gotham (and Loses)”

“Okay,” Steph said, pressing record, her grin borderline villainous. “New episode. Jason goes undercover to ask Gotham citizens the real questions. Since you all liked the last one so much, we simply had to deliver.”

Jason adjusted his oversized trench coat and dollar-store sunglasses. “I feel like I’m about to get arrested and develop trust issues.”

“Lean into the chaos,” Tim said from behind the camera. “Now go ask strangers if they’d date our dad.”

Jason blinked. “This family needs therapy.”

🎬 Cut to: Jason approaching a woman outside a bakery.

Jason: “Excuse me, would you date Bruce Wayne?”

The woman looked him up and down. “If he came with a dog.”

Jason perked up. “Like Ace?”

She shook her head. “No, like a golden retriever. Something emotionally available.”

🎬 Cut to: Jason interviewing a guy holding a skateboard.

Jason: “Bruce Wayne. Date or ditch?”

The guy smirked. “Ditch. Too broody. I’d date Nightwing, though. Have you seen those glutes?”

Jason stared into the camera like it had betrayed him.

🎬 Cut to: a goth teen with black lipstick.

Jason: “Thoughts on Bruce Wayne?”

Goth teen: “He looks like he eats cold steak for breakfast and listens to Gregorian chants in the shower.”

Jason: “He does.”

🎬 Jason to an old man in a park.

Old Man: “Bruce Wayne? I thought he was a vampire. Still looks 35.”

Jason: (sighs) “You’re not wrong.”

🎬 Cut to: Jason trudging home, trench coat flapping dramatically, narration playing over the footage.

Jason (V.O.): “Today I learned Gotham has opinions. And those opinions are brutal.”

🎬 Back at the manor. Everyone is gathered around the couch, watching the footage on the big screen.

You’re half-sprawled across the couch with a bowl of popcorn. Amanda and Martha are using Damian’s head as a footrest. He’s too distracted laughing to protest.

Bruce, standing with arms crossed, watches silently.

Jason groans. “I have been emotionally destroyed by ten strangers, a senior citizen, and a goth with better eyeliner than me.”

“Speaking of eyeliner,” Bruce mutters, eyes narrowing. “Why am I always wearing it in these clips?”

Cass held up a sparkly eyeshadow palette triumphantly. “Aesthetic.”

Tim chimed in, “Technically it’s ‘Wayne Diary Visual Cohesion Protocol #3: Everyone Looks Hot, Even Dad.’”

Selina, sipping wine, leaned back with a smug grin. “It’s called branding, darling. You're lucky Cass didn't give you highlighter too.”

Bruce turned slowly to Cass.

Cass blinked innocently.

Jason waved toward the screen. “The Nightwing glutes guy will haunt me for life.”

Dick, casually flexing beside the fridge: “I mean, he’s not wrong.”

Stephanie cackled. “You’re never recovering from this, Jay.”

“I want a refund on this family,” Jason said dramatically. “Where’s the customer service number?”

You threw a pillow at his head. “It's the Bat-Signal.”

🎥 Bonus Segment: Watching Vigilante Thirst Traps

The idea had seemed innocent enough. Maybe even fun.

You, Tim, and Steph were reviewing video ideas when the concept came up: Reacting to vigilante thirst traps. It was framed as satire. Analysis. Research.

It was a disaster.

Cassie Sandsmark had joined for this one, parked beside you with popcorn while Donna stood behind the couch laughing uncontrollably.

"Okay, first up," Steph said, playing the first clip. “Nightwing.”

Dick swung through the rain, shirtless, backlit by the Gotham skyline. Dramatic orchestral music swelled.

“Artistic!” Dick shouted from across the room.

Cass wrote something in a little notebook and showed it to you. It read: 9/10. Rain adds dramatic tension.

Next came Red Hood, slow-motion walking through an explosion.

Jason: “Hell yeah.”

Cass: 8.5/10. No helmet = more face time.

Selina strolled by, picked up a cracker, and said, “You’re lucky. Your mom would never let me do this with Diana’s footage.”

Donna: “You tried?”

Selina: “She caught me. Lassoed me. Long story.”

Bruce (walking by): “You’re all grounded.”

🎥 Five minutes later (Spongebob meme voice)

“You guys,” he said. “You GUYS. I just found something… cursed.”

Tim squinted. “Worse than that ‘Gotham’s Got Talent’ clip of Dick trying to backflip while holding a mic?”

“Worse,” Jason said gravely, casting the video to the big screen.

The title alone made your stomach twist: “BatDaddy Energy | Gotham’s Dark Snack 💦🦇🔥”

Steph: “No. No. No—”

Too late. The video played.

It was a 30-second fan edit. Batman landing dramatically on a rooftop. Slow-motion cape billows. Close-ups of his jawline under moody lighting. That one shot where rain streamed down his cowl, making him look like a shampoo commercial for trauma.

Set to some deeply questionable music—low bass, breathy vocals, and moans in the background.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, clutching a pillow to your face.

Cass actually recoiled.

Damian made a strangled sound. “Whoever made this belongs in Arkham.”

Dick walked in just as the beat dropped and a slow zoom on Bruce’s rear filled the screen.

“Why do I hear boss music—oh GOD,” he gagged.

Martha toddled in with Amanda behind her. They stopped mid-run.

Amanda blinked. “Is that... Daddy?”

Martha frowned. “Why is he sad-sexy?”

The room fell into pure chaos.

Steph dropped her phone like it burned her. “I’m getting bleach. For my eyes.”

Tim stood, dramatically unplugging the screen. “Society is broken. There is no redemption.”

Jason was on the floor wheezing. “Dark snack! Who let them say that?!”

Cass, blinking slowly, held up her notepad: ‘Therapy. Gotham needs therapy.’

You, clutching your stomach from laughter and horror, managed: “The comments are worse. Someone said they wanted to be ‘grappled like a criminal.’”

Dick flinched. “No. Absolutely not. I'm done. I’m moving to Blüdhaven and changing my name.”

In the corner, Damian was furiously typing on his tablet. “I am tracking the IP address of this monstrosity and reporting them for war crimes.”

Selina peeked into the room, coffee in hand. “Did you find the video?”

Jason pointed at her. “YOU KNEW?!”

She shrugged, sipping. “I have fan edits too. Way better lighting.”

Bruce walked in just then, perfectly timing his dramatic entrances as always. “Why is the living room in an uproar?”

Everyone fell silent.

Martha, very seriously, turned to him. “Daddy... are you a snack?”

Bruce stared at her. Then on the screen. Then to all of you.

He turned around and walked out without a word.

Jason fell over laughing again. “HE SAID NOTHING. NOTHING. HE ACCEPTED IT.”

Steph, red-faced from laughing, muttered, “This better go in the Wayne Diary: Trauma Dump Edition.”

🎥 Episode Title: “What Do You MEAN You Used to Be a Spy?!”

It started like any normal Thursday—if normal Thursdays involved balancing a toddler on your hip while Steph tried to teach the twins how to do a TikTok dance and Tim muttered about shadowbanning.

Then Alfred walked in with tea.

“Alfred,” you said sweetly, “how do you stay so calm?”

He poured tea into your cup. “Well, I once disarmed a nuclear warhead using only a bobby pin and a dead man’s watch, so your sibling drama rarely registers.”

You blinked. “You what?”

Jason froze mid-dance. “Repeat that.”

“Oh, yes. That was in Budapest. Or was it Marseilles?”

Cassie leaned over. “You disarmed a bomb?”

“Not just a bomb,” Alfred corrected. “A diplomatic incident. Also a tiger. Long story.”

Everyone stared.

Dick: “You’re telling me you’ve had more near-death experiences than Bruce?”

Alfred smiled kindly. “Child, I trained him.”

Steph whispered, “He’s cooler than all of us.”

Amanda clapped. “Alfie is a ninja!”

“Please,” Alfred said, exiting the room. “I was MI-6. Ninjas have better PR.”

You looked into the camera, stunned. “We need a spin-off.”

🎥 Cut to: a logo idea sketched by the twins that read: ‘Alfred: Gentleman of Shadows.’

The camera turned on mid-commotion.

Steph was holding the mic upside down, Tim was adjusting the lighting with scientific intensity, and you were on the couch nursing a mug of tea Alfred had brought in ten minutes ago.

“Alright,” Jason said, sitting backwards in a chair like a troubled substitute teacher. “Today’s theme: Alfred tells us something wild and pretends it’s normal.”

You blinked. “That’s... a theme?”

“It’s a lifestyle,” Dick said, entering with a tray of cookies. “Alfred has lore, and it’s terrifying.”

Tim raised a finger. “Remember when he casually said he used to fence with royalty in his youth, and none of us questioned it?”

“Or when he mentioned being shot in the leg in 1974 but still baked a soufflé?”

You looked toward the kitchen, where Alfred was calmly dusting powdered sugar on pastries.

“Wait, we’re filming this without asking him?”

“Oh, he knows,” Cass said from her perch on the back of the couch. “He always knows.”

And then, like a storm in a tuxedo, Alfred entered the room with a fresh pot of tea.

“Ah,” he said, “the children have gathered to procrastinate productively.”

Steph turned the camera toward him. “Alfred, what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”

He didn’t blink. “Define ‘craziest.’”

“You pick,” Jason said, crossing his arms.

Alfred poured tea with perfect calm. “Well. There was the time I impersonated a dead Russian diplomat to smuggle classified information out of Geneva.”

You choked on your tea. “I’m sorry—what?!”

“Oh yes,” he continued. “Quite the mess. Had to fake a limp and everything.”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “You’ve never told me this.”

Alfred offered him a cookie. “Because, Master Damian, I knew you would attempt to recreate it for sport.”

Tim had stopped breathing.

Jason leaned forward. “Please. What else.”

“Well, there was also the time Master Bruce disappeared in the Himalayas, and I had to arm-wrestle a monk to retrieve him.”

Bruce—who had just walked into the room unnoticed—froze mid-step.

“That never happened,” Bruce said stiffly.

Alfred sipped his tea. “Then where did I get the bruise, Master Wayne?”

Steph was vibrating with excitement. “We need flashbacks. Can we do flashbacks? Dramatic re-enactments?”

Cass raised a hand, deadpan. “I’ll be the monk.”

Amanda peeked in from behind the doorway. “What’s a Himalaya?”

Martha followed. “Is it where Daddy gets sad and disappears?”

Bruce turned to leave.

“Again.” Jason snorted.

But Alfred wasn’t done.

“Oh, and then there was the time I buried a safe house in Prague beneath a fake antique shop. Very convincing work. I believe Interpol is still baffled.”

Tim finally broke. “YOU BUILT A WHAT?”

“I was bored. And the wine cellar was lacking.”

You couldn’t breathe. “Alfred. Have you considered writing a memoir?”

“I have,” he replied. “But I fear it would be classified as fantasy fiction.”

Steph clutched the camera. “This is the best episode we’ve ever done. I’m naming it Alfred: The Lore Files.”

Jason turned toward you. “Okay. Top ten facts. Go.”

You raised a finger. “One, Alfred could kill us all and no one would suspect him.”

Cass: “Two, he’s probably already done that. Temporarily.”

Tim: “Three, he casually manipulated the stock market once.”

Alfred looked mildly pleased. “That was a good quarter.”

Dick: “Four, he’s the only person who can yell at Bruce and survive.”

Bruce sighed loudly in the hallway.

“Five,” Steph added, “he has royal tea gossip and refuses to spill it unless we’re bleeding.”

Jason nodded solemnly. “Six, he once stared a hitman into changing careers.”

“Seven,” you whispered, “he never trips over Legos. Ever.”

Martha walked in with a crayon drawing. “Uncle Alfie’s magic.”

“Indeed,” he said, taking it gently. “And magically immune to nonsense. Now go draw the Manor without adding a disco ball.”

Everyone watched him leave in awe.

“Was that—” Tim whispered. “Was that... the best episode ever?”

Steph hit stop on the recording. “We’re putting this one behind a paywall. Alfred content is premium.”

You stared at the now-empty hallway.

“I’m scared to ask what he did before becoming a butler.”

Jason grinned. “A menace. Clearly.”

And as the episode faded to black, Cass held up a sign she’d written in bold Sharpie:

“THE BATFAMILY FEARS ONE MAN — AND HE SERVES THEM SCONES.”

🎥 Episode Title: “Who Gets the Rose? (And the Batmobile)”

The living room no longer resembled a place for human habitation. Furniture had been shoved to the walls. Fairy lights tangled with batarangs dangled from the ceiling. The fireplace blazed, illuminating a very suspicious red carpet rolled out across the floor.

“Tell me again why this is happening?” you asked, leaning over the kitchen island, munching an apple with a vague sense of dread.

“Because Bruce hasn’t emotionally engaged with a woman onscreen in years,” Steph replied, clapping a headset onto her ears as she adjusted the tripod. “We’re doing the world a service.”

“Also because Jason has a tux and no shame,” added Tim, already wiring a mic into Jason’s lapel.

Jason grinned at the camera and struck a pose. “Tonight on Bat-Bachelor, we take Gotham’s most emotionally unavailable billionaire and pair him with the city’s most dramatic disasters. Who will win the key to his armored heart?”

From stage left (aka the hallway), Dick entered in a synthetic wig that belonged in a dumpster fire, tottering in heels he absolutely couldn’t walk in.

“I’m Veronica Steele,” he purred, striking a pose. “I’m mysterious, emotionally guarded, and I bake. Brownies that could kill a man.”

“I want her to win,” Steph whispered, almost reverently. Donna and Cassie provide color commentary: “He looked at her once in 2006. That’s basically marriage.”

Next came Cass, gliding in like a silent knife in the dark. She said nothing. Simply placed a single dagger on the coffee table, stared at Jason for ten seconds, then vanished behind the curtain again.

“Her name is Knife Girl,” Tim narrated. “Her love language is smoke bombs.”

You nearly choked on your apple.

“Next up,” Jason continued, “we have Charles Charming.”

Tim, dressed like a trust-fund magician, walked in with a cat plushie and winked. “I bring quiet nights, shared secrets, and a strict skincare routine.”

Donna entered last in a long gold dress and combat boots. “I’m not here to win. I’m here to make them all lose.”

The final rose ceremony began, with Jason dramatically holding up a plastic flower.

“Bachelor Bruce,” he intoned. “Who will you choose?”

That’s when Bruce walked into the room.

He blinked. He stared.

Dick was mid-wink, one heel kicked off. Tim was holding up the cat plush like it was Simba. Cass was halfway through rappelling down the stairwell for dramatic effect. Jason had just declared, “Tonight, we choose love... or vengeance.”

Bruce took in the scene, exhaled slowly, and asked, “Why is Dick in a wig and heels?”

Cass, from above, whispered: “Commitment.”

Without another word, Bruce turned and walked out.

Steph yelled, “ROLL CREDITS!”

🎥 Episode Title: “Hero or Himbo: The Identity Crisis Special”

The rules were simple. Steph held up a cue card that read: “Rate the vigilante footage: Hero or Himbo?”

You sat with Donna and Tim, each holding a red buzzer. A screen flickered behind you with clips queued by Alfred (unwillingly, but efficiently).

First clip: Nightwing mid-backflip in low lighting, slow-mo sparkles added by Steph.

“Hero,” Tim said immediately.

“Himbo,” you countered.

“Himbo,” Donna agreed. “That’s a showboater’s flip.”

Clip two: Red Hood leaning on his bike, helmet off, hair tousled like a shampoo commercial.

Cass buzzed in: “Hero.”

Jason appeared behind the couch. “Why is this in here?!”

Steph: “Because it got 200k views in 3 hours.”

Jason: “I was posing for intimidation.”

Steph: “Intimidating... to your fan club.”

Clip three: Wonder Woman in full armor, sword catching sunlight, walking out of flames like an apocalypse made pretty.

The room fell silent.

You slowly reached over and turned off your buzzer. “...That’s my mom.”

“New category,” Steph said, typing it on screen. “INTIMIDATING GODDESS.”

🎥 Episode Title: “Cat Class 101”

“Today’s challenge,” Selina announced, looking regal in black satin and diamond-studded earrings, “is theft.”

Everyone turned to look at her.

You raised an eyebrow. “Of what?”

