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makeitmakesomesense · 2 days ago

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The Early Morning

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Day 5: I've merged a lovely request from a lovely friend with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 5th of January, which is 'blind'.

It is just past the middle of the night. You have officially entered the early morning. You find yourself awake. You went to sleep right after your last mission. This is your consequence.

You don’t try to fight it, instead you roll out of your bed and make your way to get something to drink. Ever since Vision and Wanda have become part of the Avengers, things have been a little different. You’ve all done your best to welcome them to the team, but they have kept to themselves far more than you expected. The changing dynamics have been something to adjust to.

You let yourself enjoy the easy peace of the quiet nighttime.

You walk to the kitchen and freeze for a second.

Wanda is sitting at the dining table. Her hair is wet. Her face is ashen and her hands are cupping a hot mug of tea. Her eyes flit wearily to you.

You hesitate, not sure how to approach. You’ve never spoken to her alone.

‘You okay?’

Wanda turns back to her tea, she doesn’t answer.

You watch the ends of her hair drip onto the tiled floor.

You refill the kettle and turn it on. You take a seat next to her.

Wanda’s wearing a grey sweater. It’s too big for her. The sleeves have ridden up and her forearms are exposed. Goosebumps coat her skin.

You try again. Something more direct.

‘Are you cold?’

Wanda’s eyes meet yours and you know that she is.

The kettle boils and you stand up, your hand touches her shoulder as you pass by. You feel her shudder.

You bring her a new mug. The steam curls promisingly above the liquid. Wanda leans over it. Her hands wrap around the ceramic, even though it must be burning hot. She shudders again and closes her eyes.

You sit next to her with your own mug and think.

Dim light seeps through the large windows and illuminates Wanda’s face. Her eyes have dark shadows under them. You can tell she must not be sleeping. You wonder where Vision is.

As if she can read your thoughts (and you can’t help wondering if she can). Wanda answers your silent question.

‘Viz doesn’t sleep. Not like people do. It’s more... robotic.’

You picture immediately a long cable connecting the android to a computer. You push down the ridiculous image that's probably not so far from the truth. You nod at Wanda silently encouraging her to continue.

‘At night, he goes offline. Really offline. Missiles could go off and he’d be blind to it.’

You try to understand the subtext of Wanda’s words. There’s a strange suspense to your next question, it is the possibility that she might say yes.

‘Do you worry about that? About missiles going off?’

Wanda smiles at you. Her head tilts. It could be playful if her eyes weren’t full of pain.

‘It’s all I worry about.’

You give a half smile back, you know it doesn’t reach your eyes.

‘I’ve done all my sleeping for tonight.’ You tell her carefully. ‘If you want someone there… someone awake. I was going to watch a movie anyway and I can put on headphones.’

Wanda takes her first sip of the slowly cooling tea.

‘Thank you.’ She says a moment later, her small smile now weighted with relief.

Wanda follows you back to your room that night. She waits for you to prop some pillows against the headboard and lie back on one side of the bed. She falls readily onto the other side of the mattress.

She’s not self conscious, not like you’d half expected.

She sinks into the bed like it’s been calling her for days. You listen to her breathing even out before you put on your headphones.

It becomes a routine of sorts. Your new sleep schedule is not nearly as difficult as you expect. You switch your mindless after-dinner screen time with an early nap.

Wanda knocks on your door in the early hours of each morning. You plug in some headphones and watch whatever film you can think of.

Wanda lies beside you. Now that the worst of the sleep deprivation has abated, she is slower to fall asleep. Sometimes you even talk for a few minutes, about the day before or the film you’re planning to watch.

It’s easy to talk to Wanda, much easier than you ever expected. You try to understand the distance she’s always kept from everyone on the team except Vision.

Each morning, you wait patiently for the inevitable long pause in coversation, for the moment that her eyelids slowly start to close.

There is something comforting about her steady breathing beside you.

It is too easy to be comfortable. Despite your best efforts, it only takes a week for you to become lulled to near sleep yourself.

You’re not quite asleep, you’re still following along with the dialogue from the movie. But your mind has drifted and your eyes have closed.

They fly open at the first feeling of movement beside you. You startle suddenly as you understand your inadvertent mistake. You move backwards unthinkingly and hit your head sharply on the edge of the headboard.

You hiss out and apologise automatically.

Wanda is still lying in the bed next to you, she has turned to face you. Her head is resting on the pillow. She looks exhausted with a different kind of fatigue. She sits up very carefully, as if her presence is inherently scary.

You don’t know how to explain. That your automatic panic came only from the disorientation of nearly falling asleep by mistake.

Wanda speaks before you can. Her mouth twists into the same bitter smile that you’ve seen once before. She is watching you rub the sore spot at the back of your head.

‘It’s your amygdala.’ She explains.

‘What?’ You ask unsurely.

‘That’s why you’re afraid.’

‘My amygdala.’ You repeat dumbly.

‘Yes. Vision explained it once. It’s what makes you afraid of me, even if you don’t want to be.’ Her words are rehearsed. They sound calm but you can hear something else simmering behind them. ‘Your amygdala knows the danger that comes with being near me.’

‘And what about Vision’s amygdala?’ You ask sharply, suddenly hating the implications of her words. ‘How does he manage?’

‘It’s synthetic.’

‘That’s lucky.’ You comment dryly.

She stares at you seriously. An overwhelming loneliness fills her eyes.

‘Yes.’ Wanda says quietly, looking down at the bedspread. ‘It is.’

You watch Wanda leave.

You spend the day caught between a wish to apologise and a lingering uncertainty that something else is wrong. Something more complicated than you’d realised.

You seek out Natasha in the end, trusting her advice and needing someone to speak to. You find her as she’s leaving a boardroom after a meeting. She invites you back into the room and you sit together. You start to tell her about Wanda. You try to state the facts. The sleep deprivation. Vision’s words. Her isolation from the team.

You hope you don’t sound biased, you hope your concern doesn’t seem excessive.

Natasha’s lips twist and you can tell she doesn’t like the details either. She tells you other things, small moments she’s noticed. Their separate meals from the rest of you. His frequent appearances in Wanda’s room without warning. How it's the one thing he can’t seem to learn not to do. A sudden lengthy monologue about the benefits of Stark’s technology, unaware of Wanda stiffened posture beside him.

You exchange a long look with Natasha, it holds something that you recognise in your bones.

You decide to worry together.

That night you find Wanda before the time she usually comes to your room. It is just past midnight and she is sitting at the dining table. Her dark hair is wet again.

She startles violently when you call her name. Her shoulders relax immediately as she turns to find you.

Wanda stands suddenly and moves to the kitchen counter. You watch her refill the kettle and turn it on. She takes out two mugs. She smiles at you again. There’s relief in it.

‘Good evening.’ She says at last. Her fingers tap out a steady rhythm against the marble countertop.

She notices you watching and her hand stills suddenly. She stares down at her fingers. Her mouth closes and her jaw ticks. She is lost in thought. You know she is remembering your last encounter.

This time, you speak first. You start slowly.

‘I’m not afraid of you.’ You tell her carefully.

Wanda doesn’t look up. You watch the familiar bitter smile that makes your gut twist unhappily.

‘Then you are not paying attention.’ She says simply.

‘I am.’ You counter stubbornly.

‘We can’t change who we are.’ Her voice is monotone and you can tell that she is quoting someone else. ‘We can’t relinquish the dangers that comes with our power.’

‘But we can always have family.’ Your argument is quiet. ‘We can still have love and care. We can forgive ourselves for who we are.’

Wanda goes very still. After a moment, she reaches for the kettle that has now boiled. You watch her pour the water into the two waiting mugs.

‘Vision -’ She begins at last, looking at you unsurely. ‘It’s hard’

‘What is?’

She hands you a mug of tea and you watch her grip her own drink like it’s a life support system.

‘He would never do the things I’ve done.’ Her voice cracks with barely repressed guilt. ‘It can be hard to not feel alone.’

You drink your tea and watch her for a moment. Wanda's breathing is shallow. Her pupils have dilated in the dim light. Her dark eyes are watching you, waiting.

‘I would’ve.’ You confess softly. ‘If I’d been you. I think I would have done the same things.’

A thousand emotions flit through Wanda's expression. It settles somewhere between fear and longing.

You move forward and place your mug on the countertop, carefully you take Wanda’s from her too. When her hands are free, you hold them gently in your own.

She grips them tightly. You can feel her shaking.

‘Do you want to get out of here?’ You offer softly. ‘Just for a few days. We can borrow a car. We can go right now.’

Wanda is so close to you now. You feel the hitch in her breath as you much as you hear it.

Wanda’s expression fills with the same look of longing and she glances outside at the full moon that is brightening the darkest part of the night.

‘Viz’ll wake up soon.’ She hesitates. ‘He hates it when I leave this place.’

You shake your head. You give her a small smile. ‘Natasha said they’re using his offline time tonight to update some of his old programming. Getting rid of some of the biases that Tony created back when it was only Jarvis.’

You pause. Wanda is looking at you like the world is something new again.

‘We have time.’ You tell her and it feels like a promise.

Her small smile is full of sudden happiness.

Wanda leans forward and her head rests against your shoulder. There is a weightlessness to her tired relief.

You are grateful that your amygdala is very real. That you can feel this entirely.

‘Okay’ She says finally against your shirt. ‘Do you mind if I sleep while you drive?’

You laugh and wrap your arms around her. The wet ends of her hair drip onto your arms.

You leave the Compound before the sun has risen.

Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader

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babybearnation · 2 days ago

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you're wonderin' why half his clothes went missin'

⎇f1 drivers x gn!reader - you walk in on each other changing (reactions) ⎇contains: alex albon, arthur leclerc, charles leclerc, dino beganovic, george russell, zhou guanyu, kimi antonelli, lance stroll, lando norris, liam lawson, logan sargeant, max verstappen, mick schumacher, ollie bearman, oscar piastri, paul aron, pierre gasly, yuki tsunoda ⎇author's note: this randomly switches order occasionally, soz lol (kofi for long fics) ⎇content warnings: suggestive (alex, arthur, dino, george, kimi, lando, liam, logan, max, mick, oscar, pierre, yuki), minor injuries (charles, logan, mick, yuki), insecurity (lance, logan) ⎇word count: 2k

alex albon:

he's the type to knock before immediately walking in without waiting for a response so when he does that and stumbles upon you getting changed, he feels bad. not too bad though because damn, your body is fucking fine, but he's apologising and turning his back to you so you can finish up. if you're okay with it, he'll make suggestive jokes later on but he's mostly just apologetic.

when you walk in on him changing, he won't even care. he'll gesture for you to carry on when you trail off mid-sentence. if you do, then it'll lead to nothing. if you don't, however, he'll abandon getting changed in favour of teasing you, flexing his muscles and playfully offering to pin you against the wall so you can get a closer look.

arthur leclerc:

the second he realises he's walked in on you changing, he's shutting the door behind him with a smirk. unless you demand he get out, he's not leaving. he's leaning against the door and staring until you either give up on getting changed or you finish changing and call him out for staring. he's not apologetic once.

he doesn't care. he'll invite you to get undressed so you two can have some fun, but if you say anything other than a full yes, he'll smile at you softly and focus on getting changed. after he's done, he'll give you a kiss before carrying on like nothing happened. if you say yes, however... well, i'm sure you can guess what happens.

charles leclerc:

he walks in, looking down at his phone, before looking up when you tell him to get out. he sees that you're half undressed and ends up turning and running right into the doorframe. it's a cliche, yes, but you can't tell me it wouldn't happen to poor charles. you end up having to speedily get dressed so you can take care of him.

he might be a bit shy when he realises you've walked in on him changing, but he won't demand you get out or ask you to join him. he'll quickly finish up and then carry on like normal. if you wanted something to happen, you'd have to be the one to push it to happen because he's just very respectful and sweet.

dino beganovic:

he's cocky. he sees your total state of undress and just stares until you notice his presence. when you finish getting dressed and finally notice him, he can't help but playfully pout at you, decrying you for depraving him of his view. smack him upside the head.

if you walk in on him, however, there's no teasing or staring allowed. he will beg you to leave and, because you're just so nice, you kiss him before leaving. it makes him flush something wicked but he can't help but smile over you and the way you make him feel.

george russell:

he doesn't care. this man has lifted his shirt up and pointed at people in the paddock before, he does not care. you could walk over and tell him to stop getting dressed and he'd do it. if the sight makes you blush, however, you are definitely getting teased by him. he won't let you live that down.

he's a gentleman, so unless you've said that it's okay for him to stay in the room when you're getting dressed or if you've gotten dressed around him before, he'll do a complete 180 and leave the room. he's respectful, especially if the relationship is still in the early stages.

zhou guanyu:

he's chill. you're his partner, why should it matter that you're seeing his half naked body? he will literally carry on changing as he asks you what's up and what you need. he's so chill that there isn't even a single opportunity for the situation to turn sexual or awkward lol.

if he walks in you, however, he'll turn his back and apologise, very clearly awkward. it makes you chuckle because the two situations are the exact same, yet his reactions are very clearly not. you'll have to hurry and finish changing because he refuses to turn around or even move otherwise.

kimi antonelli:

his reaction will depend on how undressed he is. fully? he's blushing and telling you to get out. he just has his shirt off? eh, whatever, that's fine. he'll try and hurry you up though because he does wanna finish changing sometime soon lmfao.

he's blushing and shyly taking in your appearance if he walks in on you. he'll probably alert you to his presence and quickly do what he needs to do before leaving. whatever you do, do not tease him about his reaction because he will not go light on you.

lance stroll:

insecure. i don't know why but he gives off those vibes. so when you walk in on him changing, he might shyly snatch his clothes/towel up to cover himself with before politely asking you to leave. you better respect his wishes though, otherwise he'll probably get pretty upset.

contrary to how many view him, i think lance is quite the respectful guy and he would definitely cover his eyes and apologise for walking in on you changing. if you're fine with it, he'll carry on as normal, but if not, he'll feel kinda bad and will definitely ask how he can make it up to you. just let him kiss you until he stops pouting, yeah?

lando norris:

does not care. y'all saw the fucking strip poker pictures. he will invite you in and it'll remain pretty casual unless you push it further. but, if he's undressing to get into the shower, you will be asked to join him and he fully intends that shower to go only one way. say yes, it'll make him happy, i promise.

if he walks in on you, he might act all embarrassed and shy about it, but he's peeking through his fingers as he's apologising for staring. unless you're legitimately upset, he'll continue to peek until you tell him to stop pretending in which case he's all but rushing forward to get his hands on your body.

liam lawson:

eh, he's not really bothered. you saw his half-naked body, oh no, what will he do? he legit doesn't care. if you get flustered or shy, though, he may start to take interest in your reaction. and yes, this will lead to him going shirtless around you more often just to see you blush. idk, he gives off those vibes.

literally will just carry on doing what he needs to do if he walks in on you changing. again, he's not really bothered. you two are dating. he's bound to see you naked at one point if he hasn't already. if you're a bit more shy and flustered about it, he'll leave, but he'll vow to make you feel more comfortable being naked around him - not just sexually.

logan sargeant:

it depends on the day. if he's feeling a bit more downcast, he might politely ask that you come back in 5 minutes, but if he's feeling a lot better, he'll happily let you carry on. maybe even pull you into his arms for some quick fun if you catch my drift.

if he walks in on you, however, poor baby is apologising before asking what you want him to do. respectful. depending on your response he'll either slump back against the doorframe and watch you change or absolutely fucking eat dirt by tripping over as he tries to leave. and yes, there is no in between lol.

max verstappen:

might blush the tiniest amount if you walk in on him changing but he acts like everything is fine because it is. you're his partner, why can't you see him changing? the only reason he's blushing is because, well, you do stare at him quite intensely sometimes.

if he walks in on you, he'll freeze up momentarily before smirking and making a very blunt comment about how enticing the exposed part of your body looks. he loves when you get all sassy and sharp with him, but he likes it just as much when you get all shy and blushy. he's a charmer, really.

mick schumacher:

blushes. straight up just dies. he's proud of his body, don't get him wrong, but at the same time... he's shy. if you leave, he'll appreciate it but he also won't complain if you go over and give him some very specific attention. you can decide what that attention will be.

if he walks in on you? he's another person who's hitting the doorframe as he tries to leave. definitely not as bad as charles would, but he's whimpering and covering his face in the doorway and you'll probably end up abandoning all ideas of getting dressed to make sure he's okay. poor baby only blushes more when he sees you abandoned changing to make sure he was okay.

ollie bearman:

you think this man isn't pulling his phone out, ready to take pictures of you the second he has your consent? wrong. he loves taking pictures of you (he gives off that energy) and sure, most of them are bad quality, but he loves them for the memories. he has no cares what so ever about walking in on you changing unless you have cares in which case he'll back off and be polite.

you walking in on him, however? everyday occurrence. common. you don't even have to walk in on him. he's constantly shirtless. obviously, changing clothes is a lot different than just being shirtless, but even then he really just does not fucking care lmfao. he loves you, so why should he?

oscar piastri:

like a few of the other drivers, he's pretty chill about it. he might cover up at the very beginning stages of your relationship out of courtesy but it's moreso for your sake. he really doesn't care. he might softly tease you if you get shy about it though.

if he walks in on you, he's gonna be respectful. he'll cover his eyes and ask you to tell him when you're done. when you do, he'll take in your outfit and compliment you before cursing because he forgot what he came in the room for. that's assuming you put clothes on, of course...

paul aron:

he might feel awful about walking in on you changing, but he won't be overdramatic about it. he'll apologise and either continue on or leave, depending on your reaction. he's respectful and super polite and once you're done changing, he'll compliment your outfit.