She smiled. “Bruce’s favorite pen.”

“The silver one?” Damian asked.

“The one he locks in a drawer with a retinal scanner.”

The entire room collectively groaned.

“Why does he even have that?” you muttered.

Steph: “We don’t ask questions here.”

Cue training montage:

You’re all in cat ears.

Jason tiptoeing in socks.

Tim building a laser map on a tablet.

You, crawling across a marble floor whispering, “This is beneath me.”

“That pen is locked behind a biometric scanner and a drawer with titanium alloy.”

“Exactly,” Selina said, tossing you velvet gloves. “Class is in session.”

Jason tried crawling through an air vent and got stuck.

Cass knocked out three motion sensors with hairpins.

Tim hacked the scanner. “He added a heartbeat verification system?!”

Meanwhile, you baited Bruce with a fake ‘Gotham Times’ article about a stolen WayneTech prototype. As he read, Amanda walked in with her crayon drawing.

“Look, Daddy! Mommy’s punching an alien!”

He smiled faintly. That was your cue.

You slid beneath the desk, retrieved the pen, and replaced it with a carrot.

Later that night, Bruce stared at the carrot in silence.

Selina, sipping wine nearby, said, “She’s good, isn’t she?”

He didn’t respond. Just reached into a drawer behind a hidden panel.

“New pen,” he muttered. “More lasers.”

🎥 Episode Title: “Law & Disorder”

“Court is now in session!” Steph yelled, slamming a spoon against a mixing bowl before dramatically swinging a robe over her shoulders..

Cass stood silently by a projector screen with one message typed out: ‘Someone deleted my dance video. Vengeance shall be mine.’

“Objection!” Jason shouted.

“You don’t know what that means,” Tim replied.

“You don’t know me.”

Donna: “Why are you the judge?”

“Because I have the best robe.”

Cass wrote on a whiteboard: ‘It was my best routine.’

Everyone gasped.

Dick : “It was such a good routine!”

Alfred brought in tea. “Should I also bring the polygraph?”

“I can rig one!” Tim offered.

You brought out the evidence: a screenshot of the deletion time. 3:04 a.m.

Jason waved a chili-stained oven mitt. “I was cooking. Google ‘exploding crockpot fix.’”

“I did,” you said. “It was the next tab over from ‘how to delete cloud videos.’”

Dick cracked and collapsed dramatically. “IT WAS ME! I was trying to make a remix and deleted the master file! I FAILED CASS!”

Cass walked over, gave him a silent hug.

Then she turned and wrote on the board: ‘Retribution postponed.’

Steph banged her spoon again. “Court dismissed. But I’ll see you all next week for the case of Damian vs. The Lego Fire.’”

🎥 Episode Title: “Rated T for Therapy”

The camera zoomed in on Steph, who was sitting in the Batcave with a gleam in her eyes, and Tim, who looked just as evil but with a knowing, mischievous smirk.

"Alright, Batkids," Steph said, flipping through a thick binder labeled ‘Fanfic That Haunts Us’, “Tonight’s episode is about to get real uncomfortable. We're diving into the depths of the internet’s most dramatic, absurd, and confusing fanfiction.”

Steph dumped a stack of printed fanfiction on the table.

Jason: “Absolutely not.”

You picked one up and read aloud. “’Red Hood smirked, pulling her into his arms. ‘I kill for you,’ he growled.’”

Tim whispered, “Oh my god.”

Dick nodded solemnly. “I’ve read that one. It gets worse. There's a musical number.”

“Where did you even find these?” Jason asked suspiciously, sitting in the corner, clearly bracing himself for whatever horror was coming his way.

Tim tapped his tablet with exaggerated smugness. “Don’t worry, Red Hood. I made sure to find ones specifically about each of you.”

Jason paled. “Please tell me you didn’t—”

“Too late!” Steph announced dramatically. “We’re starting with you, Jay.”

Jason shot to his feet. “No. No way. I’m not doing this.”

Steph grinned. “You’re reading it aloud. Deal with it.”

She handed him a sheet of paper, and the camera zoomed in on the title: "The Vampire Barista’s Dark Brew." Jason immediately buried his face in his hands.

“I can’t… I can’t believe this exists,” he muttered.

Steph read aloud the opening line in a mocking voice: “‘The dimly lit café smelled of espresso and danger, but no one knew that the barista behind the counter was more than just a coffee expert. He was a creature of the night. A vampire, with an addiction to both blood and caffeine.’”

Jason was absolutely mortified. “I’m not doing this.”

“Too bad,” Tim said. “You’re up.”

Jason sighed dramatically, snatched the paper, and began reading, his voice dropping into the deep, brooding tone of someone who could only be described as trying too hard:

"‘The vampire barista wiped his hands on his apron, his fangs gleaming as he leaned forward. ‘Do you want the usual, or something... darker?’ he asked, his voice a low, delicious growl. The woman at the counter shivered, but not from the cold. ‘I’ll have the blood latte,’ she whispered, her voice barely audible over the steam of the espresso machine.’”

Everyone burst out laughing. Even Bruce cracked a smile behind his stoic mask.

Jason, red-faced, pushed through the increasingly ridiculous lines, each one more cringeworthy than the last. Finally, he dropped the paper with a loud sigh. “I’m done. Someone else take over.”

Steph threw her head back in laughter. “Next!”

Dick and Donna sat together, looking incredibly uncomfortable. "Why do I feel like I’m about to regret this?" Dick asked, eyeing the fanfic Steph handed him with suspicion.

“Oh, you will,” Tim said, tapping the tablet like a villain plotting doom.

The title read: “The Forbidden Circus Romance: Night of the Highwire Lovers.”

Dick read the first line aloud with dramatic flair, immediately sounding like he was taking himself way too seriously: “‘The circus was in town again, and with it, the air was thick with both magic and danger. The acrobat and the ringmaster locked eyes from across the tent, the chemistry undeniable, but forbidden. They were from two worlds that could never collide. Or could they?’”

Donna snorted. “Oh no.”

Dick continued, dramatically flipping through the pages. “'Their forbidden love burned like a firecracker in the night sky, hot, fast, and dangerously beautiful. The crowd roared, but the acrobat’s heart beat only for him—the daring ringmaster who had promised to teach her to fly... and never let her fall.'”

Donna bit her lip to stop from laughing. “Is this… is this a romance or a trapeze act gone wrong?”

Dick, trying to maintain his dignity, read another excerpt: “‘As the acrobat twirled high above the audience, the ringmaster watched with a longing that could never be fulfilled. He knew that if she fell, he would never be able to catch her... but that didn’t stop him from reaching for her anyway.’”

Donna and Dick locked eyes. “I’m regretting everything,” Dick said under his breath. “But also, that’s kind of beautiful?”

“It’s definitely dramatic,” Donna replied.

The group erupted into laughter, and even Dick couldn’t help but chuckle. “I swear, if anyone ever writes this about me in real life, I’ll leave Gotham.”

Bruce was up next. He wasn’t thrilled to be part of this, but Steph gave him a look that said, ‘You’re reading this, and you’re doing it dramatically.’

He cleared his throat and adjusted the paper. Everyone leaned forward in anticipation.

The title was unassuming. “Alfred’s Perfect Day: The Fluff Chronicles.”

Steph squinted. “This is… is this even fanfiction?”

Tim shook his head. “Apparently, Bruce has a softer side.”

Bruce stared at the first line, his voice barely above a whisper. “‘It was a quiet Sunday afternoon in Wayne Manor, the only sounds the occasional hum of the grandfather clock and the soft rustle of pages turning. Alfred was at peace, sipping tea in his favorite armchair, when a familiar voice broke the silence. ‘You seem content, Alfred,’ Bruce Wayne said, stepping into the room.’”

Everyone was staring at Bruce. “Uh… is this… is this your ideal Sunday?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Bruce didn’t even respond, continuing with the story. “‘Alfred smiled, his eyes twinkling behind the rim of his glasses. ‘I am, Master Bruce. There is nothing quite like a quiet afternoon with good tea and company.’”

“I didn’t write this,” Bruce muttered.

“Of course you didn’t,” Steph said, stifling a laugh. “But the family fluff is strong in this one.”

Bruce read on. “‘Master Bruce took a seat next to him, the warmth of the sun from the windows casting a soft glow over both men. ‘I’ve been meaning to thank you, Alfred,’ Bruce said quietly. ‘For everything you’ve done for this family.’”

You blinked. “Oh no. Wait. Everyone’s going to cry, aren’t we?”

And they did. By the time Bruce finished the story, everyone had something in their eye. Even Damian was wiping a stray tear from his cheek, trying to pretend it wasn’t happening.

“That was…” Donna started, voice cracking slightly. “Beautiful.”

Jason sniffed. “Are we going to do something about this vampire barista situation, though?”

“You can never unhear that,” Tim said, shaking his head.

Steph hit the button to stop the recording. “Best. Episode. Ever.”

Bruce set the paper down with a quiet sigh. “I’m still questioning my life choices.”

Alfred, who had walked in quietly, overheard and gave a knowing smile.

“You’re not the only one, Master Bruce,” he said, voice rich with amusement. “You’re certainly not the only one.”

Your eyes scanned another. “Why am I described as ‘a storm in silk and steel, doomed to ruin mortal men’?”

Steph: “Because the author gets you.”

Cass held up one tagged: ‘Enemies to Lovers—Nightwing x Reader x Red Hood.’

Jason: “WE’RE RELATED.”

Then Diana walked in.

She read one paragraph, paused, and calmly took the laptop.

“I’ll be speaking to their mother.”

Steph screamed: “NOOOOOOOOO!”

Everyone dived after her as Diana left the room.

🎥 Episode Title: “Can’t Stand the Heat”

The challenge: make Alfred eat your food without judging you aloud.

You were paired with Tim. Five minutes in, he set a pasta pot on fire.

“WHY IS IT ON FIRE?” you screamed.

“I DON’T KNOW, IT’S WATER.”

Jason and Steph went full spicy. Jason added a hot sauce labeled ‘Lazarus Heat.’

Damian and Cass made perfect dumplings, quietly plating them with precision. You suspected witchcraft.

Amanda and Martha made a cake with so much frosting it was a structural hazard. Shaped like the Bat-Signal. With gummy bats.

Bruce tried one bite of each. His expression didn’t change. You thought maybe he died mid-taste test.

Alfred took one bite of Cass and Damian’s dish.

“Acceptable,” he said.

Cheers erupted. Cass bowed. Damian nodded like a samurai who’d just won a duel.

You and Tim looked at your charred noodles.

“We tried,” you said.

“No, we didn’t,” Tim replied.

🎥 Episode Title: “Ghost Protocol”

It started as a prank. Tim uploaded spooky ghost sounds into the Manor’s speaker system. Steph set up glowing sheets to fall from chandeliers at random intervals.

“I give it two hours before someone cries,” Jason said, sipping cocoa.

Cass, face painted like a skeleton, hid behind curtains whispering “Join usssss.”

You set up a ‘mysterious’ shadow to walk by Bruce’s study. Amanda and Martha insisted the manor was haunted by a cat ghost named Meowsephine.

Selina fully committed: black candles, ouija board, and a crystal cat figurine.

Bruce finally snapped the breaker.

“Go to bed.”

Then the suit of armor moved.

Amanda screamed. “GHOST!”

Alfred appeared behind you. “Oh, that’s Gregory.”

Everyone: “...Gregory?”

“He’s haunted. But very polite.”

No one slept that night.

🎥 Episode Title: “The Breakdown Round”

Steph turned to the camera. “Welcome to sixty seconds of vulnerability. You’re not allowed to make fun of anyone until after the cookies.”

Tim went first. “I haven’t slept properly since I was 15. Sometimes I pretend to nap just so people stop asking.”

Jason: “I once ate an entire cheesecake alone on the roof. Blamed it on Tim. Felt no guilt.”

Cass held up a sign: ‘I don’t talk much because people fill silence with their worst thoughts. I like to leave them room to surprise me.’

Dick danced across the floor "I would have been the world's greatest gymnast, I just know it."

Damian: “I’m not cute. I am FEARSOME.”

You hesitated. Then, “Sometimes... I miss not knowing. I miss being just a girl. I didn’t grow up with all of this, and some days, I wish I could go back. But then I see all of you, and... I wouldn’t trade it. Not even for a quiet life.”

Silence fell.

Alfred entered with cookies and tea. “Your parents love you. Even when you’re insufferable.”

Everyone got up and hugged him.

Even Damian. Especially Damian.

And the camera caught it all.

Fade to black.

Your room was a mess of lighting cables, half-drunk tea, and a dry-erase board covered in blog ideas. Amanda and Martha had colored a “Wayne Diary” logo on your wall with crayons.

You stared at your reflection.

You didn’t look like her yet. Like the daughter of legends.

But when you walked into the chaos of the manor—past Jason play-wrestling with Damian, past Tim frantically uploading a new episode, past Dick teaching flips to the twins while Donna rated his form—you didn’t feel invisible anymore.Somewhere between sword fights in the foyer and Cass teaching Amanda and Martha how to somersault through laser traps, you realized you weren’t surviving this family. You were becoming part of it.

One night, Martha climbed into your lap holding a glittery card that said, in shaky marker: “You are our hero.”

You felt real.

You helped Steph and Tim edit Wayne Diary episodes. You designed a logo. You started answering fan comments anonymously—sometimes with your own memes.

And when you sat on the couch, mug in hand, and smiled for the camera as Steph said, “Welcome back to Wayne Diary,” you believed it.

Even in the madness.

Especially in the madness.

134 notes · View notes

marril96 · 5 months ago

Text

Just In Time

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: Following a trip, Agatha gets sick. It's up to you to look after her.

Editor: @fruityhahn

The weather was miserable, and so were you.

When the forecast had announced a snowstorm would hit your area the day after, you'd hurried to go on a supply run. Just in case the storm happened to overstay its welcome. If your centuries on this Earth had taught you anything, it was that it was good to be prepared.

Wind had started picking up not long after noon. By the time you'd arrived home, it was snowing like it hadn't been in years. The ride which usually took around twenty minutes had taken over an hour; you could barely see the road ahead.

Living in the middle of nowhere usually had its perks, the most important ones being privacy and freedom from nosy neighbors, but it sucked ass during times like this.

Especially when you were alone.

A couple days back, Agatha had gone on another one of her con jobs. She'd found a coven of witches she'd claimed were powerful and wanted to stock up for a rainy day — or a snowy day, as she'd said. Awfully fitting.

Usually, you'd accompanied her, more for your peace of mind than hers, but this time you weren't in the mood for travel. It was cold outside. The place she'd tracked that coven to was amidst the largest snowstorm in the country. You couldn't bring yourself to leave the warmth of your house to do a con job that would be over in half an hour, once the witches' trust was earned.

Agatha had assured you that she could handle it. She had, after all, been doing this for centuries, long before she'd ever met you. She would be okay. She'd travel to that shithole town, and she would be on the first flight or bus or train back, whichever was available, as soon as the storm had passed.

And here you were now, alone in an empty house, soon to be trapped inside for the unforeseeable future.

As you were grabbing all the bags, hoping against hope they wouldn't rip and spill your stuff all over the windy yard, you made a mental note to call Agatha and let her know that you were okay.

She had done the same after she'd landed at her destination and started working on the witches. This morning she'd sent a quick text to tell you the job was done, and she was taking the first means of transport that was available home.

You hoped coming home to a full fridge and a stocked up potions ingredients cupboard would cheer her up after a long day of travel — from one snowstorm to another.

As you were about to stick the key into the lock, you noticed the door was a jar. Your heckles rose like a porcupine's quills, prickling at the back of your neck. You were sure you'd closed the door on your way out. You were sure you'd locked it.

Tentatively, slowly, you walked inside. Lowering the bags to the floor (and making sure to make as little noise as possible), you summoned your magic. Sparks as bright as daylight engulfed the tips of your fingers. Whoever the mystery intruder was, they were messing with the wrong witch.

The house was dark and cold, exactly as you'd left it this morning. There was no point in lighting the fire when you would be out for almost half a day; you knew that, by the time you'd gone through all the grocery stores, as well as the couple witch shops just out of town, it would be dark out. The fire would have been long dead.