(if you follow my fake texts) you have a shirtless photo of him as your contact image for him. he really doesn't care about you seeing him getting dressed at that point. sure, if he's totally naked, it'll be more awkward, especially at the beginning of the relationship, but he's a pretty chill guy and will get over it soon enough.

pierre gasly:

again, he's chill. you can walk in on him changing and he'll ask what you're searching for or how you are. you'll probably have to be the one to push it in certain directions, depending on what you want, but apart from that, he's chill.

walking in on you, however? pierre's horny. straight up. you're hot as fuck and, unless you kick him out, he's gonna sit there and take in his view until you sigh and tell him to come over and do something instead of staring. and who is he to say no to that?

yuki tsunoda:

blushering. stammering out apologies. turning and stubbing his toe on the door frame before promptly spitting out a string of curses. this is what yuki would do after he walks in on you changing. it's very funny and you can't help but laugh at him because he really didn't need to react that way at all.

you walking in on him will make him blush, but he'll shyly ask you what's up as he continues to get dressed. if you interrupt him getting dressed, he's gonna get even more shy before randomly having a confidence boost that results in your neighbours filing a noise complaint.

#ᵔᴥᵔ fics #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 reactions #f1 reactions #formula 1 headcanons #f1 headcanons #formula 2 #f2 #formula 2 x reader #f2 x reader #babybearnation

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taelophone · 2 days ago

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Soft Feminine˚࿔ ⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆TWs: None! Its fluff of luigi fixing your childhood music box lol ˚｡⋆A/N: This was written as an allegory for something!! If you catch it please lmk id be so so happy <33

The slow silence filled the room, pardoned by the occasional shift of clothing or the clinks of Luigi sorting the things on your nightstand. It was a quiet night with your boyfriend, simply enjoying each other's presence while engaged in silent conversation.

His hands whirled around the slowly recovering nightstand, The lids to the foggy glass candle jars and the clutter slowly finding their native places as he worked his magic. Soon enough, your nightstand was clear, bothered only by your lamp, room spray, a mini succulent, and your flamingo-pink Laneige sleep mask.

When Luigi finished bringing order to your nightstand, he glanced at you momentarily. No reason in particular, just to bask in your features as you scrolled on the cyber-white hue of your phone.

He smiled, overcome with warm and fiery sparks of affection. He wanted nothing in the world to ever raise a finger at you in challenge— if so, he’d gladly break it just to deem himself your hero.

When he was done staring at you, he patted your head affectionately as you lay stationery in your bed, relishing in the warmth of your smile. He whisked away from your nightstand, making his way to your vanity as he began sorting that as well.

While you listened to the glass and metal clinking over by the far corner of your room, you turned off your phone to stare up at the ceiling. Today had been a long, long day.

You longed to continue to lay down and embrace your boyfriend with rampant lovelorn. Maybe even accompanied by some soft and quiet…music!

Music! Your music box! Oh, he can fix it!

“Lui, babe?” You spoke, shattering the fragile silence.

“Yes, my love?” He answered, tilting his head slightly in your direction but not taking his eyes off of the things he continued to put away.

“You’re an engineer, right?” You inquired, crunching your torso to bring your body up, sitting criss-cross on top of your soft comforter.

“Depends…what are you asking me to fix? I can’t do appliances” he joked with a light smile and a boyish giggle. Cute little cornball.

“Nothing too serious…I have a music box that I’ve had since I was like…a baby. Can you take a look? It broke sometime after I turned nine, but I never got it fixed” You murmured, shuffling over to the end of your bed and leaning over the foot of your bed frame.

With your brushes, blushes, and plushes sorted at your vanity, Luigi broke his structuring trance to take a look at the little music box you began to pull from under the depths of your bed. Aged with hospitality, pink with youth, and loved with adoration, the ballerina-esque porcelain wind-up contraption presented itself in your hands.

Gold embellishments, blush roses, and shimmery gloss drew attention to the little ballerina on the front of the design. Her figure was just like you, only donned with a white tutu and bodice as she sat with her ankles crossed.

“It’s really old so it might just be an age thing, but I really wanna see if it can be fixed. I loved it so much growing up I just don’t wanna let it go” you said with a nostalgic chuckle.

“It looks really pretty! Can I see?” He gently asked, walking over to the front of your bed and extending both of his hands to seek out permission for the piece.

You nodded, carefully and cautiously handing him your innocence with benign hands. He seemed to examine it, get a feel for the material under his fingertips before he carefully flipped open the little lid to reveal the swan and the woman standing atop a pink pedestal.

He gave it a few winds, listening for any potential clicks along the way as he was met with a suspicious amount of loosened compliance. Normally it would give some sort of pressure or noise if it was working properly, but he seemed to have already figured out the problem.

“Okay…I think I know what the issue is. I’m gonna have to take this apart, baby” he stated, closing the little box with a satisfying click. “I know what I’m doing, I promise, I just don’t want you to panic. I have to take it apart to see its anatomy, and that’ll give me a better understanding of what’s wrong…is that alright with you?”

Your eyes widened with slight fear, ‘what ifs’ flooding the pipes in your mind while your heart rate spiked. This was his job, yes, and he spent a good portion of his life assembling things and putting them together.

But there’s always a possibility, and there’s never a zero. It’s okay to be afraid of accidents, and it’s ok to keep an open mind, but where do you go if something goes wrong?

What if he breaks it further? Snaps the lid off with unmonitored strength, shatters the neck of the swan with a grip that went unchecked for too long, cracking the perfect porcelain.

Could you get it fixed then? Would your childhood pride be lost at the hands of the one you love the very most? How would you cope when the sound of shattered glass pierces your ears followed by a gasp of alarm?

“Love.”

You looked at him, half-aware of the grip you now had on your music box. The wrinkles in your knuckles as your fingers wrapped around the heavy relic.

You hadn’t realized how hard you had been holding on, to both your breath and your childhood. There was nothing to fear as long as it was in his hands— he would treat every part of you with the same tender and merciful hands he had held you with time and time again.

“Yeah…okay,” you nodded, handing him the music box with a silent swallow of anxiety.

His eyes softened. An empathetic and understanding wiggle in his brows as he leaned over, and kissed the top of your head with a hand behind your neck. Brief and intimate.

“Thank you for trusting me” he promised.

You smiled, nodding your appreciation as you crossed your arms.

“All of my tools and mechanical equipment should be in my closet in a white clear box. It should have blue painter's tape on the lid.”

“Awesome,” he said, placing the music box down on the empty vanity before he traversed into the depths of your closet. Rustling and jostling of clothes, shoes, perfume bottles, and unboxed accessories echoed through the silence, aches of impending doom and lingering hope gnawing at the side of your neck.

When he emerged with the clear box of tools, he sat them on the side of the white desk, flipping the music box upside down to see what type of screwdriver he’d need. When he had everything he needed, he took his time, hands cradling and supporting every inch of delicate glass.

Unscrewing each screw, tender love and hospitality possessed his hands as he took it apart. Piece by piece, little by little.

Everything was on display for him, unfiltered in its purest form. Now that he had seen each piece of the machine and what makes it turn, he quickly identified the problem and its solution.

With expert hands carrying endless wisdom, he reconstructed the feminine melodic music like he was the very man who invented the machine. And in no time, he had the ballerina and her swan spinning on her pedestal of high confidence again.

He wound up the handle, the now familiar pressure and sounds of approval reaching his ears with smug approval. He knew what he was doing, and he’d always be there to prove it to you.

“Done!” He smiled, flipping the music box closed and giving you a wave of nostalgia and gratitude.

When he approached your bed once more, he climbed on top of it and plopped himself down beside you. He kissed your forehead again, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you beamed with joy.

“No way, thank you so much! I literally love you,” you gasped, winding up the machine, the familiar melody of Swan Lake ringing through chimes and twinkles as the little ballerina began to spin slowly in the confines of her box.

“Anything for you.”

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione x you #luigi mangione fanfic #luigi mangione thoughts #luigi mangione x y/n #luigi mangione x yn #CEO Shooter x Reader #the adjuster x reader

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prettybiching · 15 hours ago

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Helloooooooo my love. First of all, happy new year! (although it's coming a week late, sorry about that) I hope this year is filled with love and joy for you!!

Secondly, piggybacking off your last reblog, yes desi weddings are so elaborate ahhh!!! I loved the whole experience despite how exhausting and stressful it was as the sister of the bride. there's pre-wedding events, a week long wedding and then the post-wedding events so yeah nearly two months of dedicated wedding festivities lmfao but it was SOOO fun and I'm moving overseas in a few weeks so I definitely had a winter for the books.

NOWWWWWWW, I'm going to be honest, I couldn't help myself and I gave myself some sneak peeks from all the chapters uploaded because every time I get the notification I get SO excited and lemme just say - YOU COOKED AND I HAVE MASSIVE THOUGHTS

You thought you finally found Daemon when you heard Caraxes was in the dragon pit, and so you run there, run, much to the protest of Arryk, who was hot on your heels. He managed to convince you to slow down by telling you that you would eventually get to the dragon pit if you walked, but you would never get there if you pass out.

Oh god, breaking my heart already. Daemon, I can't stand you at times ughhhhhh. What will it take for my poor girl to not have to beg for someone to love her and be considerate to her.

You nod, placing a hand on your chest. You do a walking motion with your fingers towards Caraxes.

This is either going to end horribly or wonderfully and I don't know how to feel about either.