"Hello?" you called out cautiously, wiggling your fingers, the magic coiling between them crackling like freshly lit fire.

A small, weak noise sounded in response, strangely alike to a moan.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, but you didn't let your guard down. Whoever or whatever was in your house could still pose a threat to your life. A wild animal was no less dangerous than a human — or an unfriendly witch.

As you lingered by the entrance to the living room, your power lighting up the dark space, your eyes fell upon a form spread across the floor.

"Hello?" you repeated, instinctively stiffening and clenching both fists.

Why would someone break into a house, only to fall asleep on the floor? How were they able to step inside in the first place? You and Agatha had made sure to put up protective runes. Nobody, human or witch or anything else resembling a person, should have been able to get in.

Nobody except…

You stepped closer to get a better look at the fallen person. Their jacket was purple, a rich, dark shade that you would recognize anywhere. They wore jeans, and on their feet was a pair of black boots. A halo of thick, dark brown curls spilled around their head.

Blood ran cold in your veins as the realization sat in.

"Agatha!" Dissolving your summoned magic, you instantly ran over to her and kneeled by her side. "Sweetheart?"

She responded with a moan, as small and fragile as the first one. "Y-Y/N…"

Your heart raced, concern spilling over you like a bucket of cold water. "What happened?"

"I-I'm not… feeling well…"

That much you could tell. "Did someone hurt you?"

"No."

You pressed your palm to her forehead, and almost pulled your hand back as if stung. "You're burning up."

You couldn't help releasing a relieved sigh. A fever, you could deal with. Whatever illness she'd picked up, be it the flu or COVID or any other respiratory ailment, would be a walk in the park in comparison to a hex.

"I'm sick," Agatha said, weak, drained.

"I can see that," you replied softly. "Why didn't you call me?"

She took in a breath, two, three. "I did. You didn't pick up."

"What?" You instinctively reached for your pocket, only to find it empty. Fuck. You were in a rush this morning, eager to head out as soon as possible, hoping against hope the storm wouldn't hit early. Shit. "I left my phone at home. I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

"You should be," Agatha said halfheartedly, just to be snarky. Just to show that she was still herself, despite the predicament she was in.

You rolled your eyes, but decided to give her a pass. Bitchiness was one of the things you loved about her. As annoying as you found it from time to time, it was part of what made her her. You wouldn't change it for the world.

"I had to take a cab," she whined. "The bastard robbed me blind."

"Why didn't you mind control him?"

"Think I didn't try? My purple is… malfunctioning."

Because she was sick.

It was a miracle she'd managed to drag herself inside the house before collapsing.

Your heart swelled with sympathy, with compassion for the woman you loved. It had been ages since you'd last seen her so much as cough. Whatever she'd caught had to be nasty; there were few things that managed to bring down the powerful Agatha Harkness, and a feeble illness wasn't one of them.

It shouldn't have been, at least.

"Can you walk?" you asked, gently hoisting her up to her feet.

Her legs instantly gave way, answering your question; you wrapped your arms around her, holding her against you, hoping against hope that your body could handle the weight of hers pressing against it.

"I got you. It's okay. I got you, sweetie."

It broke your heart to see her so weak, so fragile. As if one wrong look could break her.

As if she was already breaking, one little piece at a time.

It felt like a dream, a nightmare you couldn't wake up from.

Your Agatha was strong. Powerful. She did what she wanted and demolished everyone and everything that stood in her way.

This pitiful creature wasn't her.

It couldn't be her.

"I'm tired," Agatha murmured.

"I know you are," you said, caressing her hair. Her head lowered to your shoulder, and she relaxed, breathing softly. Safe and secure in your arms. Cozy as a baby bird, even in this awkward position. "Can you try to take a few steps to help me out here?"

"Do I have to?"

God, she was such a brat.

A part of you found it endearing.

"You'll be more comfortable on the couch than on the floor."

She couldn't argue with that. "Mmm."

Her left foot pushed itself forward. Then the right one. You guided her, slow and careful; the last thing you wanted was to cause her more pain than she was already in.

You could tell it took a lot out of her, but she forced her legs to move along with you, to follow your lead.

As soon as you reached the couch, Agatha, with a large, tired sigh, slumped forwards. You removed her jacket and shoes, then helped her lie down

"This is undignifying," she whined.

A small smile bloomed on your mouth. "It's fine. You're sick."

"I'm pathetic."

If there was anyone who was allowed to see her in that condition, it was you. "I won't tell anyone if you don't."

You made a quick run upstairs to grab the pillow and blanket off your bed, and then wrapped her up nice and tight. Swaddled her like a baby in need of utmost care.

Not that she was far from that description.

As you were adjusting the pillow under her head, your eyes fell upon a phone on the coffee table — your phone, the one you'd discarded this morning in your rush to outrun the incoming storm. A light was blinking at the top, alerting you of missed calls. Countless, you assumed. Agatha would not have given up after a couple.

A pang of regret pierced your heart. You should have been there. You should have driven her home and tucked her into bed afterwards. She shouldn't have spent hours on a cold, hard floor.

"Don't leave me," Agatha suddenly said, shaking you from your thoughts. Her lip trembled, eyes filled with tears she was trying her hardest to hold back. "Please."

There it was again, that insecurity of hers. That fear that she would be betrayed, abandoned for that was all she'd ever known. People — witches — in her life tended to turn their backs on her when she needed them the most. The coven she'd been born into, her mother, hell, even her ex, from the stories she'd told you. Nobody cared enough to stay. Nobody cared enough to put her first.

You did.

Nothing she could ever say or do would make you leave her behind.

"I won't," you assured her, grabbing her hand. Her fingers weakly wrapped around yours. "I'll be right here."

You pressed a kiss to her burning forehead, sealing the promise. You would stay with her. You would look after her. You would make sure she got better.

Agatha muttered something you couldn't exactly make out, that sounded almost like, "Thank you," and then she said in her tiniest voice, "I'm cold."

"Let me get you something for your fever, and then I'll light the fire, okay?"

As soon as she gave a nod, you rushed to the medicine cabinet upstairs, grabbed what you needed, then ran back down to the kitchen. The medication dissolved in water in seconds; you stirred it with a spoon to speed it up, cursing yourself for still, centuries into your life on this Earth, not having gotten a hang of potions.

Magic would speed up Agatha's recovery significantly. Magic that you weren't capable of.

You hated yourself for it. Hated that you couldn't help the woman you loved. Hated that the simplest of magic was out of your grasp. Hated that you could kill a person with ease, but when it came to healing you were useless.

Agatha readily drank the medicine. Without uttering a word, she let you hold the plastic cup to her mouth, too weak to attempt it herself, and drained it in two big gulps.

"This is horrible," she complained, face scrunching in disgust.

The sheer cuteness of her reaction forced your mouth to curl into a smile. "It will help."

"It better."

A part of you wanted to tease her with, "Or what?" but you decided against it. She needed to conserve her strength. There would be time for playful banter later, once her fever was down and she could make more than two steps without falling on her face.

You laid a kiss to her knuckles, adjusting the blanket, making sure that she was covered from head to toe.

As Agatha's eyes fell closed and she burrowed her face under the blanket, you set to lighting the fire. The fireplace was big, fancy in comparison to the rest of the house. It reminded you of the olden days, of mansions and villas you and Agatha would scam your way into to take advantage of the hosts. Sometimes it would be for money, other times for magic; rich witches were no less gullible than poor ones — in fact, some were even more so, their greed for the imaginary Road the perfect fodder for Agatha's cannon.

Not much had changed in that regard. Witches were just as greedy, just as gluttonous as they were back then.

People would always be people. Nature had made it so.

The first crackle of fire elicited a satisfied "Mmm" from Agatha from under the covers.

You had to smile, even though she couldn't see you.

She was going to be okay.

A seasonal respiratory illness couldn't bring down the great and powerful Agatha Harkness.

Not for long.

***

It was almost dinnertime by the time Agatha stirred awake. A groan you knew by heart prompted you to rush to her side, to ensure that you would be the first thing her eyes fell upon after blinking open.

You needed her to know that you'd made good on your promise.

You'd stayed.

You were here.

You didn't abandon her.

"Y/N?" Agatha said, rubbing her tired eyes.

"It's me," you said with a grin. "Hi."

She rolled her eyes, not in the mood for your shenanigans — not yet, anyway.

You blew her a raspberry in response, which, in turn, elicited a frustrated groan from her.

Your girl was back.

"How are you feeling?" you asked.

"Like I just woke up from hibernation."

She looked it, too. Some color had returned to her cheeks, but she was still pale as a ghost.

You laid a hand over her forehead. Her skin was its regular warmth, pleasant instead of scorching. "No fever. That's a good sign."

You'd made sure to check on her while she was asleep, palming her head every half an hour or so, just to be safe.

She'd taken well to the medicine.

"Are you sure?" she asked, for no reason other than to be a brat. Her usual tactic, used just to rile you up, to annoy you for Agatha Harkness was nothing if not a troll.

Fine. If that was how she wanted to play it. "I could always stick a thermometer up your ass to double check."

Two could play this game.

Agatha made a sour face.

"Thought so," you said with a shrug.

She responded with a pout, one of her most lethal weapons. You melted like ice greeting the sun, unable to put up a fight, to resist her blatant manipulation.

This woman had an insane amount of power over you, and the worst part of it was that you let her have it. You didn't mind it.

You gave it to her. Willingly so.

If given a choice, you would do it again in a heartbeat.

As carefully as if any sudden movement would set her ablaze, Agatha propped herself up into a sitting position. One of her hands shot out in your direction, reaching for you, beckoning for you to come to her.

You instantly obliged, moving to sit beside her. As gently as you could, you cupped her cheeks, soft and warm, flushing with more and more color with each passing minute. She leaned into your touch, into you, comfortable, trusting. She knew you would never hurt her. That you would make all the bad go away to the best of your ability. That you would love her and cherish her and protect her when she wasn't able to do it on her own.

She trusted you with herself at her most vulnerable.

You swore on your life to never do anything to make her regret it.

You pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and then pecked her on the lips. "How'd it go with the witches?"

Agatha grunted, displeased. "They're the ones who got me sick."

"They hex you?"

She made a disgusted face. "Worse. They sneezed and coughed in my face. The entire damn coven was one step removed from meeting my ex."

"You really stepped in it, huh?" Understatement of the century.

Agatha scoffed. "Two of them couldn't even blast me. I had to kill them the old fashioned way." She shook her head in disappointment. "Waste of good magic."

"At least you drained the rest," you said in an attempt to make her feel better.

It didn't work.

"Yeah, but at what cost?"

"Hey, hey." You tilted her head to get her eyes to meet yours, your thumbs rubbing tender circles across her cheeks. "This is just a bug. You'll be fine. You're already doing much better."

Compared to how you'd found her mere hours ago, weak and barely conscious on the floor, unable to walk even with assistance, this was a major improvement.

"Well, I am exceptional," she said with exaggerated arrogance, a smirk coating her puckered mouth.

"Yes, you are."

Agatha preened at the praise like a peacock, eyelashes batting, lips puckering into that adorable pout that always made you melt. Unable to resist, you laid a quick kiss to them, then pecked the tip of her nose.

Witches with body counts that would make the most notorious serial killers blush had no right to be that cute.

"What was that potion you gave me?" she inquired.

"Two water-soluble Tylenol." You gave a chuckle. "Extra strength."

"Of course."

"Hey, it worked."

It was a well known fact that you and potions got along like water and oil. Agatha had tried to teach you some, many times, each having resulted in a disaster, until she'd finally given up and took on the task of preparing them herself.

As the saying went, if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.

She knew better than to entrust that particular task to you.

That didn't make teasing you any less fun.

"If you want a potion, make it yourself," you said. "Until then, you're stuck with Tylenol."

"Whatever would you do without me?" Agatha quipped with a sigh.

"Not get sick, for one," you pointed out.

She responded with a new pout, this one hurt, sad to the core.

As tempting as it was, you didn't fall for it. "Cuteness doesn't give you the right to be a bitch to the person taking care of you."

"Doesn't it?"

"Nope."

She shrugged. "It was worth a try." Then, face turning serious, she said, "Thank you for staying."

You had, after all, promised that you would.

As mean as she could be, you knew Agatha appreciated everything you did for her. She showed it with every kiss, every cuddle, every little caress and pat. Every look in her eyes. Every breakfast she brought you to bed and coffee she made alongside it. Every new spell she boasted about learning, eager to teach you its ways.

She wasn't perfect, far from it, but you knew she loved you. Her actions spoke louder than words.

You smiled. "Always, sweetheart. You're kinda stuck with me."

Agatha retorted with a kiss, long and hungry. Yet another wordless declaration of love, louder and prouder than any yell.

The growl in her stomach prompted you to pull away. "You should get something to eat."

She contemplated it for a moment, then, knowing resistance was futile, conceded, "I could use a corn dog or something."

Or something, it was. "How does canned soup sound?"

"Like I don't have much of a choice."

"You have plenty of choices."

You'd made sure to stock up on pretty much everything. It had taken you hours; shelves at every store were almost bare, raided by people eager to prepare for the storm.

A few fights had broken out, each over random shit that, honestly, wasn't even worth fighting for. Desperation bred tension, you supposed. And tension bred conflict.

Not my circus, not my monkeys, you'd told yourself, carefully avoiding each and every brawl. You watched from a safe distance, reminded of Black Friday fight compilations Agatha liked to watch. It was bizarre to see it happen in front of your very eyes. A perfect reminder that humans, after all, really were animals.

"If you're feeling up to cooking," you added.

Agatha wasn't just the potion maker in your relationship — she was also the chef. With damn good reason.

Forcing her mouth into a tight smile, she said, "Canned soup sounds fantastic."

You thought so.

"It'll be good for you," you said. "Soup helps with the flu."

Agatha narrowed her eyes, skeptical. "I'm pretty sure that's an old wives tale."

It might have been. Not that you cared. "It's a fluid. You need fluids."

"Fine," she relented. "You win."

Her tone made it clear that she was far from happy about it.

Tough luck.

You gifted her another kiss, a little peace offering. Agatha happily accepted, melting into you, devouring the small token of affection. Begging for more, more, more like the greedy little fiend that she was.

You happily indulged her. After all, it took one to know one.

"Is your purple still malfunctioning?" you asked in-between the shower of kisses.

Agatha raised a hand up to your face. The tip of her forefinger, adorned with a long, perfectly manicured nail, lit up in rich violet. She laid it against your nose in a gentle tap. The sparks of magic cracked against your skin, tickling you, teasing you.

A grin broke out across your face. "I'm gonna take that as a no."

"When has anything held me down for long?"

"Right, you're exceptional," you echoed her words back to her, eliciting a wide smile.

"Exactly."

Leaning forwards, you rubbed your nose against hers. Agatha scrunched her face adorably.

"Stop that," she said half-heartedly, cheeks flushing with more color.

"Or what?" you challenged.

"I'll drain you."

A hearty laugh erupted from your mouth.

She pouted, feigning offense. "I mean it. There's a reason they call me witch killer."

Indeed, there was. She — happily, gleefully — killed witches.

Other witches.

Witches that weren't you.

There had been a few close calls in the past, of you being careless and almost blasting her. She'd broken into tears each time and had lectured you about safety and precaution until her throat was raw and it hurt to talk, and you'd had to wrap your arms around her and promise it wouldn't happen again.

She didn't want to hurt you.

She didn't want to take your life.

"Somehow I doubt it," you said.

Agatha shrugged. "It's your funeral. I'm formidable."

"Yes, you are." Briefly kissing the tip of her nose, which prompted another impossibly cute face scrunch, you leaned your forehead against hers. "I love you so much."

"Right back at you, honey," she said. "Thank you for being here."

"I wish I'd come home sooner."

She shook her head. "You were just in time."

You supposed you were.

It was worth it.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn @midnight-lestrange @lift-heavy-be-gay @katieswain123 @riovidalharkness

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness #marvel #mcu #fanfic #fanfiction #my fics #edit

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magnagaruzenmon · 6 months ago

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Snow Miser

A Christmas gift for @midatwrtr. while I don't know you that well, and are a bit of a mystery to me. I do appreciate your style and willingness to be different. also I'd personally say your work is more of a solid 8-9.

You step into her apartment, and the familiar scent of vanilla and cherries greets you like a soft embrace. The warmth of her home, her presence, seeps into you, calming the edges of my weary soul. You let the door close behind you, the outside world and its chaos melting away. This is your sanctuary, not just because of the walls or the sweet fragrance in the air, but because of her.

“Kura-ssi!” You call out, your voice filling the quiet space. You half expect her to come running, but when no answer comes, You only smile. Instead, you hear faint grunts and the rhythmic clicking of buttons coming from her bedroom.

Shaking your head with a small chuckle, you follow the sound and step into her room—a cozy haven painted in shades of pink and sky blue. There she is, perched on the edge of her bed, her eyes glued to the screen as she navigates through Kingdom Hearts: Birth by Sleep Final Mix.

She doesn’t notice you right away. Her brows are furrowed in concentration, her fingers dancing on the controller. Watching her, you can’t help but grin. She’s come a long way since watching you do your playthroughs. It was your passion for the series that got her hooked, but now she’s just as in love with the characters, the worlds, and the art style as you are—maybe even more.

“Kura,” you say softly, my voice cutting through her focus. She jumps, startled, and turns to see you standing behind her.

“Ah, you’re back,” she says, her voice tinged with surprise but warm like sunlight. She pauses her game and gets up to hug you, wrapping her arms around you with a kind of care that always leaves you breathless. Her warmth seeps into you, spreading comfort to every corner of your being.

When she pulls back, she kisses your cheek, a soft, fleeting touch that lingers in the air between you two. “I need your help with this boss,” she says, her tone equal parts frustration and hope.

You nod, letting her lead her to the bed where you settle in front of the TV. She hands you the controller, and you glance at the screen, seeing that she’s stuck on the Braig fight. You press the pause button and start tweaking her setup—checking her command deck, swapping out weaker spells for stronger ones, and adding abilities you know will give her the edge.

She watches you quietly, her gaze curious and a little skeptical. “What is all this?” she finally asks.

“These are things to help make the fight easier,” you say, keeping your tone light. She tilts her head, her confusion softening into trust as she nods.

You finish adjusting her setup and hand the controller back to her. “You still gotta win for yourself,” you say with a small smile.

Her eyes widen, the look in them vulnerable yet determined. “That little voice of doubt in your head,” you add gently, “don’t listen to it. You’ve got this.”

Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but instead, she nodded again, this time more resolute. Her hands are steady as she grips the controller, her focus sharpening.

Before she dives in, you notice her key blade isn’t optimized, so you take the controller for one last adjustment. She watches you, a mix of surprise and amusement flickering across her face. “There,” you say, handing it back.

She takes a deep breath, then starts the fight. This time, she’s prepared. You sit beside her, quietly cheering her on with every well-timed dodge, every spell cast perfectly. When she finally lands the finishing blow, the screen erupts in victory.

“Yes!” she exclaims, spinning in her chair with a triumphant laugh. “I’m the best. I am the hero!”

You can’t help but laugh along with her. There’s something magical about the way her joy lights up the room, chasing away any lingering shadows. She’s still mid-spin when her eyes catch something outside the window.

The first snowflakes of the season are falling, delicate and slow. She stops, her gaze softening as she turns to you. “Leo-san, we have to go out into the snow,” she says, her voice filled with childlike wonder.

You groan dramatically, making her giggle, but you still stand and follow her. as you wonder how could you ever say no to her?

Outside, the cold air nips at your cheeks, but the sight of Sakura running into the snow, her arms outstretched like wings, makes you forget about the chill. She spins in circles, laughing as the snowflakes catch in her hair and melt on her cheeks.

“Look, look!” she calls, crouching down to scoop a handful of snow. She packs it together, forming a lopsided ball, and throws it in your direction. It lands harmlessly at your feet.

“You missed,” you tease, bending down to gather some snow of my own.

She sticks her tongue out at you, already grabbing more. “I’m just warming up!”

Before you know it, you're in the middle of a playful snowball fight. She shrieks as one of your throws lands squarely on her shoulder, and in retaliation, she charges at you, pelting you with a flurry of soft snow.

“Truce, truce!” you laugh, raising your hands in surrender.

She stops, her cheeks flushed and her breath visible in little clouds. “Only if you help me make a snowman,” she says, her voice brimming with excitement.

“Deal.”

You both work together, rolling snow into uneven spheres. Her hands brush against yours as we stack them, and every accidental touch feels deliberate, like a quiet affirmation of how much she means to you. She adds twigs for arms and uses a fallen leaf for a makeshift scarf, stepping back to admire y'all's creation.

“It’s perfect,” she declares, her face lit with pride.

You look at her instead of the snowman. “Yeah, it is.”

She catches you staring, her eyes softening. “Thank you for this,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?”

“For being here. For always being here.”

You smile and reach out to brush a snowflake from her hair. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

As the two of you rollick Sakura gets a text and groans.

"What is it Kura?" you ask.

"We have Jihyo's party to go to." She says, a bit annoyed.

You laugh and say, "Well then let's go."

Sakura pauses then says, "But babe, I'm a little hot and bothered. Can you do something about that before we get ready?"

You laugh and say, "Sure."

As the two of you walk back into her apartment Kura says, "Oh it's too warm," before turning the air on. The chill is surprisingly pleasant as she wraps herself around you. Sakura brings you in for a kiss that is equal parts passion and poise. You let her guide this dance of lust as her tongue wraps around yours first, before taking you into her bedroom. The frigid temperature further contrasts the heat building between you two as she disrobes. You follow suit as you follow her to bed. She smiles but realizes she's out of condoms. So the two of you drive to the local pharmacy to pick some up. As you finish Sakura looks at her phone again before groaning.

"babe. can you help me I need to go to the restroom." confused you follow her, only to be surprised when she bends over the toilet and presents her cute butt to you.

"We don't have time to go back home and shower, so fuck me right here then we can go," Sakura said as she seductively pulled her pants down. You fish your cock out and plunge into her. the cold of the restroom is biting as the two of you rut into each other. You groan as her tight cool walls envelop your manhood. Sakura groans happily.

"fuck yes." she coos as you rapaciously thrust in and out of her. Her cheeks begin to turn red as the lust and cold get to her. She looks at you with a coy and seductive smile,

"How is it?" she asks.

"the tightest., you respond Sakura smiles as your cock hits her womb. She smiles and then says are you close?" you nod as the two of you continue rutting in each other. She fucks herself while you near your climax. as you do you feel her walls tighten and clench you as she takes you in and out. eventually you reach your limit as do Sakura. you both climax as you look into each other's eyes. as you soften and retreat from her chilly cavern you smile and say. "Let's go frosty." Sakura rolls her eyes as the two you head home.

Eventually the two of you arrive at Jihyo's party. which means you run into me as I walk in around the same time as you two.

"Oh hey Dino," you say to me. I smile as I walk into the party with you

"Hey Leonardo. Hey Sakura, How are yall?" I ask. Sakura smiles politely and replies for the both of you.

"Chilly but happy to be here,"

#k pop smut #K-pop fanfic #le sserafim smut #miyawaki sakura #Sakura Miyawaki smut #sakura miyawaki #sakura miyawaki x reader

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magical-reid · 6 months ago

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The Ravenclaw and the Shadowed Slytherin

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Ravenclaw!Reader

Warnings: None

Prompt: 8: “I’d feel much better if you’d let me walk you home.”

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: During a late-night patrol at Hogwarts, you unexpectedly cross paths with Sebastian Sallow, the notorious Slytherin troublemaker, who leads you to a hidden, magical room to escape the noise of the castle. As you share a quiet, vulnerable moment, you begin to see a different side of Sebastian, realizing there's more to him than his rebellious exterior, and the tension between you both deepens, hinting at something unspoken.

The chilly autumn wind swept through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, its cold fingers slipping through the cracks of the ancient stone walls and carrying with it the secrets only the castle seemed to know. The night air held a peculiar stillness, one that was broken only by the occasional creak of a door or the distant rustle of leaves outside. The patrol schedule for the Ravenclaw prefects had landed you with the late-night rounds again, but you didn’t mind. There was something about the castle at night that felt different—a world untouched by the chaos of daytime, where peace and mystery intertwined, and a sense of something older, something magical, seemed to linger in the air. It was eerie, in a way, but comforting all the same.

The faint glow of your wand illuminated the path ahead, its light casting long, wavering shadows on the stone floors as you turned a corner near the library. The silence of the corridors stretched out before you, broken only by the soft shuffle of your footsteps. It was almost unnerving, the way the castle could feel both alive and empty at the same time, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. You sighed, your thoughts interrupted by the faint sound of hurried footsteps from somewhere down the hallway.

You straightened, preparing yourself for another encounter with a student out past curfew. Honestly, you were used to it by now. Patrolling the castle at night often felt like a never-ending cycle of reprimands, but there was a strange satisfaction in the routine.

“Lumos Maxima,” you muttered, your wand flaring to life with a bright, steady light. It cut through the gloom, revealing the last person you expected to see: Sebastian Sallow, the notorious troublemaker from Slytherin. A smirk played at the edges of his lips, one that made you sigh before you could even stop yourself.

“Sebastian,” you said sternly, lowering your wand slightly, though the light still bathed his face in its glow. “Do you ever not break the rules?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he shot back with a glint of amusement in his dark eyes, leaning casually against the stone wall as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “Patrolling the castle at night? Sounds suspiciously like sneaking around to me.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms in a stance you knew would look perfectly authoritative. “I’m a prefect. This is literally my job, Sebastian.”

“And I’m just out for a midnight stroll. Coincidence, really,” he said, still wearing that infuriatingly confident smirk that never seemed to fade, no matter the situation.

“Coincidence, sure. What are you really up to?” You raised an eyebrow, the question slipping out before you could stop it. The tone was more curious than accusing, though you were well aware that Sebastian had a talent for getting into trouble.

He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, the playful spark in his eyes dimming slightly, as if something deeper had momentarily surfaced. “Not here,” he said, his voice suddenly a little quieter, his gaze flicking down the corridor as if checking for anyone who might overhear. “If you’re so curious, follow me.”

Your first instinct was to refuse, to stick to your patrol and keep him on track for his inevitable lecture. But there was something about the way he said it, something about the brief moment of vulnerability in his eyes, that made you hesitate. Against your better judgment, you nodded and followed him down the darkened hallway, deeper into the castle. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a coincidence at all, but something else entirely—something that might be more dangerous than simply breaking curfew.

He led you to a hidden door near the entrance to the Undercroft. The air seemed to change as he muttered a spell, and the concealed door revealed itself to you, creaking open with a soft, almost inviting sound.

“Sebastian, if this is some sort of trick—”

“It’s not,” he cut you off, his voice a touch more serious than you were used to hearing. “Just trust me.”

You followed him into the room beyond. It was darker inside, the only light coming from a soft, ethereal glow that seemed to pulse gently from the walls. The Undercroft was rumored to be a place of quiet contemplation, a room that only a few students knew about. You’d heard whispers from other prefects, but you had never ventured inside before. As the door shut behind you, the quiet weight of the space settled around you, and for a moment, you felt almost out of place.

Sebastian turned to face you, his usual bravado replaced by something much softer, much less certain. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the light from your wand casting shadows across his face.

“I come here to think,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter than you had ever heard it before. “Away from the noise of the common room, the expectations, everything.” His eyes, usually so full of mischief, seemed to carry a weight tonight, one that he wasn’t used to letting others see.

Your expression softened, the sternness you normally carried starting to slip away. This wasn’t the same Sebastian Sallow who loved to push everyone’s buttons. This was someone who seemed to carry more on his shoulders than he cared to admit.

“And tonight?” you asked, your voice gentler than before.

His jaw tightened as he looked down at the ground for a moment, his hand fidgeting with the sleeve of his robes. “Tonight… I needed a distraction,” he admitted, his eyes lifting to meet yours. “But instead, I ran into you.” He gave you a small, almost shy smile, the kind you hadn’t expected.

You arched an eyebrow, not sure if you were being teased again. “Is that a compliment?”

“Take it however you like, Ravenclaw,” he replied with that same teasing tone, but there was something different about it now. Less smug, more uncertain.

You couldn’t help but smile, though you didn’t quite understand the shift between you both. The air between you seemed charged, like something unspoken was hanging in the balance. It wasn’t just the late hour or the secrecy of the Undercroft anymore—it was something deeper.

The silence stretched between you two, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead, it was the kind of silence that made you realize just how little you actually knew about him. You found yourself studying him—really studying him—for the first time. The sharp line of his jaw, the faintest hint of a scar just beneath his ear, the way his dark eyes seemed to hold storms behind them, like there was more to him than anyone had ever bothered to look for.

“You’re not what people think you are,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

His gaze snapped to yours, surprise flickering across his face. “And what do people think I am?”

“A troublemaker. A Slytherin who only looks out for himself,” you said, your voice almost wistful as you thought of the reputation he wore like a shield.

He studied you for a long moment, as if weighing your words carefully. “And what do you think?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question pressing against your chest. What did you think of him? Of the person behind the smirks and the rule-breaking? You inhaled deeply, the answer coming to you more clearly than you expected.

“I think…” You paused, gathering your thoughts carefully. “I think there’s more to you than you let on.”

His eyes softened for a fraction of a second before he stepped closer, and the space between you seemed to shrink. The tension was palpable, crackling in the air around you both like some unspoken understanding forming.

“For a Ravenclaw, you’re not half as predictable as I thought,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but there was something warm in it now.

“And for a Slytherin,” you teased, “you’re… infuriatingly charming.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you immediately regretted it. But Sebastian’s smirk returned, albeit with less edge this time. His eyes held something softer now—something that made your heart skip a beat.

“Careful, prefect,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “You’re starting to sound like you might actually like me.”

“And you’re starting to sound like you care what I think.”

Sebastian chuckled, and this time, there was no teasing bite to it. Just warmth, like a quiet acceptance that settled between you. For a moment, you both just stood there in the Undercroft, the space around you seeming to hum with a quiet magic neither of you could quite define.

“Maybe I do,” he said softly, his voice unusually sincere.

The tension that had been building between you both felt almost tangible, like a spell that had been cast but not yet broken. Neither of you moved for a long moment, the silence stretching in a way that made everything else seem insignificant. The curfew, the patrols, the rules—they didn’t matter here. It was just the two of you, standing on the edge of something neither of you could name but both of you could feel.

Finally, you spoke again, breaking the silence but not the connection. “Come on,” you said, turning toward the door. “I’ll walk you back to the dungeons before someone catches us.”

“And here I thought you’d be dragging me to the Headmaster’s office,” he teased, though the warmth in his voice was unmistakable.

“Not tonight,” you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “But don’t make a habit of it.”

He followed you, his footsteps falling in sync with yours. As you reached the door, the world outside seemed to come rushing back to you, but you didn’t want to leave the bubble you’d created together. You stopped just as you were about to step out, your breath catching in your chest. Slowly, you turned to face him again, your heart racing in a way that made you feel suddenly vulnerable.

Sebastian didn’t say anything—he just looked at you, his dark eyes searching yours. The tension between you two was unbearable now, and before either of you could speak, he closed the gap between you. His hand came up to rest gently against your cheek as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was tentative at first, as if both of you were waiting for the other to pull away. But neither of you did.

The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, as if neither of you wanted to let go of this moment. For once, the world outside didn’t matter. The rules, the house rivalries, the patrols—none of it mattered. Only this moment. Only him. Only you.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and a little dazed, Sebastian gave you a lopsided grin.

“I’m not sure that’s allowed,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

“Does it matter?” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.

“Not tonight,” you replied softly, your heart still racing.

And as you both walked back through the quiet halls of Hogwarts, you realized that maybe, just maybe, rules weren’t the most important thing after all.

#sebastian sallow x reader #Sebastian sallow #Hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow reader insert #reader insert #sebastian sallow imagine #sebastian sallow fluff #sebastian sallow fanfic #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy imagines #magical-Reid #requested #prompted

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pokestar-rosa · 1 year ago

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Casting Call: Mystery Doors to the Magical Land 4

Audition Date: ##/##/####

Audition Location: Pokestar Studios, Virbank City (if you cannot be there physically, a video audition is an acceptable substitute)

Movie Summary: Following the death of her beloved Vanilluxe, a grieving Now-Queen Rina is unprepared for the Mystery Doors she had faced so long ago to reappear in the Kingdom. What's worse, instead of drawing people in, horrible monsters are being unleashed. It is now a race against time to close the doors and put a stop to this new threat. But one thing troubles Rina... could one of the doors really lead to the Afterlife?