...while he is distracted from trying to figure out what you were doing, you circle behind your knight and sneak past both, making a beeline towards Caraxes.

GIRL NO!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE STOP TRYING TO KILL YOURSELF EVERY OTHER CHAPTER FOR THE SAKE OF MY WELLBEING

Amidst the peril of it all, you are calm as you look up at Daemon's companion. It stems from the truth that it would be far less complicated and less painful to be eaten by a dragon than to tell your husband you are with child and deliver it.

And there goes my heart again...I'm so mad at Daemon and the chapter has only just begun. I can't get over just how scared she is of telling Daemon about the baby because he will probably accuse her of incest (which would be so fucking ironic HAH) even though deep down he knows she never did any of that he's just emotionally constipated AS HELL. Even Caraxes is going to be done with his ass

In truth, you think your heart might be impaired, because it doesn't race at all as the beast seemingly imposes upon you. He cannot seem to stop pacing around you, as if he was restless, anxious even.

Alexa play "I Think He Knows" by Taylor Swift

You feel bad, for it seems... you've upset him, "apologies... I was hoping you'd eat me."

😭😭😭 STOPPPPP PLEASE SPARE ME

"HEY!" Arryk screams, thinking he can distract Caraxes. He can't, and he is losing his mind. Hoes not know what to do but to shout your name in terror. He can't help but draw his sword and immediately the dragon keeper is yelling something, motioning that he stop.

Help, I know this is a deeply serious moment but I can't help but laugh at the fact that Arryk whipped out his sword to defend himself against CARAXES

"Gods be good," you mumble as you gaze upon the creatures scales, "you can smell him, can't you? Daemon?"

OH MY GOD CARAXES CAN SENSE DAEMONS BABY IN HER TUMMY WE'VE GOT MEDIEVAL DNA TEST SOMEBODY GET DAEMON HERE

"It would have been better if you made me a snack," you mumble against him, feeling your tears drip.

caraxes and reader's bestie arc better start NOW

"He shoved her back and she fell!" he explains, "that's why her nose is bloody."

Oh my god Arryk stop tattling on my boy Caraxes like that. He was just trying to show some affection and protectiveness!!! It's not his fault that years of bonding with daemon also turned him a little dense and emotionally constipated like his master

"Perhaps she might get strong enough to grant you a child," he clenches his jaw, "maybe once the gods have granted you a boy or girl, you will understand my grief." Viserys motions with a nod, "you are to return to your lady wife with no quarrel. Take him out of my sight."

The way I 100% believe that the foundation of the brothers' relationship is that daemon will ALWAYS do the exact opposite of viserys tells him so the fact that he told daemon to return to his lady wife, it will lead him to run as far away from her as possible (aka stepstones)

Daemon seals you into an embrace and the warmth of his body quickly seeps onto your much colder one. A shiver runs down your spine. You immediately wrap your arms around him and nuzzle your face into his chest. He mimics you, brushing his cheek against your hair, taking in the faint smell of citrus. He remembers what his brother said and repeats it, "ñuha mijegindita ābrazȳrys." My poor wife.

THIS SCENE MAKES ME WANT TO CRADLE MY HEAD IN MY HANDS AND WEEP BECAUSE WHAT THEY COULDVE BEEN IF DAEMON WASNT SO DENSE AND THICK AND STUPID AND UGHHHHHHH

Daemon sighs, "he must have smelled me on you and got excited."

you're so stupid

The voice of his brother rings in his mind. Do you carry such low regard of him just as he? "Why can't it be me?" he snaps, "you think I will be of no help?"

Daemon "I can never comprehend someone being genuinely concerned for me because I never had a mother, I don't remember my father's love and my brother was an even bigger emotionally constipated idiot who can't show me love so I'm going to mistake your love for you doubting my capabilities" targaryen

You cut him off by reaching for his legs. He is frozen in place as you embrace him from where you knelt on the floor.

This is so tragic I've started crying again...

Cannot leave you? He does not like the way you imply he would be unable to if he wanted. Daemon watches you as you slowly bring yourself up to a stand. He does not help you as you pull yourself up using his legs and waist.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I NEED THIS FUCKER TO RECEIVE THERAPY FROM BRAAVOS OR WHATEVER BECAUSE HIS UNRESOLVED CHILDHOOD TRAUMA AND THE LACK OF PARENTAL LOVE HE RECEIVED IS GOING TO DESTROY THE MC AND I CANNOT STAND FOR IT I WILL DIE

"because I love you."

and im dead. im gone.

"you are mistaken."

"I love you" "It'll pass"

"I do not feel the same," he mutters.

FUCK YOU FUCK THE WHOLE TSRGARYEN DYNASTY YOU FILTHY LYING WHORE OF A DRAGON RIDER GO FUCK MYSARIA IN A WIG AND CALL OUT YOUR WIFES NAME AND TELL HER YOU WANT HER BECAUSE YOURE TOO SCARED TO SAY IT TO YOUR WIFE AND GO TO THE SHITTY STEPSTONES SURROUNDED BY NOTHING BUT UGLY LOOKING PIRATES FOR THREE WHOLE YEARS WITH SHITTY FOOD AND SHITTY WINE KJHGRRYVHBEBN LTLV

You nod, "I know."

Author, did you reach inside my brain and find the worst ways to hurt me? BECAUSE THIS HURTS OKAY

BUT IT ALSO FEELS SO GOOD??? WHYS THE ANGST YOU WRITE SO FUCKING GOOD??? IM IN LITERAL TEARS OVER THESE TWO, THE WAY DAEMON MADE HER BEG FOR HIM TO STAY AND IT WAS STILL NOT ENOUGH THE PARALLELS OF HER SAYING IT NEVER SERVES HER WELL ASKING SOMEONE TO STAY

If you're wondering how I'm doing at the end of this, then imagine this - IM IN TEARS and contemplating my existence. But I cannot atop praising you for how GOOD this chapter was. It hit right the spot. Thank youuuuu for yet another masterpiece <3

Tormented Spirit | 10

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: GUYS ITS STILL TOO FUCKING LONG I HAD TO CUT IT AGAIN T_T blah blah canon stuff/high valyrian inaccurate blah. please please leave comments/reblogs because they really help me with the fic. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Daemon does not come home to you that night. When you awaken, you feel sick to your stomach. The thought of food repulsive though, so you spend the morning looking for your husband, until your body betrays you and feels sick because of not having eaten. You realize that your state is not borne simply from worrying about the prince, but probably also because of this supposed life you carried within you.

You try to deny it though, chalking it up to your mind playing tricks on you. After all, it's laughable that you suddenly experienced these symptoms just after all the fuss of learning you were with child.

You'd never been so happy to see the blood wyrm.

"Daemon?" you call out, searching for him.

Caraxes is busy feasting on meat and Arryk is busy watching him, body tense and senses on high alert.

The dragon keeper comes to you, shaking his head, "se dārilaros iksis daor kesīr dombo." The prince is not here anymore.

You understood nothing, save dārilaros, which you knew meant prince, and figure he's probably telling you he is not here, which you could gather from simple observation.

You turn to Caraxes and point, "zaldrīzes." Dragon.

The man brightens, as he understands, "Caraxes."

You nod, placing a hand on your chest. You do a walking motion with your fingers towards Caraxes.

His eyes widen and he shakes his head and hands.

You clench your jaw and turn to Caraxes, nodding your head in understanding.

The dragon keeper relaxes.

He mistakes you.

"Arryk," you turn to your ward, "can you come here please?"

Arryk's eyes linger on the dragon a moment before turning to you. You settle him in front of the dragon keeper, and while he is distracted from trying to figure out what you were doing, you circle behind your knight and sneak past both, making a beeline towards Caraxes.

The dragon notices you immediately and watches you near. He lifts his head and sniffs the air, and only then do the two men realize what's happening.

"PRINCESS!" Arryk shouts, sprinting towards you before coming to an abrupt stop.

Enraged, Caraxes cranes his long neck, roaring at Arryk, making him topple back on his bum.

The dragon keeper screams a command and raises his hands.

The red creature screeches as snaps his teeth at the two men, causing his keeper to step back and Arryk to crawl back with him.

Caraxes then averts his attention, shaking his head as he circles around you, effectively blocking the two from seeing anything other than his massive, scaly body.

Your face contorts at the bleating sound it makes. He lowers his head slightly inhaling and exhaling deeply. He makes another noise and you swear to yourself, the creature looks like he's fidgeting.

You feel bad, for it seems... you've upset him, "apologies... I was hoping you'd eat me."

Caraxes screams loudly again when he spots two other dragon keepers come to you from the other side. He threatens them with a snap of his teeth.

"Daor!" they scream in unison. No.

Caraxes seethes and screeches, as if saying, 'do not tell me what to do'.

He circles around you again, and this time, he shoves you forward with his wing. You yelp as you are knocked to the ground with a thud. You manage to brace yourself, grazing your hands as you did, but your chest still hurts at the impact.

The keepers scream in horror because of this, fearing that you would soon be eaten.

You whine as you roll on your side. Caraxes growls as he bites your arm. The fear finally sets in as he does this, and his powerful maw pulls you up to sitting position.

The dragon keeper, who ran to retrieve you, shrieks out upon witnessing this.

You gasp when Caraxes roars back, and you squeal when his wing comes over you. The strangest thing occurs to you in that moment, and your heart finally begins to race— not because it sinks in how much danger you were in, but because, suddenly, you knew you were not.

You come to a stand, and with no regard for your safety, you reach out for the dragon's skin, somehow shocked by how warm and hard it is. "Caraxes."

He hears you, though you barely raised your voice. He is sensitive to the sound of his name. Caraxes moves back, pulling away enough to be able to coil his neck and look at you.

The dragon keepers, who were so on edge, altogether fall silent when they see you in the midst of the blood wrym.

Arryk nearly broke into a other sprint upon finally seeing you, but he manages to hold back and lowers his sword, unwilling to sheathe it.

Caraxes produces a sound you think is akin to a mewl, as much as a mewl a ten foot beast could make. You huff and feel your breath hitch. You close your eyes and reach out to him, ready to accept whichever fate awaits you, companionship or death.

You gasp, eyes instantly opening when you feel the wetness on your hands. Caraxes presses his snout to your palms, and you squeak, quickly pulling back at the heat of his huff.

He lifts his head and begins to pace around again. You are certain now that the beast was, in fact, restless.

"Paez ilagon!" you exclaim, raising your hands at him.

Caraxes huffs, debating if he should heed your command.

"Paez ilagon," slow down, you repeat as the dragon fully faces you.

You, and everyone else who witnesses it, are shocked that Caraxes listens. He quits his pacing and slowly comes to a halt, looming over you.

Your lips wobble, humbled by the idea such a fearsome creature would obey the commands of such a pathetic being. You begin to weep, as Caraxes lowers his head, sniffing you. Your hands dart out to him when he gets too close. You slightly topple when he nudges you with his snout. You feel the warmth of his breath seeping through your dress as he brushes against you. You can tell he is trying his best to be gentle, but even then he is too strong that you have to repel him. He makes the faintest of sounds.

"Gods be good," you mumble as you gaze upon the creatures scales, "you can smell him, can't you? Daemon?"

Caraxes remains pressed against you a moment longer.

You sniffle and momentarily fantasize about the child growing within you. You lean into him in defeat, "you silly thing."

His throat emits a low rumble.

"It would have been better if you made me a snack," you mumble against him, feeling your tears drip.

Caraxes slowly lowers his head until he is laid on the floor. You remain leaned on him for a moment, and then you pull away with a sigh. You look upon the dragon, thinking he is so much like his rider, and stroke his cheek one last time before pulling away.

You walk towards the dragon keeper you had blindsided and lower your head in shame, speaking the word you had learned for Daemon, "usōvegon." Apologies.

He stares at you for a moment, taking in your now messy hair and dirtied face, and replies with something you do not understand.

You nod at him without meeting his eyes then hurriedly walk off. Arryk is quick to follow after you, and his skidding makes Caraxes screech at him. He flinches at the sound, looking behind him warily. You do not.

When Arryk finally catches up to you, he takes your arm and calls out your name. He is alarmed by the red smeared down your philtrum and cheek.

"Forgive me," you mutter, unable to meet his gaze. You do not stop walking, "I- I was overcome... I did not think of anything but myself. I did not mean to cause anyone such immense distress."

"What were you trying to do?" Arryk quips, taking in your dirtied face. He did not know if it would be appropriate to wipe it with his cloak.

You shake your head, still unable to look at him.

"Princess," Arryk speaks like a plea, "did you know Caraxes would not hurt you?"

You gulp, quickening you pace.

Arryk huffs in frustration, calling out your name.

He forces you to stop by dashing forward, coming in front of you. You look up at him, eyes teary and mouth parted.

"I beg you," he clenches his fists, before succumbing to his urges. He grabs his cloak and wipes your face, brushing the dirt and blood as neatly as he can, "please tell me you did not knowingly put yourself in danger."

The tears running down your face help him clean you off. You honestly say, "I don't know if I should tell you."

Arryk is heart broken. He clenches his jaw tightly and releases his hold on you. He steps aside and you begin walking again.

You feel awful as you look at him. He is sullen as he walks beside you. You wipe your nose on your sleeve, "apologies, Arryk."

He shakes his head and opens his mouth. His jaw hangs for a moment, but then he closes his mouth, saying nothing.

You turn to your side when you hear your name called.

Alicent, who was making her way to the king's quarters, runs up you, eyes widening at the blood on your face. The red had spread as it mixed with your tears. She quickly pulls out her handkerchief, "your nose is bleeding!"

Your eyes widen, as you did not know this, but you quickly take her wrist and slowly pull away, "it is nothing."

"What happened to her, ser?" Alicent turns to Arryk.

Arryk is eager to tattle, "she was at the dragon pit and-"

"I fell," you cut him off, blocking your sister's gaze upon your ward, "I-"

"You fell in the dragon pit?!" she bristles further. Your feigning backfired. "What did Daemon do?!"

"The prince is nowhere to be seen," Arryk scoffs.

"I was- am looking for him!" you blurt

"Caraxes nearly attacked her," Arryk adds.

"Arryk!" you whip your head to him then back to your sister, "he did not!"

"He shoved her back and she fell!" he explains, "that's why her nose is bloody."

Alicent calls your name as you call Arryk's.

Your sister takes your shoulders, eyes immediately watering, "did you want to get hurt, sister?"

Your jaw slacks, "I- I-"

"Does Daemon posses you to do such things?" your baby sister begins to cry.

You shake your head rapidly, "no! No. I swear to you, this has nothing to do with him."

"Then what?" Alicent asks with a broken voice.

You gasp for air and feel a shiver run down your spine. You cannot tell her the truth, so you explain instead, "my nose already bled yesterday, which is why it's bleeding now."

"What?!"

"I already fainted yesterday and fell quite hard, which is why my nose is bleeding again."

"Mother, please," Alicent whispers.

"Alicent, I swear to you, you need not-"

"How could you let this happen to her twice?" Alicent turns to Arryk.

Arryk lowers his head, "I have failed-"

"I snuck behind him," you blurt, "do not fault him for my impulsiveness."

Alicent's heart is crush as she watches you wipe your face.

"It is not Arryk's fault that my nose is bloody. It is neither Caraxes fault for shoving me. It is mine. My body is weak and I have spent all day looking for my husband, against the behest of my maester."

Alicent clenches her jaw. It is Daemon's fault.

"I will go to the maesters' ward and submit to whatever is prescribed to me," you place a hand on her shoulder. You sniffle, "do not speak to father of this."

"Make sure to go to the maester's then," you sister warns.

Dejected, you look away and walk off.

Alicent takes in a breath before grabbing her skirts, marching over to the king's quarters.

Viserys is in the middle of gluing his diorama of King's Landing when he hears a knock on the door, "come in."

Alicent enters, sighing deeply before pulling a smile.

"Alicent," his blank expression slightly lightens.

She curtsies, "your highness," and walks over to him. She turns her attention to whatever it was the king was building.

Viserys shows raises a block, "a new tower."

Alicent smiles softly, "pretty."

The king raises a brow upon noticing the stiffness to her demeanor, "is everything alright?"

Alicent betrays herself on purpose by nodding her head too quickly.

Viserys puts the tower down. He reaches for her arm, "what's wrong, my girl."

She takes a sharp breath, "my sister—"

He furrows his brows.

"—she... she has a bloody nose from falling."

"She fell?"

"Twice," Alicent fidgets with her hands, honest agitation for her sister taking over her, "because she's been looking for Daemon."

His reaction to the name is instant. Viserys' jaw clenches and his fists ball in anger, "Daemon."

Daemon struts down the great hall, making his way towards the Iron Throne. The night was now deep and the few candles lit in the room only increased the tension between the brothers.

The prince looks up at the king. The king and two kingsguard stationed on either side of the throne look down at him. Viserys clenches his sword, "and where have you been?"

Daemon scoffs, aimlessly looking around, "have you summoned me to nag?" He clasps his hand in front of him, leaning on one foot, "I already have a wife for that."

His brother laughs, hard. It echoes across the hall, but it is by no means genuine, "I would not have ever known with all the time you waste in brothels."

Daemon grinds his teeth, face contorting, "so you've summoned me to reb-"

"Did you say it?" Viserys snaps.

"... what?"

"An heir for a day— did you say it?!"

"..."

The king's nostrils flare.

"... we must all mourn in our own way, your grace."

Viserys sighs, lowering his head in defeat for a second, then erupts, "MY FAMILY HAS BEEN DESTROYED!" He seethes, "and instead of staying at mine, or Rhaenyra's side you celebrate your own rise with your whores and your lickspittles!

"And wife," he scoffs, "your poor wife... do you even know that your mount has injured her?"

Daemon stiffens.

"She came to the pit looking for you and the beast caused her a bloody nose."

"What?"

"You chose her Daemon. And in choosing her you prove time and time again, I bend to your desires only to be repaid with disrespect. You have no other allies in court but me, yet-"

"You do nothing but distance me from court! From the City Watch, even with- with her... you do nothing but heed the whispers of that leaching old man."