Characters

Hades (He/Him, ageless): The new ruler of the Magical Land. A maniacal, ovedramatic schemer who relishes in his villainy. No one can stand up to the power of Cerberus, his loyal three-headed Houndoom.

Ferinand (He/Him, 40): Rina's royal adviser. He's a bit of a worrywart but he means well. Alongside his partner, Sobble, he is trying his best to keep a level-head during this tumultuous time.

Ingrid (She/Her, 27): Captain of the Royal Guard. Steadfast an Loyal, she keeps the peace in the Kingdom alongside her partner, Ceruledge. Rina's best friend.

Alecto (she/her): One of Hades' three lieutenants. A dangerous winged woman with a whip of fire.

Tisiphone (she/her): One of Hades' three lieutenants. A dangerous winged woman with a whip of fire.

Megaera (She/her): One of Hades' three lieutenants. A dangerous winged woman with a whip of fire.

If you are interested in auditioning for any of these roles, please contact us here.

//ooc: That's a real link to a real Discord where you can have your character participate in the movie for realsies.

//Also, yes, I know Hades in Greek Mythology isn't actually evil but I'm telling a story heavily featuring the underworld and I thought I would give the villains theme naming to fit.

#pokeblogging #irl pkmn #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #mystery doors to the magical land 4

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amongemeraldclouds · 1 year ago

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sweet dreams

It should have been simple: boy meets girl then falls in love. Except everything only happened in his dreams. Can Theodore Nott bridge the gap between fantasy and reality to get the girl of his dreams?

Inspired by Taylor Swift's song, Guilty as Sin?

Theodore Nott x f!Reader

Warning: Fluff, some smut so 18+ only MDNI, characters are aged up. Uses a magical concept that deviates from canon.

✿ Masterlist | 2.9k words

Prologue

The door creaked as you swung it open to leave The Three Broomsticks, eager to breathe in the cool evening air. You scrunched your nose as smoke invaded the fresh air you hoped for and turned towards the culprit, Theodore Nott. You didn’t know him personally, but guys as popular as him did not need introduction.

He didn’t notice you as he took another puff and the streetlamp cast him in a soft halo. It was not fair how some people could look so effortlessly gorgeous.

“Want one?” He reached out when he finally saw you staring, offering you his pack of cigarettes.

You huffed, “No thanks, I was hoping for some fresh air.”

He simply shrugged and turned the other way, smoking in a different direction and out of your way.

You hoped the cool air could return some of your sobriety, but nothing was as effective as a good ol’ near de*th experience. You looked up when you heard someone shrieking from the distance, growing louder and louder until you saw a broomstick zig zag across the sky that was quickly hurtling towards you and Theo.

Theo was quicker than you, holding his wand out and casting a spell just fast enough to redirect the impact to an open space. By the time you held your wand out, you had enough wits about you to cushion the witch’s fall.

You ran towards her to make sure she was fine. She laid on the ground as if she was peacefully sleeping, oblivious to the accident. You crouched beside her, arm outstretched to wake her when-

“Oh bumbling broomstick!” She yelled out and sat upright. You yelped in surprise, yanking yourself back and landing on your bottom. Theo was there within seconds, offering you a hand.

You took it and it was unbelievably soft, his grip strong as he supported you back up from the ground. You registered the smell of alcohol and cigarettes with a subtle hint of expensive cologne. You wanted to take another whiff, but reminded yourself to focus.

“A - are you okay?” You turned back to strange woman, careful to keep your distance this time.

“That chap knows sod all about wizard engineering. Mixing magic and muggle work - ridiculous!” she spat in disdain, dusting off her dress.

She turned around, catching your worried look and Theo’s stoic expression, noticing you both for the first time. “Oh my, where are my manners?” She asked, straightening her back and introducing herself.

“I’m Miss Amelia Adams, thank you for rescuing me,” you shook hands and smiled at her politely, introducing yourselves in return.

Your eyebrows knit together as she fished around her bag, looking for something.

She beamed when she found it and held out a daisy for you. “To properly thank you, please accept this flower,” she then leaned in conspiratorially, “it grants a wish.”

She winked before gathering herself and her ‘bumbling broomstick’ as she called it. “Well, I’m off,” she declared, walking away as quickly as she had come before you had any chance to say goodbye.

You were stunned, holding the flower in your hand. You scoffed at the idea of wishes, the only way to get something is to go out there and take it. Hard work and strategy was far more effective than any wish. After a few moments of awkward silence, you turned to Theo. “That was…” you trailed off, trying to find the right word.

“Odd,” he completed for you, just as stunned as you were.

“Are you okay?” You asked Theo. He grunts and you reassured him you’re fine in return.

“Have this flower, you saved us first. Thanks, by the way. You should get the wish,” you said casually, only half believing the mysterious Miss Amelia.

He accepted it and placed it in his coat, stoic expression still in place. When he said nothing else, you turned on your heels to go back to your friends in the pub.

You paused when Theo called after you as if saying goodbye as an afterthought. “See you at school?” He said. It seems he recognized you too.

You turned around and gave him a friendly grin, “in your dreams,” you said in a playful tone. Despite being school mates, you and Theo revolved around different orbits. You experienced just enough failed relationships to know better than to start a friendship with Mr. Emotionally Unavailable.

He just smirked and watched you go before returning to his cigarette. Had he held the flower in his hand, he would have noticed it glow before bursting into tiny glitters, a wish about to come true.

That night, Theo first dreamt of you.

Main story, months later

The booming party music faded when Theo heard the familiar sound of your laughter. He shifted in the Slytherin common room couch as his entire focus gravitated towards you like you were the sun his planet revolved around.

It was always disorienting, he thought, to hear and see you somewhere outside his dreams. Mostly because you never looked his way here but in his dreams, you’ve given him everything he ever needed and more.

He recalled the first words you ever said to him in his dream, “you again?”

“Is that such a bad thing?” He asked with his boyish grin, amused. He wasn’t used to seeing this reaction from others except for his friends.

He no longer remembered the rest of that conversation, but one minute you two were laughing at something silly and the next, he was tucked comfortably in bed. It was then he realized it was all a dream he could just laugh off and forget about. It was no longer funny by the third night he kept seeing you.

You both discussed how absurd this all was until you realized how fun it could also be. So you tested different ways you could take your power back and control the dream you found yourselves in. He discovered you were smart and funny, it warmed something in Theo’s heart that he did not care to examine.

Soon enough, he was flying with you through the sky, swerving through clouds as the stars blurred past like strings of fairy lights. You both flew like it was the most natural thing in the world, no broomsticks needed. He felt like a kid again, fearless and free.

One time, he went to a muggle amusement park you heard so many great things about. You rode on roller coasters and ferris wheels then ate candy floss. You would have gotten a fever the next day from all the sugar and shouting if not for the fact this all happened in your dreams. He had never felt happier.

On quiet nights, you laid on cool grassy hills enjoying the evening breeze. Sometimes, you watched sunsets on the beach while listening to the ocean waves. Those were his favorite days. You told him about your big plans and ambitions. He tried to stifle his smiles, but your energy was so infectious. The world felt bigger and brighter when he was around you.

He’d tell you about his mother. How close they were before they were permanently separated. He said he kept her alive by remembering their happy moments that he’d tell you stories about. He also talked about his strained relationship with his father and how silly his friends were, but oh how he’d d*e for them.

He found himself spilling thoughts and secrets he could never tell anyone else. He stammered every now and then, not used to opening up, but you were so patient. He felt safe with you because you’re a good listener. Besides, wasn’t he basically just talking to a figment of his imagination? He tried not to overthink it.

Theo felt the couch beside him dip as the familiar smell of smoke and cologne announced Mattheo’s presence. “Want to go for a smoke?” He asked with a smirk as he flashed a joint.

“Later, okay?” Theo replied distracted, his focus still on you.

A student rose from the couch and moved away as Lorenzo approached. Thanks to their popularity, the boys always seemed to find a convenient seat when they needed it. He joined the two with a grin, drinks in hand. Mattheo took in Enzo’s disheveled hair and loose tie. He accepted the drink and gave him a high five knowing he already had his conquest for the night. Theo accepted the drink and just held it.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” Mattheo asked, taking a swig from his cup.

Enzo blushed and took a sip of his drink. “You know I never kiss and tell.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes in response, “until you’re drunk enough.” He pushed Enzo’s cup back to his mouth. “Come on, drink up.”

Theo tuned out the conversation and he saw you dancing with your friends, your hips moving to the beat of the music. His eyes darkened as he remembered how those hips rocked into his. It didn’t take long before you first kissed him under the stars when the conversation died down, simply because there was nothing else to say.

All other thoughts and sentiments could only be expressed in the way your fingers gripped his wavy hair, when he bit your bottom lip and you moaned against him. Before he knew it, you were reciting his name like a prayer even though it felt anything but sacred when he slammed his hips into your dripping cunt. He savoured the way your nails scratched his back. He didn’t know until then how someone’s grip could make him feel so wanted.

He always made sure you knew he how much he appreciated you:

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well amore.”

“I’ll make you feel so good principessa, I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

“You’re so beautiful when you’re on your knees,” he’d say as he stuffed his hard length down your throat.

He memorized your shape and knew just where to touch you to be rewarded with your filthy moans and curses. He liked making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Loud screams, sheets gripped, chest heaving. He took delight in the way you came undone for him, your little whimpers were so cute he could not resist thrusting faster into you so he could feel you clench against his desperate cock again and again.

His favorite part was after he came inside you when you swiped your finger on your upper thigh and brought his spilled seed to your lips. You said you loved the way he tastes. He always said you could have as much as you want, he was all yours and you were his.

“Theo, mate?” Blaise called out to the unresponsive boy who gazed intently at the crowd.

He turned to Mattheo and narrowed his eyes, “how much weed did you give him?” Blaise couldn’t help but worry about his friends, it was exhausting really. Mattheo pushed Theo outside his comfort zone whereas Theo pulled Mattheo back in when he went to extremes. They always kept each other in check, but he was worried that balance could tip off at any moment.

“Easy on the accusation, he’s a big boy. He can do what he wants,” Mattheo replies defensively. “Besides he hasn’t taken any green, he’s too high on that girl already. Been eye fucking her all night.”

Mattheo’s harsh words finally cut through Theo’s daydreams and his jaw twitched in annoyance, “I’m not. You should talk about her more respectfully.”

Enzo chimed in, “you know I hate agreeing with Mattheo, but he’s right.” Ignoring Mattheo’s de*th glare, he continued, “there’s nothing respectful about the way you’ve been looking at that poor girl.”

Theo just rolled his eyes and groaned, not wanting to discuss this with his friends. Even if he did, he wouldn’t know where to start. Instead, he stood up and said, “I’m going out for a smoke,” and walked away before anyone could protest or go with him.

As he walked, his thoughts returned to you. One day, you laughed because of his jokes. He laughed because he was in love with you.

It was all so ridiculous, but it had been months and he could no longer deny his feelings. He always thought love was overrated. How can others go out there declaring love like it’s a wild adventure you’re about to embark on? Love that you would fight and break for? He didn’t want an adventure nor a battlefield.

Then there was you and he realized everything he knew about love had only been one version of it. Being with you restored his breath and calmed the butterflies in his stomach. It’s a love that did not challenge him to be better, but instead told him he is already good enough. That he was always enough. It’s the kind of love that felt like home. It’s what he never knew he needed.

You haunted him even when he was awake. He was always tempted to approach you to see if the things he saw in his head could be real. His only clue was the way you wore ribbons in your hair and how it matched your mood to the stories you’d tell him.

He noticed you wore red when you were angry like the time you had to do a group project by yourself. You wore blue when you felt sad and green when you felt generally peaceful. His favorite was pink because it meant you were happy. He noticed how the closer you got, you wore the pink ribbon more often. But today, you wore a black ribbon. He had never seen it before and it worried him. Then again it was only a theory, maybe it didn’t mean anything.

So he always talked himself out of approaching you. Theodore Nott was used to broken things whereas everything with you and about you was perfect. He knew at the very least to leave it well enough alone.

His thoughts carried him to the Astronomy Tower where he lit his cigarette and stared at the evening sky.

“You always seem to be polluting the fresh air I go out for.” Something in his heart froze and then burned brightly. It was you. He heard the smile in your voice before he turned around to look at you. Salazar, you were so beautiful.

“You always seem to find me when you need fresh air. Are you sure you’re not just looking for me?” He teased, but nevertheless moved to extinguish his cigarette.

You chuckled at Mr. Arrogant who always knew his way around girls. “I was joking, keep your cigarette though your lungs probably hate you.”

He scoffed, he already hated himself. But mostly, he hated how desperately he wanted to reach out and kiss you without being a total creep. “I’ll survive,” he replied, taking a final drag before snuffing it out. “What brings you here?”

“Aside from the not-so-fresh air?” You grinned before turning serious. “This is a nice place to think.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Salazar, he’s relentless. “I’m in an impossible situation and I’m starting to lose hope,” you admit. So that’s what the black is for, Theo realized.

He scrunched his nose as he thought twice about what he was about to say. It was so silly trying to hold back when he’d give you the moon and the stars if you asked for it. “Whatever it is, you shouldn’t lose hope.”

You laughed at him and let out an exaggerated gasp, “coming from Mr. Emotionally Unavailable?”

He laughed in return, “ah, my reputation precedes me.”

“Exactly, so don’t go around saying things like that. People might think you have a heart behind that big brain of yours.”

“Wouldn’t want that, would we?” He leaned in conspiratorially.

“No, everyone would stare at you then.”

“You know it’s rude to stare.”

“Oh yeah? What should I do instead?” You challenged.

“Kiss me,” he said with a smirk, a half joke and a half plea.

You laughed and took a step back, placing distance between you. So this was how he got girls, you mused.

Salazar, he was losing you. If he was going to try, he had to be sincere. No charms, no masks. “Amore, I…” he began but grew self conscious at the nickname. “I mean, I wanted to…” he started then stopped. “I wonder if…” he tried again.

“I know,” you said, fire burning behind your eyes at recognition. This was the boy of your dreams. Awkward when he tries to be sincere and it was so adorable. It always made you feel special because you knew he had walls for the rest of the world. But with you, he was at home.

You closed the distance to meet his lips and the kiss said everything he needed to know. All those evenings together talking beneath starlit skies, exploring flesh and soul, falling in love. They were real.

His hands found the curve of your hips so naturally as he pulled you closer against him, just like he’s done countless times. He savoured the way your fingers made their way through his hair. Everything felt electric, at once new and familiar. It was better than anything you had dreamed of.

When you both broke for air, you found yourself blinking in disbelief. “How do we both have the same dreams?”

Theo just shook his head as if to say he didn’t know but then he remembered your first meeting. There was a witch with a bumbling broomstick and a flower. His eyes widened. “The flower from all those months ago.”

Your eyes lit up with remembrance, “the mysterious Miss Amelia!” You brought your hand to your lips, “I didn’t think it was real. I said you’d see me in your dreams.”

“And now you’re my dream come true, amore,” he said, pulling you in for a hug.

You giggled at how sweet Mr. Not So Emotionally Unavailable could be. “And you’re mine. See you tonight then?”

He chuckled, “and then tomorrow I’ll take you on a real date?”

You scrunched your face, “but now we can’t fly through the stars anymore.”

“Oh, I have other ideas,” he whispered in your ear.

Your heart leapt to your throat and anticipation hummed in your veins. After all, some things were sweeter than dreams.

✿ Masterlist

A/N: I've mostly written for Enzo and Mattheo until now but when I thought of this plot, I just knew only Theo could do it justice. So this is how I wound up writing my first Theo fic. Hope you liked it!

#theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott smut #theo nott #theodore nott #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys #amongemeraldcloudswrites

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k4marina · 7 months ago

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— vi. Secrets and the Moon || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: While things settle down secrets are unveiled and you and Daenerys have a conversation about the moon.

warnings: slight mentions of violence/death, grammar most likely, ngl it's a pretty tame chapter.

a/n: all dialouge in italics is Valyrian

series masterlist || next part

5.2k wrd count

game of thrones x fem!modern!reader

[gif is mine]

The walls of scrolls and ancient texts nearly reached the top of the ceiling. The smell of wax and parchment lingered in the room. Sunlight poured down from the skylight window. I’d never seen the room before, not on any website or during the tour of the castle. We were practically underground, in a more older portion of Dragonstone that was most likely withered away in the future. Diamond-patterned shelves filled with scrolls lined the walls on each side with a set of ladders and landings for easy access. A row of tables sat in the middle of the room, a large candle lit chandelier hanging down at the center.

I found the room whilst exploring the lower portions of the castle. It seemed that this was where all the old Valyrian texts were stored after the Targaryen’s arrival and before the Doom. When I’d first entered my head started to spin just off of the sheer size of the place. When I opened the first few scrolls and saw the ancient writing I couldn’t help but thank my parents for teaching me Valyrian Glyphs as well as the modern written form. Suddenly all those hours sitting at the dinner table studying with my father after dinner wasn’t so bad.

So far my search had been fruitless, every lead coming to a dead end. There was practically nothing about either magic being used to bring people back in time or any mythologies relating to my predicament. There were plenty of other scrolls that taught the reader how they can cast various different spells and pyrokinesis. There were even a few that explained how to hatch stone dragon eggs, without human sacrifices.

I scoffed, pushing that one scroll in particular to the side. I’m sure Dany could have used this while she was in the Dothraki Sea.

Hours went by while I poured over all sorts of scrolls, but I found nothing that could explain my sudden appearance or a way to go back. The candles were nearly melted by the time I’d stored away the last scroll and shut the door to the reference room. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t disappointed. I really thought that if I could find any leads about my situation then it would be on Dragonstone.

I thought that in all of the texts the Targaryens brought over from Valyria at least one would have the answers I was looking for. But I was wrong.

The Valyrians were the first to bound themselves with dragons using blood magic. During the Valyrian empire’s height magic was an integral part of their culture and history. There’s no telling what they couldn’t do. If only they were good at spreading their knowledge, just far enough to Volantis at least, then maybe the ancient empire wouldn’t be such a mystery.

Daenerys sat in a closed off patio, staring off into the distance when I arrived for dinner. She was no longer in her signature dark Targaryen garb, but rather in a more simple and modest gown. Her hair was in her signature braids, but not as dramatic as usual.

“What’s on your mind?” My question pulled her out of her thoughts, only now realizing that I was here.

“Nothing,” she half-smiles. “Just another long day. Come– sit. The food’s still warm.” She motions for me to sit, which I do. “I heard you were busy in the reference library again.”

I sat, laying the cloth napkin on my lap. “Another bust,” a servant places a plate of food in front of the two of us before leaving. “Don’t get me wrong, there was plenty of information, but none that I needed.”

“Have you looked into other sources?”

I sighed, reaching for the wine. “I already have. The Seven don’t really believe in whatever my situation is, and the Old Gods are mostly about nature; forest, rivers, stone.” The knife in my hands easily cut through the piece of meat on my plate.

“What of the Old Gods of Valyria?”

“They're just deities.” I placed my elbows on the table. “We still worship them beyond the Black Wall, but they also don’t provide any information. They’re just God’s you pray to, to keep traditions for some.”

“So that’s it?”

“I still have one person to ask, but she’s already gone to Volantis.”

“Melisandre?” Daenerys frowns, “but she’s not coming back.”

I shake my head. “She is. It’s her fate to die in Westeros. When she returns I’ll have to ask her before she takes the plunge.”

Daenerys nods, slowly, understanding. There’s a moment of silence, the two of us busy eating before Daenerys asks me the important question that’d been lingering in the air since my arrival.

“What will you do if you can’t go back?”

I sit still, but then shrug. “Stay here, I guess. Don’t have any other option, do I?” I look away from her, staring off into the distance, the night sky glimmering. No matter how many times I see the stars, I’m always mesmerized. You can’t get a view like this in the modern world, the light pollution clouding the beautiful night sky.

“I’ll probably explore around a bit.”

“You won’t get married?”

I paused, caught off guard. “I.. I don’t know.” I turned back to her. “I never thought of anything like that.”

“Did you fancy anyone from your time?”

“No,” I thought back. “Sure, I had a few crushes here and there, a boyfriend once, but nothing when I entered University, I was too focused on my studies than the opposite sex.”

“Why? Are you trying to marry me off to some Lord to help your claim?” I teased.

She playfully rolled her eyes. “I’m only asking. If you do end up staying here then I don’t want you to be alone.”

“But I’m not alone.” I said. “I have you.”

She smiled. “I know that. What I mean is that I want you to have someone close to you. Someone to grow old with and perhaps a few children with.”

I mulled over her words. “We’ll see. But my main goal is to get you on that throne first.”

“Would that be before or after we join the Army of the Dead?” She jests.

“Boo, bad joke.” I smiled.

The rest of our night went smoothly, the two of us opting to not talk about war plans or the futures but rather of our childhoods. She told me stories about growing up in Essos, one that wasn't in any textbook and I told her about the modern world. I still remember telling her about modern transportation and technology, her jaw smacking the ground.

We dined till the late hours of the night, only calling a night after we’d drank all the wine in the room. My body slightly buzzed, the alcohol flowing through me. Something that I learned when I arrived here was that alcohol was less potent compared to the future. So while everyone else could get drunk with a few glasses, I was just lightly buzzed.

But that buzz didn’t last long. I was immediately sobered when I saw that the door to my chambers was left open. I stared at the door, silently listening for any movements. I vividly remembered closing my door in the morning. Maybe it was an assassin? But that wouldn’t make any sense. If an assassin was hired he’d go straight for Daenerys, not me.

Carefully, I stepped closer to the door, trying to not make a sound and catch the intruder's attention. I peeked through the gap between the wall and door, but saw nothing. No man dressed in robes waiting for me with a knife in my hand. I slowly pushed the door open, thankful that it didn’t creek.

The receiving room was empty, nothing out of its place. The bedroom was also, oddly, empty. I scanned the room for anything missing or changed, but the room was just as I had left it this morning. The only room that was left was the study. The door was slightly ajar and a faith wrestling could be heard. I took in a deep breath and pushed it open, expecting to see some man, but instead being met with a child.

The kid, possibly around ten years old, rummaged through my drawers. She wore a simple, yet tethered, dress, her long hair tied back. Her hands stopped moving and her body stiffened as she’d been caught. I stared in disbelief, what the hell is this kid doing?

“What are you looking for?” My voice came out more rough than it should have, but I couldn’t care. Was this kid really going through my things?

She didn’t reply, her eyes flickering back to the door behind me. I slammed the door shut, fully blocking any way out and asked again. “What are you doing?”

She still didn’t reply, shaking in fear as if I’d kill her on the spot. She hid her hands behind her dress. I marched closer to her and she stepped back, her back almost hitting the wall. I reached out, grabbing her hands, surprising her.

Scrolls that I’d written were clutched in her grasp, and in the small pockets of her dress. They ranged from menial things like day to day updates from either the Unsullied or Dothraki to sensitive subjects like Yara Greyjoy and her fleet's location or warplanes to take King’s Landing.

I looked back at the child who seemed to be scared out of her mind, tears brimming her eyes. It was clear someone put her up to this. No child in their right mind would travel all the way up into the castle, know where my room and study were, and rummage through my stuff.

“Who set you up to this?” I lowered my tone, trying to seem less frightening. The child's eyes were a light gray with hints of lavender. Her hair was a light blonde and freckles danced around her face. By the looks of it she was either a Dragonseed or the descendant of one.

“I’m not mad,” this time I tried in Valyrian. “I just want to know who told you to do this.”

Her exterior flattered for a moment, but it wasn’t enough to calm her nerves. I sighed, crouching down so that I was eye level to her. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. And I won’t let anyone hurt you or your family. All you have to do is tell me who told you to do this.”

She hesitates, and my grip on her hand loosen. I absentmindedly rubbed small circles around her wrists as a way to calm her.

“The..” she stopped, scared that someone would hear, but I gave her hand a light squeeze, reassuring her. “The bald man. He said if I found him a special letter then he’ll bring me to my mother and father.”

The bald man? Does she mean THE bald man?

“Do you mean the bald man that is with Queen Daenerys?”

She nods.

Fucking snake.

She seems to notice that shift in my mood and quivers. I catch myself before I worsen my mood.

“What’s your name?”

“Alana.”

I smiled, “what a beautiful name.” I stood up, reaching into the middle drawer that she didn’t go through and grabbed a tied handkerchief. I knelt down next to her and untied it revealing a few cookies and bit’s of chocolate. Her eyes lit up and she looked between the sweet treats and me.

“Here, you can have all of this, if you promise to not say a word, okay? You can’t tell anyone that I saw you tonight, especially the bald man.”

She nods her head, eager to eat the cookies.

“But, you have to do one teeny-tiny thing for me.” She looks up at me with her doe eyes. “You have to tell the Queen what you told me.”

Panic, once again, sets in and she rapidly shakes her head. “No, she’ll-”

“She won’t do anything,” I place my hand on her shoulder. “Her Grace doesn’t hurt children. She’ll protect you from the bald man. Both her and her dragons.”

It took some convincing but she’d finally agreed. I placed her on my bed with the snacks and lit a few candles. I called for an Unsullied guard to go get Daenerys while I waited with her.

“You said that the bald man would take you to your parents, where did they go?”

She chews on a piece of chocolate and swallows. “They were taken by the man with the stag. He was bald too. He also had a daughter.”

Stag, bald, and had a daughter.

“Stannis.” I hummed. Knowing him, I’m sure that he’d executed them. Most of the villagers on the island are some form of Dragonseeds, bastards of the Targaryens and most definitely still loyal to them. It’s most likely that Alana’s parents had refused to bow to either Robert or to serve Stannis during his stint on Dragonstone and were killed as a result.

The doors to my room opened and Daenerys, who was dressed in a robe and looked to have been pulled out of bed, walked in. “Did something happen?”

I nod and stand up. Alana peeks at Daenerys from behind me, but quickly hides when they make eye contact.

“I found her going through my things. Apparently, a friend of ours sent her to find something.”

Daenerys looks between me and the little girl. “Who?”

I turned back to Alana. “Sweetheart, why don’t you tell Her Grace what you told me, don’t worry, she won’t be mad at you.”

The little girl holds her hands closer to her. “The bald man. He told me to look through the ladies' things.”

“The bald man?” Daenerys repeats. She turns back to me. “Varys?”

I nodded. “Seems like he’s interested in what I’ve been up to.”

Anger quickly takes over Daenerys and she turns to march down to his chambers. I grab her arm, “no wait.”

“Wait?” She scoffed. “Varys is spying on my own people. He’s using children to do his dirty work and you want me to wait?”

“Yes, I do. Dany, we can’t nail him yet.”

She frowned. “Then what? We pretend that nothing’s happened?”

“That’s exactly what we do. He doesn't know what we know now, we can use that to our advantage.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Let him believe what he wants to. All we have to do is feed him the information that we want and take the information we need from him.”

“And you are sure this will work?”

I nodded. “Let the spider think that he’s spun his web, it’s only a matter of time before he gets too confident and makes a mistake.”

––

The next morning, after my morning sparring practice and breakfast with Daenerys, I was called down to the caves by Jon Snow. He and his men had made considerable progress mining the Dragonglass. Crates of the volcanic glass were placed around the path leading to the caves. The sound of pickaxes and chisels hammering against the cave walls echoed out from the cave entrance.

Jon Snow stood by a few crates of what I assumed was freshly mined Dragonglass. He wore his usual attire; dark tunic underneath his black and brown leather armor, long black leather gloves and matching boots with dark trousers that had some wear and tear. He’d foregone his fur cloak and armored breastplate with House Stark sigil for the sake of practicality.

Ser Davos, who stood in front of Jon, nodded my ways. He turned as I stepped closer, and their previous conversation came to a halt.

“My Lady, thank you for coming.”

I glanced around us. “You and your men seem to be making quite a bit of progress.”

Jon nods, “we’re grateful that you and Queen Daenerys have allowed us to mine all of the Dragonglass.”

“That’s not why you called for me is it?”

“No.” He motions for me to follow him. We walk around a few crates, coming to a stop in front of a covered wagon, hidden from everyone.

“We found these, deep in the caves. I’ve told my men who first found them to keep quiet about it.”

Ser Davos opens the wagon’s doors and removes the cloth over the objects revealing a cluster of dulled dragon eggs. My eyes widened and I turned to Jon who also had the same shock written all over his face.

“Is this all you’ve found?”

“So far. We found these near the end of the cave before it split off into other directions.”

I slowly nod, half focused on his words. My eyes ran over the eggs, five to be exact, all of them covered in dirt and stone. There were two lighter colored eggs, a white-gray and a pastel pink-purple. The other three were a dark navy blue, a dark green, and a pure black egg. I reached out and carefully grabbed the green egg, wiping away the dirt and debris the best I could. It left off a gold almost iridescent shimmer in the sun. The eggs themselves were hard, the outside covered in a scaled pattern. I gently turned the egg over in my hands, running my fingers over the surface.

I took in a deep breath, stunned.

After Daenerys’ death, Dragonstone was handed off to The Crown. Over the decades, the castle had been turned into somewhat of a vacation home for the Royal Family. The Velaryon’s had contested the decision for many years, claiming that the castle was the last remnants of the Targaryen and of Valyria and that it should be preserved and handed to them as they were the closest to the extinct house. But in reality, they were more interested in exploring the castle than honoring it.

They’d found Dragonegg’s littered all over the island, nestled away in the string of cave networks. Dragon bones and skulls dating back to the dragons the Targaryens first brought to the islands were also found in caves in the island's volcanic mountains. By the time the eggs were found they’d been completely fossilized and turned to stone. Taking inspiration from Daenerys, the Velaryons tried to hatch the dragons in secret, but lacked the (for a lack of better words) magic that the Targaryens held.

But this, this was something else.

I turned to Jon, who’d been watching me, “thank you.” He slightly bows his head, surprised by my sincerity. “Did you find anything else?”

“No, My Lady, that’s all we’ve run across.”

I pressed my lips and nods, looking back down at the eggs. “Alright. Keep mining, but don’t go too deep.” I set the dragon egg back down, “now help me get these to Daenerys.”

––

The five eggs, now properly cleaned of any dirt, sat in a chest between Daenerys and I. Her eyes stayed glued to the eggs as Jon recounted what he’d told me. But, like me, her focus was entirely on the eggs. She dismisses him, leaving the two of us. Silence hangs in the air for many moments, neither of us knowing what to say.

“Did you know that there were eggs on the island?” She finally asks.

“I did,” I sat back, eyes flickering between the chest and her. “But I didn’t know where exactly they were. I just never knew that they were just.. right there.”

She hums. “They look like they’re turned to stone.”

“We can still bring them back.”

“Where would we keep them?”

I shrugged. “I’m sure there's a few warming brazier’s laying around. We can chuck them in there while we deal with the Night King.”

She looks up at me, “are you sure we can hatch them?”

“Yeah, why not? Just need some good-old fashioned Valyrian blood magic.”

Daenerys chuckles. “Alright, I’ll tell the servants to light a few warmers.”

She stands from her seat, walking over and grabbing the dark blue dragon egg, turning it over in her hands.

“How many of these are there?” She muttered.

“Plenty,” I replied, standing up myself. “The entire island is littered with them.”

“What?”

I pour a glass of wine. “The caves under the island are almost littered with them. Some of them are in the caves up in the mountains.”

I motioned her towards the window that faced mountains. “Jaehaerys’ dragon, Vermithor, used to dwell in a cave on that mountain. It’s said that he laid a clutch of eggs in there, but by the time we found them they were completely stone.”

Daenerys steps forwards and peers out the window to the large mountain in the distance. “If the Dragonegg’s were here all along, then why did they die out?”