"Leaching old man?" Viserys raises his brows.

Daemon nearly vibrates in anger.

"You mean Otto Hightower?" the king's lips curl, "the man who begged me—"

He laughs dryly.

"—over and back to spare her sickly daughter from enduring a lifetime with a the likes of you!"

Daemon is wounded, "I am your brother."

"Then why do you cut me so deep?"

"I see that man for what he is."

Viserys huffs, "a loyal and faithful-"

"A cunt!"

The king leans back. His kingsguard are ready to draw their steel. Viserys realizes there is no getting through to him. He looks away then turns back to glare at him, "jiōragon hen ñuha laehurlion." Get out of my face.

"Lēkia," Daemon steps forward, muttering the word that meant older brother.

The kingsguards step forward, showing a glimmer of their swords as a warning.

"I hear it is the first time your Hightower bride has been separated from her twin. It would do her health good to visit Oldtown."

He clenches his fists tightly.

Daemon does not wait to be apprehended and storms out of the room. He is bristling as he gets out.

"Mazeman bona ziry gōntan daor jikagon sȳrī." I take that it did not go well.

Daemon turns and sees Corlys standing by the door, hands clasped in front of him.

"I wanted to speak to you of something important earlier today. I hope your mood is not too bad foul-"

"Ȳdragon se sagon gaomagon lēda bisa jenigon," Daemon snaps. Speak and be done with this bother.

Corlys straightens his back and motions with hand, "it is regarding the Stepstones, your grace."

Daemon furrows his brows, vaguely recalling this topic being broached during one of the council meetings. The two of them discuss this as they walk down the hall. By the time the prince reaches your shared quarters, he's agreed to help the Seasnake with his concern.

You leap from your bed when the door opens. Daemon freezes as you scurry to the door, hastily running to him without even putting on your slippers. You stand before him barefoot, heaving as you clutch your nightgown. He stares at you, hands clenching into fists.

"Usōvegon," your lips tremble.

Daemon's face falls a fraction as he watches your eyes water.

"Usōvegon," apologies, you repeat. "Please..." you slowly reach for him.

He watches your palms press against his chest. He makes no attempt to move.

"Do not be cross with me any longer."

A deep breath flares through his nostrils. He realizes then that he is exhausted and shuts his eyes. He leans his forehead on yours and takes your wrists. He huffs at your feel, "you are freezing."

"I-"

You don't know what he says, so you make sure to tell him what wants to hear— what you think he wants to hear, "I will not defy you ever again."

He does not care about that. He pulls back and looks at you. He wipes the tears off your face and a line forms between his brows, "Caraxes attacked you?"

One of your hands instinctively comes to your philtrum, "no. I-" you shake your head, "I fell."

You don't know why you think Daemon would be satisfied with your answer. He presses, "tell me exactly what happened."

You huff, "I was... yesterday, I fainted—"

"Fainted?"

"—then I fell."

He shakes his head, "this happened in the dragon pit?"

"... no. When... when I was chasing after you."

Daemon brushes your hair back.

You cannot hold his gaze, "I went to the pit, hoping you'd be there and-" you realize you cannot tell him what happened. You cannot tell him you walked to his mount and his mount did not attack you because he could smell part of him in you. You huff, "-and Caraxes got close and knocked me over."

"Did he try to bite you?"

You debate for a second before shaking your head.

Daemon sighs, "he must have smelled me on you and got excited."

Your throat tightens. Goosebumps form on your arm when Daemon traces your nose with his thumb.

"And your nose bled?"

You do not want to answer.

He sighs, "I will reintroduce you to him, so that he does not act so-"

"It's not his fault!" you blurt, "not really."

He knits his brows.

"When I fainted and fell, my nose already bled, so..." you motion with a finger, "Caraxes simply... set off a previous injury."

He says absolutely nothing.

"My body is weak," you mumble, hoping to explain it better, "I've had worse injuries."

"Do you tell me this so that I will not bring you to Caraxes?"

"No," you shake your head, "no. Just... so you do not..." worry, you almost say, but then the idea feels presumptuous.

"Not fault my beast for acting like one?" Daemon asks, as he heads for his cabinet.

You look at him for a moment then follow. You decide to hum and proceed to help him get undressed.

Your husband examines your face. The moonlight mixed with candlelight makes your skin glow. He is loathe to think your tears add to it, but it's unfortunately true. Your being glistens because of all these things. He interrupts your unbuttoning by taking your cheeks and slowly wiping off the tears on your lashes.

You blink at him, "better?"

"Gevie," he says, brushing your throat with his thumbs.

You nod, though you still did not know what that meant. You push his doublet past his shoulders and once his dress shirt remained, he is quick to remove his shoes as you bring his clothes to the hamper. When you walk back to him, he is picking out clothes from his closet. You are deeply confused when he hands you a stack of shirts.

Daemon moves to his other cabinet and says, "pack those in my trunk for me."

You freeze and blink rapidly, "I-" you turn to his truck, which was atop his closet. Your heart races, "I cannot reach it."

Daemon pulls out more clothing before looking at you. You watch him closely as he stands and reaches for the trunk. He places it on the floor and opens it.

You slowly kneel on the floor beside it, doing your best to keep calm in this moment. Are you leaving? You nearly ask him, but you don't because he clearly is. You begin to fold his clothes, but you cannot hold your peace, "where are you going?"

Daemon stuffs his clothes into his trunk and sighs before crouching down to fix them, "the Stepstones."

"W-what?"

"The Seasnake needs help with the Crabfeeder, so I will help him."

"Why?" you blurt all too quickly.

Daemon straightens up. He looks down at you as you shake your head and quickly finish folding his clothes.

"Why must it be you?"

The voice of his brother rings in his mind. Do you carry such low regard of him just as he? "Why can't it be me?" he snaps, "you think I will be of no help?"

He is taken aback by how you chuck his clothes into his trunk rather aggressively. His face begins to harden with anger but then you make a noise and lean into the trunk, heaving deeply in and out.

"Wha-"

You cut him off by reaching for his legs. He is frozen in place as you embrace him from where you knelt on the floor.

Whatever choler was building in him quickly dissipates and morphs into... fear, or rather, worry. He calls out your name, reaching for your head.

"You cannot leave me," you shudder, gripping his calves for dear life. You look up at him, face wholly distraught but not teary. You find yourself too tired to shed a tear.

Your hands remain gripping the sides of his shirt as you stare at him. You take in his stoic expression as you gather the nerve to repeat, "you cannot leave m-"

"And why can't I?" he quips as his insecurity gets ahead of himself.

You hear it in his voice. You hear how he thinks you're challenging him. You shake your head and correct yourself, "n-no," you shudder, "no, Daemon, no. I- I want you to stay." You brush your palms up his chest.

He can feel the tremble of your hands as they come to his cheeks. He knit his brows at your confession. He has to ask, "why?"

You could tell him many reasons. The one possibly most relevant to him is that of the fact you were carrying his unborn child. A shiver runs down your spine; you are not foolish enough to believe this would be something that would make him want to stay. You could always tell him you needed him, your health needed him, because it was true. As much as he clawed your fragile heart, he made it soar in ways you've never experienced. But there was a rather simpler truth to that need, though attached to a very complicated feeling, "because I love you."

Daemon's expression falls. Though his lips barely part, you can tell that he is gobsmacked. You release a shaky breath as you swipe his chin and jaw with the pads of your thumbs.

Should he be so shocked? Love in a marriage is not so uncommon, even if it is arranged, even if it felt opposite in the beginning.

So, what?

What was your love to him? It would wax and wane like his brother's— and his brother, his fucking brother. He could not grant him the satisfaction. Daemon takes you by the wrists and slowly pries you off, "you are mistaken."

You take a deep breath at his words. You are perfectly still.

"I do not feel the same," he mutters.

Daemon was not one to lie, convinced such an act was beneath him, reserved for incapable, lesser men; half-wits, and yellow-bellies. The only reason he could say this was because the cup in which you held your love for him was far deeper than the one he had for you, and he was aware of it. He loved himself far more than he could ever bring himself to love anyone; he would always be first.

Still, he was not an incapable, lesser man, nor was he a half-witted yellow-belly. He knew of the cup he held, which oft overflowed. The mere thought of you triggered a smell in the air, and at the mention of your name, his bones ignited. You were his, and you held his regard, his affection, his lust, and, yes, his love.

All of this, he was about to explain, but then your reaction blind-sided him.

You nod, "I know."

How terrible it was to hear it. He knew his words where callous. He knew wuch an admission is a gash from a jagged blade— to not be loved by who you loved. Yet your casual resignation to this information stung, nay, scorched his heart.

Is it cold? Is his love so dry you cannot even feel it?

His grip on you falters.

You bring your hands to his shoulders. You rub his bicep and smile softly in reassurance, "I do not mind."

"What?"

Your smile widens a fraction, "I know you enjoy the... delicateness of my body, both intimately and-" you motion to yourself, "-regarding my affliction."

He knits his brows.

"It is wholly contrary to yours, and it is mirthful to you," you nod again, "I understand."

"Do you?" he raises his furrowed brows.

You slowly loosen your hold on him. You pull away to fidget with your fingers, "do I not?"

"No," he scoffs under his breath, chest tightening far too much he has to move past you, "I don't think you do."

You are quick to grab him but it slips, "then make me understand."

Daemon stops in his tracks, turning back to you as his breathing picks up.

Your own does the same, but your gasps get shorter and shorter, so much so, you feel yourself get lightheaded. Your husband has to grab you to keep you upright, but you want to show him you have the will to overcome this, that you aren't dead weight, so push him away and mutter, "I- I can do it, Daemon."

He misinterprets you. You scorch him again. He squeezes your arms, "you don't want my help now?"

"No," you say as try to catch your breath, "I- I just-" you cannot continue.

Daemon has to sit you down to help calm you down. He tried to keep you upright, but then he realizes you were consciously trying to lean into his chest, so he lets you. You press your cheek against his warm muscles and sigh at the beat of his heart. You wrap your arms around him, "I want this."

He stares at your brown hair for a moment.

"I want all of this," you sigh, "which is why I want to be what you want me to be."

He finally lets himself embrace you, but just then, you pull away to look at him.

"I can do it," you nod as you take a final deep breath, "I can be a dutiful wife— I will be a dutiful wife. I will not defy you. I will do as you please. I will not expect more than I ought."

"You cannot do everything for me," Daemon says with slight contempt, a line between his brows.

"I-" you shake your head, "... I know," you shake your head faster, taking his hands, "but can I make you stay?"

He looks at how you hold him. He feels sick.

"What can I do to ma-"

"You do not understand," he pulls his hand away, "my brother wants me to leave. He is sick of me and prays for my riddance."

You watch as Daemon stands and paces around.

"He told me to bring you to your twin in Oldtown, and I would sooner eat Caraxes' shit than be tossed aside to the fucking Reach."

You shake your head, "why does he want you to leave?"

"He is weepy over the drunken words I spoke."

"Well, what did you-"

"Does it matter?!" he snaps, raising his hands, "I must leave!"

He is clearly upset. You nod your head and come to a stand, "then I will speak to the k-"

"No!" he shouts, "I will not have my wife act on my behalf, as though I rolled my belly."

"You are not rolling your belly, I am."

"You think there is a fucking difference?!" he quips, marching in front of you, "no! I am to leave in the dawn, so pack my fucking things, woman!"

You grit your teeth in an attempt to steel yourself away. It does not prevent the tears from running down your cheeks.

Daemon's nostrils flare as you go back to his trunk and sort out his clothes. He hears your soft whimpers and slowly begins to deflate. He wipes his face, slowly turning to you. He watches tears drop onto his garbs, "have you nothing to say?"

You sniffle and shake your head rapidly.

"No?!" his expression pinches.

You stand and grab the rest of this clothes. You sniffle with difficulty then sigh deeply. Your voice is shaky, "I want only to please you."

Daemon chuckles dryly, aimlessly looking around, "you think this pleases me?"

"Then tell me what will!" you whip your head around, clutching his clothes tightly in your arms, "I implore you." You step forward and haphazardly drop everything to his trunk, "I cannot please you if you refuse to tell me what you want."

"I want to go to the fucking Stepstones!" he points to nowhere.

You are shattered. How terrible of him to make it so painfully clear that what he wants does not even involve you. He does not want you, or even if he did, you cannot be enough. You lower your gaze.

"I want you to beg me to stay."

You look up at him. You chuckle dryly under your breath when you realize he's being serious. Your sorrow is not enough, it seems, now he wants even your shame.

Daemon tenses when you get on your knees.

You grip the fabric of his trousers as tightly as possible in an attempt to steel yourself, but it does not prevent your tears from falling. You shudder, "please."

"..."

"Stay. I beg you."

Your prince gazes upon your bitterness. He brushes your cheek and feels the coldness of your tears. He sighs because this does not affect him the way he had hoped.

It is not enough.

Dawn breaks, and Caraxes is restless. Daemon's things were being secured on his dragon, but that is not why so many dragon keepers had to keep him in check.

There, by the entrance, you stood with your hands clasped together and your head hung low. Both your wards behind you, eyeing your prince, who was doing his best to calm his ride as the last of his things were readied. Daemon did not know Caraxes was acting this way because of your distress, but the keepers slowly began to realize this was the case.

One of the keepers call out, "ñuha dārilaros, aōha ābrazȳrys." My prince, your wife.

"Rȳbagon, Caraxes!" Daemon snaps at his dragon to listen. Caraxes shakes his head and the prince spares the dragon keeper a glance, "skoros hen zirȳla?" What of her?

"Aōha zaldrīzes kostagon yknagon zirȳla boter." Your dragon can smell her suffering.

The prince turns to you, back to Caraxes, "iksis ziry zirȳla, Caraxes?" Is it her, Caraxes.

You lift your gaze when you hear Daemon call for you. He beckons you over and before you can move, Arryk grabs your arm and whispers, "I do not think this wise."

You slightly turn to him, "he will not harm me. You saw how Caraxes acted yesterday."

"It is not the dragon I worry about."

You look at the man, seeing how his jaw is clenched. You place a hand on his shoulder plate before walking towards your husband.

Rather immediately, there is a shift in Caraxes's demeanor. He huffs and screeches, neck coiling so his head could come near you. Daemon barks out multiple commands and his mount finally obeys.

The prince knits his brows then turns to you, reaching out a hand. You take it and find yourself pulled into your husband's arms. Your skin pricks with goosebumps when he whispers in your ear, "he wants you."

You sigh and close your eyes, resigning yourself to Daemon. He links his fingers into yours and places it atop his dragon's snout.

Caraxes sighs and slightly leans in.

Daemon is astounded by this, "I did not know he could possibly care for someone more than his rider."

You slowly open your eyes and look at the creatures ruby scales. "He does not," you mutter, rubbing one hand on your belly.

He does not hear this. When he turns you around, he catches you rubbing your stomach. He sighs and takes your hand, "do not weep so bitterly."

You cannot do anything but the opposite. Tears stream down your cheeks, "do not be so cruel then."

Daemon watches how your lips wobble. A line forms between his brows, "do not make this harder than it should."

You pull away from him and lower your gaze, "then just leave me now, and spare me the slow torture."

He tenses at your words. His expression hardens, "I did not ask you to see me off."

"Shall I leave then?" you snap, eyes red as you look back at him.

"Yes!"

You grab your skirt and walk towards the twins.

Daemon is stunned. He turns around and watches as you storm off. He calls your name, once, twice, and then he is sobered by the scream of Caraxes. You do not even stop by the entrance anymore, and walk past your kingsguards, who are quick to follow after you.

Here you were doing his bidding, following his wishes, yet there was no satisfaction. All there was... was less of you, less of your strength, your light, your fire.

Daemon turns to Caraxes, who was restless again. He pushes past the dragon keepers and saddles up. He orders Caraxes to start walking, so he does. The blood wrym begins to crawl towards you and the prince has to reel him back, barking out orders of obedience far too loudly.

Caraxes gives a loud screech before following the order. He huffs so deeply that the wind it produces makes you topple.

Your knights are quick to keep you upright, and though you so badly want to turn around, you remind yourself that your husband has done nothing but all he wants since you've wed. If he wanted you to stay, he would have told you.

You wouldn't know then that Daemon made Caraxes stop in his tracks. You wouldn't know that as he watched you walk off, he was mumbling under his breath that you turn around. You just kept walking yet he still waited for you to turn back, even after your figure had disappeared.

He would also never know that you headed down to the docks near the Keep, just to watch Caraxes fly away one last time. He would never know how your skin pricked with gooseflesh at the sight of the red winged beast soaring above. He would never know how hard it became for you to breathe.

"Gods, please," you mumble as your eyes endlessly watered, "swiftly return him to me."

Arryk and Erryk, stood on either side of you, glared at the sky as they heard your broken voice. They were on high alert as the docks were busy at this hour, and yet, it was necessary to convey their contempt, even if the person it was meant for could not see.

"Give me back my husband," you look at your reflection in the water, "or take me to my mother."

Before your words even register to either of the twins, you've already jumped into the water. Erryk nearly jumps in with you before realizing his armor would surely make him sink. "PRINCESS!" he screams as he undoes his armor.

"THE PRINCESS!" Arryk screams to the fisherman, "SHE'S FALLEN INTO THE WATER!"

The commotion is great. It is loud and frantic, yet as your body plunges and slowly begins to float, you care little. You feel someone fish you out of the water by the arm, and you want nothing more than to break free and swim towards your demise. But then, you hear your wards calling out your name, and you realize you cannot.

You say nothing once you are on land.

Both Cargylls has a hand on your arm, and each of them are worriedly questioning you, "are you alrigh- what happe- what were you thinki- are you faint- my princess-"

"I need to see him," you say.

Arryk and Erryk freeze. The look at each other, not knowing what to say. Arryk offers, "my princess. I fear you cannot see Dae-"

"Not him," you look between them as you gather your skirts. It is arduous, as it is soaking wet.