I shrugged “Hell if I know.” I take a sip of the wine, leaning on the windowsill. “It’s rumored that after Rhaenyra’s death that the Targaryen's love and bond with the dragons was bruised, I guess you can say. People believe that the closer the dragons are to their riders, the stronger the magic. But after a civil war where the dragons pitted against each other and other riders, I guess the magic fizzled out.”

“Well, that’s until you came around,” I motioned towards Dany with my glass.

She stared off to where Vermithor’s cave was. “So many mistakes,” she muttered. “They made so many mistakes and it cost our house everything.”

“But you won’t do the same thing.” I said.

She turned to me, determined. “No, I won’t.”

––

The walls are jagged and raw, a clear contrast to the smooth walls of the castle. It’s dim, squinting my eyes to try and adjust to the lack of light. My footsteps echoed off of the walls.

One, two, three, four… and five.

He lay on the cold ground on top of a sad looking chunk of hay that looked as if it was on its last legs. He’s wearing the same trousers and dirty tunic as he was when he was brought here. His chest has a slight rise and fall indicating he’s alive. His face caked in blood and dirt, making me grimace.

“Wake up.”

He doesn’t move, eyes still closed. Annoyed, I reach over to a bucket on the side of the entrance of his cell, grabbing a cup full of water. I splashed it on him through the cell doors.

“I said, wake up.”

He gasps, coughing and sits up straight, surprised. His head snaps over in my direction, eyes narrowing, but he doesn’t make any effort to move out of the shadows and into the dim light.

“You bitch!”

I drag a chair over in front of the cell bars, crossing my legs as I sit. “That’s no way to address a Lady.”

He scoffs. “Y’er the furthest thing from a Lady,” he licks his chapped lips. “But you’ve got a pretty face like one. Maybe once your Dragon Queen agrees to my offer I’ll fuck you both”

I narrow my eyes, but bite my tongue. “And you really think that she’ll take you as, what did you say? A King?”

“I am a King!” He growls.

“Any man who must say ‘I am the King’ is no true King.” I quote Tywin Lannister.

“I am the King of Salt and Rock.” He brings his face closer to me into the light.

“Your niece and nephew would argue otherwise.” I glare down at Euron.

“That bitch and her cock-less brother? They’re nothing. I’ll kill them just like I killed their father.”

“That ‘bitch’ is on her way to reclaim the Iron Islands, and her ‘cock-less brother’ handed you your own ass, landing you here, in a dungeon.”

“She won’t make it.” He double downs. “The Ironborn don't follow women.”

“We’ll see.” I lean in closer, eyeing him through the bars. “It’s a new dawn. Two Queens are fighting for the Iron Throne, most of Westeros’ noble houses are led by women. I think the Iron Islands won’t mind a woman leading them.”

Euron pushes himself against the wall. “Won’t last long. They’ll get tired of her and crave for their true king.”

I leaned forwards. “That awfully confident of you considering your predicament. It’s almost like you have something under your sleeve.” His demeanor shifts, a wave of arrogance and cockiness falling over him.

He smirks. “Y’wanna know? Hm?” He runs his beady eyes down my figure and I tried not to shiver out of disgust. “Why don’t you do me a favor and I’ll tell you.”

“Really?” I played along. “And why would I do that? Not to be too mean, but you don’t seem to be the type to be strategic, just dumb luck.”

His eye twitches at my comment. He leans forwards, a crazed look in his eyes, as if he’d just hit the jackpot. “Cause it’s the one thing that will make your dragons mine.”

Gotcha.

“Let me guess, a Dragonbinder?”

His face falls, shocked that I already knew about his “trump card” that not even Cersei knew about. His mouth falls open, but no words come out.

“What? Cat got your tongue? You were pretty chatty before, what happened?”

He recovers well, becoming more hostile. “Knowing about it won’t change a thing. I’ll get out of here and when I do, I’ll kill you and everyone in this fucking castle and feed you to your own fucking dragons!”

I stare at him momentarily before smiling. “I’ll count on it.” I stand, getting ready to leave. “You’ve lost, Euron. I look forward to your coming execution. Sleep well till then.”

––

“Are you sure?” Daenerys asks, tethering between skepticism and fear.

I nodded. “I didn’t believe it either. From what I had heard it was purely a rumor, but he just confirmed for me.”

“A Dragonbinder?” Missandei raised a brow. “I don’t seem to be familiar with that item.”

“You shouldn’t be.” I said. “It’s something like an ancient relic of Old Valyria. It’s a horn made of an enormous dragonbone and is six feet long. It’s said that whoever blows into it will have the power to control dragons, but I’ve never seen it before nor have I known anyone to have ever seen it, let alone have it in their possession.”

“And you believe Euron is hiding it somewhere?” Varys asks, hand folded in his lap.

“It’s alleged when he went to claim the Seastone Chair he presented the horn to impress his followers. How much of it is true is beyond me, but I think this is something we should keep a close eye on.”

“Has it ever been used?” Dany asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve checked the reference library and found nothing.”

“So the horn’s a sham?” Varys says.

“We don’t know that,” I frowned. “A threat is a threat, regardless if it’s been documented or not.” I turned back to Dany. “Look, I’m telling you all I know. There’s possibly a Dragonbinder out there and it could turn your children against you.”

Daenerys sighs, deep in thought. On one hand this could be a plausible threat. History has proven that anything that remains from Valyria could have the power to cause tremendous change while on the other hand, no one really knows if it exists and if it’s an actual threat to anyone.

“If what you say is the truth then that means Euron and his men have a powerful weapon against me and my children. However, no one, but one man, knows where it is and we don’t know if it’s an actual threat or not. For now, we focus on the task at hand, Euron and the Dragonbinder can wait.”

I nod, understanding. “Whatever you say, Your Grace.”

––

The stars shone bright in the night sky, not a cloud in sight. The moon glimmered brightly, a perfect reflection in the deep ocean. It was one of those nights where everything was still, as if time had stopped. There was no sound, no wind, nothing, just pure silence.

I took in a deep breath, relaxing my shoulders and leaned against the stone railing. My eyes trailed from the sky to the ocean, the beach, and then the cave entrance. Wagons and crates were left around along with what looked to be mining equipment. It wouldn’t be long until all of the Dragonglass would be mined away and then we’ll be marching North to face off against the Night King.

“Hope I’m not interrupting you,” a voice called from behind. I turned around to see Daenerys walking closer to me.

“No, you’re not.” I smiled. “It’s pretty late, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I could ask you the same.”

I turned back to stare off in front of me, “couldn’t sleep. Thought I would be able to after some fresh air, but the sleepiness hasn’t kicked in yet.”

She comes to stand besides me, a comfortable silence falling over us. I looked back down at the cave entrance.

“Since I’ve came here I've been debating whether the Gods are cruel or kind.” I let out a sigh. “On one hand, they’ve taken me from my friends, family, my home. The other, I’ve been given the opportunity to rewrite history, and right the wrongs of mankind.” I let out a humorless laugh and turned towards Dany. “But regardless of what’s happened, I’m glad I’m here to help you and make sure you don’t go through this alone.”

She reached over to grasp my hand, reassuringly. I smiled, “whatever happens from here on out, I want you to know that. I love you, sister.”

Tears brimmed her eyes and she smiled. “I love you too. I pray that when this is over you can find a way back to your family.”

“But you’d be all alone.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” She smiled bittersweet. “I’ve lost my family, I know the pain. I can’t have you going through that.”

I swallowed thickly, looking up and blinked away my tears. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the moon, above.

I cleared my throat, “when I was a child, I visited my Ñāma, um my Grandmother, in Volantis. One night, when the sky was like this she told me a story about two sisters. The younger one was very sick and couldn’t be out during the day so she and her elder sister would go out at night, making sure not to go too far off from home. And every night, under the shade of a large tree, the elder sister would sing a lullaby to her little sister about the moon. And every night, the younger sister would say ‘The sun is for everyone, but we have the moon,’ and she’d fall asleep with a smile. One night, just like any other, the two sisters go out and the eldest sings a lullaby, except this time, the younger one never opens her eyes and passes in her sleep. And for the rest of her life, the eldest sister, before going to bed, would sing a lullaby to the moon, hoping it would reach her sister, because they always had the moon.”

At this point tears were streaming down both of our faces, and I tried my best not to start crying. “Daenerys, wherever we are, we’ll always have the moon.”

We both burst into tears, pulling each other into a tight embrace, crying in each other's arms under the glimmering moon.

so i've recently composed a "soundtrack" for this series (i put soundtrack in "" bc it's more like a medley) i'm thinking abt working on it while i work on this series, but lmk if u all want to hear it when it's complete or when i've given up.

ALSO!! since we're approaching the height of series (and the end) what should my next game of thrones/asoiaf series be?

TAGLIST:

@wotcherpeak @music-luver25 @your-favorite-god @radiantdanvers @cluelessteam @daenerys713 @ministark @laanswife @idohknow @jromanoff @bdudette @bitchyfestivalbouquet @glitteryobjecttaco @cantbecreative @lovelyteenagebeard @the0twst0shrimp0mc @sucker4seresin @marytargaryen @naneko31 @9tailedfoxfire @iilsenewman @ivyrose9194 @coffee-is-my-oxygen @mysterypotatoink @bitchycolletorvoid @nattysplatty @wifiatthetrainstation @nymeriiiia @llynx7 @pookynknowntranger @riley-625-bell @myathegoat

#game of thrones x reader #game of thrones x fem!reader #game of thrones au #game of thrones fanfic #a song of ice and fire x reader #a song of ice and fire x fem!reader #a song of ice and fire fanfic #daenerys targaryen x reader #jon snow x reader #tyrion lannister x reader #missandei x reader #house targaryen x reader #house stark x reader #timetravel au #modern!reader #house of the dragon x reader #heart of the dragon #k4marinafics

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mylovesstuffs · 4 months ago

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Somewhere Before – Wen Junhui

Part 2

Two strangers meet in a café on a rainy night, feeling oddly familiar to each other. As the night unfolds, they realize they may have met before, though neither can remember when. Despite their brief encounter, both sense a connection, leaving them to wonder if fate brought them together.

Genre: non idol au, magical realism (subtle), contemporary romance, slice of life and strangers-to-something-more

Pairing: Jun x fem!reader

Content: rainy night setting, subtle mystery surrounding their past connection, a café as a liminal space, magical realism/past-life connection (implied), emotional connection beyond logic or explanation, yhe idea that some people are meant to meet no matter the circumstances, mystical suggestion rather than a confirmed reality, fated encounter

Word count: 1222 words

A/N: This is for my beloved Kae @ylangelegy ♡ Ikik, I ramble endlessly in your DMs and probably bother you way too much, but I promise it's all love. When you mentioned feeling for our c-line boys as of late, I knew I had to give you something. Started writing this around 3 in the morning as inspiration struck yet again (the photo in the banner sparked it). It’s nowhere near the brilliance of what you write—not even close—but I tried. We run anyway (￣▽￣)ノ♡

The rain hadn’t let up all evening. It came down in sheets, drumming against the pavement, spilling off rooftops, collecting in gutters that could barely keep up. The city lights blurred in the downpour, neon reflections stretching across puddles like fragmented memories.

You were soaked by the time you stumbled into the café, water dripping from your deep emerald green coat, shoes squelching against the tiled floor. The bell above the door chimed softly, and a few patrons glanced up before returning to their conversations, their coffee cups cradled between their hands.

The place felt like a moment caught between heartbeats. Dimly lit, where the scent of roasted coffee curled through the air, a jazz record spun in the background, its melody threading through the hush of weary souls seeking refuge not just from the rain, but from the storms within.

You hesitated near the entrance, scanning the room for an empty seat, when your eyes landed on him.

He sat by the window, a book open in front of him, though he wasn’t reading. His gaze was distant, lost in the rain-streaked crystal glass, fingers idly tracing the rim of his coffee cup...There was something about him that felt familiar.

You didn’t know why, but your feet moved before your mind could catch up. “Is this seat taken?” you asked, gesturing to the empty chair across from him.

He blinked, startled from his thoughts, then glanced at the other empty tables before his gaze returned to you. For a moment, he studied you, trying to place you in a memory he couldn’t quite grasp. Then, with a slight nod, he gestured for you to sit.

You slipped into the seat, shrugging off your damp coat. The warmth of the café seeped into your skin, chasing away the chilly bites of the rain. The flickering candlelight cast gentle shadows on your face, the soft glow catching the curve of your cheek and the tousled strands of wet hair that clung to your forehead.

“Bad night?”

You huffed out a small, tired laugh. “Something like that.”

The response felt heavier than they should have, but you didn’t explain, and he didn’t ask. Instead, silence stretched between you, not awkward, but contemplative. The silence was of the kind that settles between strangers who are somehow without knowing why are at ease with each other.

The rain continued its relentless rhythm against the window. You watched the droplets race each other down the glass, your thoughts drifting.

“You look familiar,” you found yourself saying.

“Do I?”

You tilted your head, studying him. The sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his mouth, a mole just above the corner of his lip, the dark brown eyes that held a million words that you couldn't touch yet.

“Yes,” you murmured. “But I don’t know why.”

He exhaled, his gaze lowering to his book. He didn’t turn the page. “You remind me of someone, too,” he admitted after a moment. “But I can’t remember who.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, though, once again, you weren’t sure why. A strange coincidence. A mutual familiarity with no explanation. You wanted to say more, to unravel the threads of this feeling, but before you could, the barista approached with a fresh cup of coffee and a grilled chicken sandwich. He set it down in front of you without asking what you wanted.

You blinked. “How did you know—”

The barista smiled, then gestured toward the man sitting across from you.

“He ordered it for you.”

Your gaze snapped back to him.

He didn’t look at you, only lifted his own cup to his lips. “You looked like you needed something warm,” he simply said.

A beat of silence. Then, a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Thank you,” you said, wrapping your hands around the cup, the warmth seeped into your fingers.

Outside, the rain kept falling, the city moving on, unaware of the moment unfolding within the walls of the café. And for reasons neither of you could understand, you felt as if you had been here before.

The conversation that followed was slow, unhurried. Words exchanged in soft tones, like footprints left in the sand before the tide washes them away.

He told you his name. Jun. You told him yours.

He wasn’t from this city, just passing through, though he didn’t say where he was going. You had been here too long, though you weren’t sure why you stayed.

Deep and cliché but he asked about your dreams. You asked about his regrets. Neither of you had all the answers, but perhaps that was the point and was okay. There was something oddly weightless about confiding to a stranger in the middle of the night, in a café where time felt irrelevant, where the rain painted the rest of the world away.

You traced patterns on the tabletop as he spoke, the edges of your memories catching on something just out of reach.

And then, “I really think we’ve met before,” you said suddenly.

Jun’s fingers tightened slightly around his cup. He didn’t look surprised. He looked like he had been waiting for you to say it. “Maybe,” he said. “But I don’t remember when.”

You frowned, frustrated by the way the thought slipped through your grasp like water. “Not in this life,” you murmured, half to yourself.

He looked up then, his gaze meeting yours. Something coruscated in his eyes, a common memory neither of you could recall. A connection that had always existed, just waiting to be found.

You exhaled slowly, letting the thought settle between you. “Do you believe in fate?” you asked.

Jun was silent for a long moment. “I don't,” he admitted. “But I believe in moments like this.”

Your heart ached at the simplicity of his words. Because you understood. Some things didn’t need explanations. Some meetings weren’t meant to be questioned. Some people just found their way back to each other, again and again. No matter how many times they had to start over.

The café emptied as the night stretched on, chairs flipped onto tables, the barista wiping down the counters.

The rain had softened to a gentle drizzle, mist curling around the streetlights outside.

You both lingered, neither wanting to be the first to leave. But eventually, the night had to end.

Jun stood first, slipping on his coat. You followed, stepping outside together. The air was cool, damp with the scent of rain and earth. The world felt softer and quieter.

You turned to him, unsure what to say.

Would this be the last time? Or was it just another beginning?

Jun looked at you for a long moment, then, with the faintest hint of a smile, “I think we’ll meet again.”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t ask how he knew. You just smiled back, the warmth of his words lingering long after he disappeared into the night. And as the rain fell once more, you knew. Some stories never really end. They just wait for the next chapter.

The first time they met, it was a mistake.

The second time, it was fate.

Some souls are bound by threads older than time, weaving through lifetimes, destined to meet again in the spaces where memories fade and fate lingers.

#wen junhui #jun seventeen #jun x reader #jun fanfic #jun fluff #moon junhui #jun svt #svt jun #jun scenarios #junhui x reader #junhui #seventeen junhui #svt x reader #jun imagines #★— mylovesstuffs twenty twenty five #★— mylovesstuffs #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader

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yxngbxkkie · 2 years ago

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meet-cute (b.c)

so, the clip from the intro: recording where chan first gets to the studio is so attractive to me for some reason 🫢 then i had the idea to write a fic on it, and 3.3k words later... we have this! i do hope you like it 🩷

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

You knock on the door to the studio, waiting for your younger brother to open it. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, looking around the empty hallway as you wait.

“Changbin?” You call out his name, knocking softly once again.

The door opens up instantly after, a light smile gracing your lips. “Noona, what are you doing here?” He asks you, opening the door further so you can walk inside.

“I can't come see my successful baby brother?” You ask him with a scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.

He blushes at your compliment before playfully punching your arm. “Don't do that in front of the staff. You know I get shy,” Changbin groans, puffing his chest out to look tough.

“Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Seo,” you laugh, plopping yourself down on the leather couch. Your brother giggles as well before sitting back in the office chair.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, resting your elbow against the arm of the couch. You scroll through one of your social media apps as he finishes up with Seungmin.

Changbin turns in his chair to look at you after he's finished with the vocalist. “You still haven't told me why you're here,” he mentions, and you lift your head up. “Not that I don't want you here.”

“I got stood up last night,” you tell him with a deep sigh, feeling yourself becoming upset.

“Are you serious?! Who in their right mind would stand you up?” Changbin clicks his tongue with a shake of his head.

You shrug your shoulders, a fake laugh coming from you. “Apparently a lot of people would,” you shuffle in your seat, tucking a leg under the other.

Changbin scoots his chair closer to you and places a hand on your knee. “I'm sorry, Y/N. You don't deserve that,” he frowns, squeezing your knee in reassurance.

“It's okay. Maybe it's the universe telling me that I'm not ready to date,” you mention, leaning back against the cushion.

Before your brother has the chance to say anything, the door to the studio opens. You turn your head, finding the eyes of a man wearing a black mask.

His dark eyes meet yours, and you quickly divert your gaze. He places a water bottle on the coffee table, looking between you and Changbin. “Who's this?” He asks, jabbing his thumb in your direction.

Your heart races at the sound of his voice, low-key, hoping he'll take his mask off. You tap your fingers against your leg, watching the taller member sit in another office chair.

“This is my noona, Y/N,” Changbin introduces you. You find the mysterious man's gaze again before providing a tiny wave of your hand. “Noona, this is Chan.”

“Ah! You're the infamous Chan oppa I'm always hearing about,” you chuckle before holding your hand out to him. “It's nice to meet you.”

Chan bows his head and shakes your hand. You can feel the tingles of his touch spreading through your fingers. “Nice to meet you too,” he says, pulling his hand back.

Changbin moves back towards the desk, pressing the red button to talk to Seungmin inside the booth. “Mr. Australia is here,” he tells him before moving to sit beside you.

You notice Chan giving you a hesitant look, knowing that he's politely trying to get you to leave. You smile at him before landing a slap on Changbin's thigh, gaining his attention.

“I'm going to head out, alright? Leave you guys to work your magic,” you chuckle while standing up, stretching lightly.

“You don't have to leave!” He mentions and tries to convince Chan with his eyes. “Right? She's my sister.”

A sigh comes from Chan, and he turns to face the computer screens. “No, no, it's okay. Just give me a call whenever you're done, Binnie,” you reassure him that you'll be fine.

He nods his head and brings you into a hug, tightly squeezing you. A groan leaves your lips as your little brother almost crushes the life out of you.

“I'll talk to you later,” you smile at Changbin, ruffling his hair.

You walk out of the studio quietly, not wanting to interrupt Chan working with Seungmin. You look through the small window before walking away, admiring Chan from the back.

You bite your lip and start walking towards the elevators, hoping you'll see him again soon.

You can feel the excitement coursing through your veins as you walk down the hall of your brother's apartment building. It's been a couple of weeks since you stopped by their recording session. A couple of days ago, Changbin texted you asking if you wanted to have dinner with him and his members, which you couldn't pass up.

Before you're able to knock on the door, it opens up. Your breath hitches in your throat when you come face to face with the man you've been wanting to see again.

“Hi,” you breathe out, looking into Chan's brown eyes. “I'm sorry for intruding.”

He shakes his head and smiles at you. “No, it's okay! Come in. Changbin is in the living room,” Chan reassures you, stepping to the side to allow you inside.

You feel a little relieved, thankful that he's less intimidating in a non-work setting. You thank him and step inside, slipping your shoes off. Chan shuts the door behind you, slipping past you while dragging his fingers across your lower back.

Your cheek warmth at the touch of his hand before walking towards where Changbin is sitting. His eyes meet yours, a smile coming to his lips.

“Finally, you're here,” your brother teases while getting up from his spot.

A groan leaves your lips, and you playfully punch his arm. Changbin cries out and rubs the spot you hit. “Oh, come on! That didn't hurt,” you laugh as the other members fill the room.

Changbin smirks before quickly putting you in a headlock. You scream, gripping the member’s forearm. “Noona, I may be your little brother, but I'm stronger,” he laughs after releasing you.

You giggle and shake your head. You've missed hanging out with him. Chan walks back into the living room after helping Minho with dinner. Your eyes follow his figure through the room, not believing how breathtaking he is.

When Chan disappears down the hallway, you snap yourself back to reality. You quickly glance at the other members, hoping that no one caught you blatantly staring.

Changbin nudges your arm, making you look at him. You notice the smirk on his face, and you release an embarrassed chuckle. He leans in to whisper into your ear. “You got a thing for our leader, noona?”

You scoff, playing it off. “No, no, of course not,” you tell him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Just before Changbin can say anything else, Chan walks back through the living room. His eyes find yours as he's heading into the kitchen, smiling kindly.

“You're such a liar,” your little brother laughs, shoving you lightly.

“I am not!” You counter, moving to sit on one of the couches.

You sit down beside Felix, mumbling a quick greeting to him. He smiles back at you and ruffles your hair a bit.

“How come I'm older, but you guys are treating me like I'm younger,” you complain, fixing your hair with a laugh.

Changbin pats your shoulders as he walks past you. “Because you're young at heart, noona!” He says truthfully, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?”

You nod your head, and Changbin disappears into the kitchen to grab something. You bring your attention to the other five members, all of them scrolling through their phones.

“You guys are a lively bunch,” you chuckle, looking at each member for a few seconds.

Seungmin laughs and locks his phone. “You didn't know?” He jokes with you, combing a hand through his hair.

“Changbin must've failed to mention it,” you giggle while adjusting your position on the couch.

You're too busy joking with Seungmin to notice Chan walk towards you with a glass of water in his hands. “Here, Y/N,” he mentions loud enough for you to hear.

You snap your head up, and you meet Chan's gaze. Your brain malfunctions just a smidge before moving quickly to grab the full glass. A gasp slips out as you get water all over yourself.

“Shit,” you mumble, and Chan grabs the glass from your hand. Your heart hammers in your chest as you feel all of their eyes on you. “I-I, excuse me.”

You rush out of the living room and towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. Thrusting your head back, you release a groan at the pain in the back of your head.

“So embarrassing,” you tell yourself while shaking your head.

You look into the mirror, seeing the large wet spot in your shirt. You can probably convince Changbin to give you a new shirt. You move to open the bathroom door, jumping a bit as Chan stands on the other side.

Your eyes widen, both of you seeming frozen in place. “Chan, I'm so sorry about spilling the water,” you apologize after a few seconds of silence.

“It's okay, Y/N, really,” he giggles before handing you the article of clothing. “I brought this for you. I can throw your shirt in the dryer.”

“Thank you,” you whisper and take the black hoodie from his hands. Your heart jumps in your chest when his fingers brush against yours.

He smiles and nods, leaving you to change. You slowly close the bathroom door again, bringing the hoodie to your face. Your eyes flutter shut while inhaling the smell of it.

You kick your feet a bit and change out of your shirt. You throw the hoodie over your head, smiling at the warmth of it. You shove your hands into the pocket before walking out of the bathroom.

Chan meets you at the end of the hall, taking your shirt from you. You thank him again as his eyes roam down your figure. You feel yourself becoming shy under his gaze.

“Y/N! I made you a plate,” Changbin calls out to you, walking up to you and Chan.

“Thanks, Changbinnie,” you tell him, tearing your gaze away from the older member.

Chan disappears again, tossing your shirt into the dryer for you. Changbin realizes you're wearing one of Chan's hoodies as both of you head towards the kitchen.

“Nice hoodie,” he wiggles his eyebrows, giggles leaving his lips.

“I am going to punch you so hard,” you laugh, shaking your head.

Changbin rubs your back as he leads you to the table. You sit down in the chair before digging into the meal Minho cooked. “Thank you for the meal, Min,” you tell him just before stuffing your face, humming in delight at the taste.

You balance the takeout boxes in your hands as you walk towards the studio your brother's in. Changbin sent you the track they've been working on, feeling really proud of it. So, being the amazing sister you are, you decided to buy them lunch.

After reaching the studio they're in, you knock on the door quickly. “One minute,” a voice from inside calls out.

The door opens up, and Chan stands in front of you. Your breath hitches in your throat at the outfit he's sporting. You've only seen the man wear black, so seeing him in light wash jeans makes you feel something.

“Hi, Y/N,” he chuckles, opening the door wider to let you in.

You clear your throat and greet him with a smile. “Is Changbin here? I bought lunch for you guys in congratulations on the banger you made,” you chuckle, setting the takeout onto the coffee table.

“Ah, I'm currently the only one here. Changbin's not coming until almost three-thirty,” he says while checking his watch.

Your cheeks blush at the two hour gap, wondering if you'll be intruding. “I see,” you giggle embarrassingly. “I can leave you some food and come back later. I don't want to be a bother.”

Chan shakes his head while holding his hands out. “No, you're fine! You can stay here, I don't mind,” he mentions with a warm grin.

“Are you sure?” You ask him, watching the member grab some of the food you brought.

“Of course. Sit, please,” he motions to the couch.

You nod, sitting down on the couch. You watch Chan as he sits in the spot beside you, handing you a pair of chopsticks. You take the wooden utensils from him as he hands you an assortment of sushi.

“I love sushi,” he comments before eating one of the rolls. You giggle and agree with him, shoving one past your lips. Both of you hum in delight, more giggles escaping at the sight of Chan waving his hands excitedly.

“You're so cute,” you whisper, shaking your head. You eat another piece of sushi, releasing another groan of delight. “God, these are delicious.”

Chan looks at you with wide eyes, hearing you call him cute. “You think I'm cute?” He asks you in a quiet voice, his chopsticks paused over the row of sushi.

You almost choke on your food, placing a hand on your chest. Chan sets the chopsticks down and gently pats your back. “S-Sorry, your question caught me off guard,” you chuckle nervously. His hand continues to rub your back, and you release a sigh.

You turn in your seat, facing the handsome leader. You place your chopsticks on a napkin, giving him your full attention. Your heart starts to pound against your chest, looking down at your lap.

“I think you're so fucking cute,” you confess to him, fiddling with your fingers.

“Really?” He breathes out, leaning back on the couch.

Your cheeks blush, his dark eyes burning a hole in the side of your head. “Y-Yeah, I mean, have you looked at yourself?” You ask him in disbelief.

Chan wipes his hands on his jeans and clears his throat. “To me, I don't believe I'm that good-looking.”

“That's criminal!” You exclaim, moving your body forward to rest your hands on his thighs. The older member blushes at your touch, his eyes dancing between your face and hands. “I think you're so fucking handsome, Chan.”

His ears burn with shyness, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Well, I think you're absolutely beautiful,” Chan whispers to you, returning the compliment. Silence fills the space between you, both of you feeling really shy. “Hey, do you wanna see what I'm like in the booth?”

“Oh? I get a front row showing to Mr. Bang Chan's recording session?” You ask with a laugh, feeling honored that he'll show you.

“One time offer,” Chan smirks, standing up from his spot.

You look up at him and grin ear to ear. “I'll take you up on it,” you tell him before motioning towards the sound booth.

He giggles and nods his head, holding out a hand for you to grab. You can't stop yourself from giggling as you place your hand in his. Chan helps you up and leads you towards the box with the red button.

“Sit here,” he says while rolling the computer chair to you. You sit in the chair and watch as he gets things ready to set up.

“You do this with all the pretty ladies?” You ask him as he clicks away on the computer.

Chan scoffs and brings his gaze to you, a smirk coming to his lips. “Are you kidding? Changbin hasn't told you that I have no social life?” He laughs and looks back at the screen, pulling up the song he wants to record.

You giggle, gently biting your lip. “He mentioned you worked a lot. None of the women you work with suits you?” You joke with him, scooting closer to watch what he's doing.

“No, no. They're all older than me and married. Plus, after meeting you… I don't want to look at other women,” he flirts with you, causing your cheeks to burn.

“Wow, the rizz is there,” you tell him, gripping the edge of the office chair.

He giggles some more and brings one of your hands to the mouse. “Okay, so you'll press this red button to talk to me. And, when I give you a thumbs up, I need you to click play,” he explains the gist of it, looking at you to make sure you understand.

Chan gives you two thumbs up after you confirm your understanding. He pets your hair before making his way into the recording booth. You watch him place the headphones on before you press the button.

“Can you hear me?” You ask, leaning forward a smidge like it's a microphone.

He chuckles and nods his head, looking at you through the window. “I can. You don't need to lean forward like that,” Chan tells you with a large smile.

“Oh, oops,” you chuckle and look through the window. “I'm ready when you are, Channie.”

His heart flutters at the nickname, and he raises his hand to give you a thumbs up. You glance back at the computer and press the play button. He starts singing, and you swear that you begin to melt.

“Woah,” you whisper to yourself, loving the way he sounds. Chan raises his thumb again, and you pause the track before pressing the red button. “I knew you had a good singing voice, but wow.”

He hides his face into his hands, almost squealing. You smile fondly at him as he takes the headphones off. You release the button when Chan walks out of the booth.

“You really think so?”

You stand up from your chair while nodding your head in response. You pick the lint from the shirt he's wearing. “I do, I really do,” you mumble loud enough for him to hear, looking up at him through your lashes.

His eyes meet yours, and the two of you subconsciously drift closer. Chan's nose brushes yours, making your eyes slowly shut. He brings one hand to your cheek, stroking the supple skin gently.

A pant escapes your lips as his face gets closer and closer. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” Chan asks politely, pulling back a smidge to look into your eyes.

“Y-Yes, please,” you almost whimper, gripping his t-shirt.

Chan smiles and leans back in, connecting your lips with his. Your hands move to the base of his neck, your fingers playing with his hair. You kiss him back with the same amount of passion as he tilts his head to the side.

“Chan hyung, have you heard from Y/N?” Changbin asks while stepping into the studio. His eyes widen as he catches the two of you making out. “Never mind.”

You pull back from Chan, pushing him a little bit so he's not too close. “Bin!” You almost shout, growing nervous as your younger brother is practically frozen.

“Do not hurt her,” Changbin tells his leader, crossing his buff arms over his chest.

“I would never,” Chan reassures him, moving away from you to pat the younger member's arm. “She brought food. Help yourself.”

Changbin's eyes light up as he follows Chan's finger, which is pointing at the takeout. “Noona, thank you! You're allowed to date Chan,” he states before rushing over to the couch.

Both you and Chan laugh at his statement, causing you to shake your head. Chan hooks a finger beneath your jaw, bringing you back in for another kiss.

“Yah, yah,” Changbin groans, covering his eyes. “Just because I'm okay with it doesn't mean you can do that in front of me.”

You rub your hands on Chan's pecs, landing one last smooch. “I'll let you guys work. I'll call you later?” You mention to Chan, standing on your toes.

“I'll call you,” he whispers with a lovesick smile.

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8 @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n

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