Otto was on his way back from the scrolls room when hears the shout from across the hall. He tenses like a rock at the recognition of his daughter's voice.

You hadn't realized how tired you were until you saw him. Your knees immediately buckle and you fall to the floor as you call out, "papa!"

The Lord Hand dashes to you, dropping the scrolls he had along the way. He gets on his knees and picks you up. He is aghast by your dripping state, and his anger is soon turned on your incompetent guards, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY GIRL?"

"Papa," you mutter once you are in his arms.

Otto cradles you, looking down at your sorry form. A deep line is between his brows.

"He left me," you whisper, tears wetting your already wet cheeks.

Daemon. Lord Hightower clenches his jaw. It's always fucking him. "Come, my girl," he mutters, trying to bring you to your feet, "let's get you-"

Your voice is soft, yet it still cuts him off, "you must not leave me."

Otto is frozen. Arryk and Erryk are frozen too.

"If you leave me too, I do not think I will survive."

#daemon targaryen x reader #MY FAVVVV

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peppermintquartz · 2 days ago

Text

Evan Buckley was made to save lives.

Literally.

Selected to amplify the healing abilities that had already manifested in his sister, Philip and Margaret Buckley allowed Manifest Bio Tech to harvest the necessary cells and tweak them.

But nature or fate still had a say, and Evan didn't emerge a healer.

++++

Evan was made to heal, but the only person he could heal was himself. He still got hurt, but his recovery time was four to six times faster than regular, unaltered humans.

They tried harvesting his bone marrow to replicate the effects but it didn't work.

Daniel still had to die, the cancer in him too resilient against even the harshest of treatments.

When they buried Daniel, Evan had barely begun to learn to walk. If he hurt from the extractions, his parents didn't know or care; Maddie's tears would ease the physical pain anyway.

++++

When Evan ran away from home to get Maddie to flee with him, Doug flipped out. He needed Maddie's tears. They were the secret to his success as a doctor.

She didn't run. She didn't even meet him to tell him why.

Evan drove away, full of a helpless fury at his sister and at himself.

++++

Across the world, Tommy Kinard was gaining a reputation for surviving unlikely odds. But when the options were death, maiming, disfigurement and merely broken bones, there was only so much Tommy's ability could do. But that tiny spark that danced up and down his spine got him to bank sharply just before they were hit, so while they crash landed with injuries, they were not blown up to smithereens.

He received a medal and promptly shipped home to the States to recuperate, and he insisted on remaining in Los Angeles where his grandmother lived. Since he needed a job, he decided to join the LAFD.

Because of Tommy, Nonna had another eight happy years with her beloved grandson. On her last birthday (not that either of them knew that), she bought a lottery ticket and had him check it.

The effect of his ability was dampened slightly since she was the one who made the purchase, but it did make Tommy's life after Nonna a lot more comfortable.

After Nonna died, Tommy felt that little tingle that said something unlikely was about to happen. The very next day, an opening in Harbor Station for a trained pilot opened up.

Tommy knew that was for him.

++++

Evan ended up in Los Angeles, and after a series of gigs, decided that he might as well risk his life and limb for good reasons than bad. His accelerated healing stood him in good stead, too, though he had to choose a different name.

Fire, falls, explosions, water, lightning; Buck survived them all.

And then he met Tommy.

++++

The moment he saw the three from the 118, he felt that telltale zing running down his spine.

Unlikely odds.

Not Chimney, that was for sure; they had encountered each other often enough.

Soulful Eyes shook Tommy's hand. Nothing. "Eddie Diaz."

"I'm Evan, Evan Buckley," says the pretty guy with the kissable lips and fingerprint-sized splotches of wine pink on his left eye and brow.

"Tommy Kinard, hi," said Tommy. He braced himself for the moment they made skin contact, and there it was - the spark, racing from the point of contact over his skin all the way up and down his spine.

Unlikely odds.

++++

They still broke up.

Before he drove over, he had felt the telltale tingle along his spine, and he should have known that it was only for the parking spot, and not for Evan to say, "I am falling in love with you."

There was nothing his ability could do in this case.

++++

Buck didn't know why his healing abilities refused to heal the hurt or fill up the emptiness in his heart. He baked and baked and baked, and each time he was done, he wanted to call Tommy and tell him about what he made.

And he would bake some more.

Maddie who hardly cried nowadays gave him a vial of her healing tears, to be added to any recipe of his choice.

He added it to a simple brownie recipe. It didn't help.

++++

While he had sort of vaguely wished he had healing abilities that could have helped Daniel, Buck never cursed his abilities more than when they raced to rescue Tommy and the patient he and his partners were transporting.

"I don't need to heal me," he begged the fates that had granted him his power. "Heal him. Save him."

Tommy smiled, feeling consciousness about to slip away. "Evan, what are... the odds for me... to have you as my last?"

"You know what's less likely?" Buck demanded through his tears. Droplets fell on Tommy's upturned face. "That you make it through this unscathed and we get back together and we have a happily ever after. Focus on making that happen!"

A tired tremble raced over Tommy's skin and down his spine. He smiled to himself and murmured, "As you wish."

#tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy #tevan #pq writes

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sulumuns-dootah · 2 days ago

Note

In case requests are open, can we get headcanons for Kings and how they react after having a nasty argument with the mc? Bonus if the mc just yells “I hate you!” mid way

Thank you!

WHB kings having an argument with reader

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Kinda wrote this more as a general argument HC's so I hope you don't mind U.U

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It's kinda hard to have a mutual argument with Satan with his whole anger kink

The moment you start raising your voice at him, he's all red in face and begging for more

Maybe even hit him as hard as you can? *puppy eyes*

Now, if you actually manage to get Satan angry, he'd instinctively prepare to kick or punch you, but stops himself in the last second

He may be pissed, but he still cares about you and doesn't want to hurt you

So instead he'll just stomp away to try and clear his head

Afterwards he'll come back to you like nothing serious happened and try to talk things out with you

༺☆༻

Mammon is another one I can't exactly imagine getting into an argument with you

He's simply too reserved

That still doesn't mean he doesn't care

He does, but he's more apologetic than that

All he simply states is the truth and he understands that it may upset you

Just from the dynamic he has with Satan, it's clear he doesn't take stuff said/done in an affect seriously

But if you were to say some hurtful stuff, he would feel bad and calmly as you to take those things back after you've gotten it out of your system

༺☆༻

Oh, good heavens!

Arguments with Levi go as bad and are as frequent as you can imagine

9/10 of those times end with being hung from the ceiling once he's fed up with you

The words 'I hate you' don't even make their way out of your mouth before you're left gasping for air and pathetically kicking your feet in mid-air

Thankfully, since it's you, Levi won't "forget" about you so you're not at the brink of suffocating

Instead, he'll just let you down, give you a few seconds to catch your breath and ask you to apologise to him

༺☆༻

"I hate you!!"

"Pshah... No you don't. You love me"

Beelzebub's too carefree to actually take anything seriously

You could activelly try to cut him up into pieces and he'd still make jokes about you being kinky

Anger doesn't work on him

Have you seen any of his interactions with Bael?

I HC him having the same ADHD thing as me:

When someone yells at us, we just zone out and wait for the person to finish just to ask them to repeat themselves again, but calmly this time

༺☆༻

Belphie is somewhere between Mammon and Leviathan when it comes to arguments

He's too tired to get mad himself and will just let you express your emotions openly

But when he's fed up, you're quickly swallowed up by his void and kicked out Nifleheim

And not even Beleth can save you if you forcibly wake Belphie up just to pick a fight/yell at him over something

That's a big no-no

His country may be militant, but you're no drill sargeant to pester him whenever you want

༺☆༻

If you're arguing with Asmo, I recommend you watch out for what you're saying

Any iteration of the words 'fuck', 'suck' or a bodypart like 'dick' and 'ass' can veeery quickly turn the whole situation legs up

...Or maybe make Asmo turn you legs up

I mean, you will end up like that eventually (there's nothing better than angry sex), but still, you might wanna voice your point before you're unable to say more than his name, if even that

And what else can possibly follow up a hefty argument?

That's right! Makeup sex!

�� ༺☆༻

I imagine Lucifer being used to arguing and screaming since all the other three Seraphims used to fight for God's favor all the time

So when you come storming into his greenhouse to pick an argument with him, he'll just calmly continue drinking his tea and answer you like it's nothing

But, if something mean and personal slips your tongue, expect to get the silent treatment until you chase him down and apologise with absolute sincerity since he can sense lies from a country away

#what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb satan #whb beelzebub #whb lucifer #whb leviathan #whb mammon #whb asmodeus #whb belphegor

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kiemiu · 2 days ago

Text

𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝓞: 𝓝𝐞𝐰 𝓕𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

pairing kang sae-byeok x fem!reader | wc: 1.8k

summary -> the kids being preoccupied left you room to become friendly with the newcomer, kang cheol before his sister makes an appearance for a quick visit. warnings -> injuries (?)

( beneath the quiet masterlist )

12:33PM

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 gave you more time to spend with the kids while your mother was out running errands. You never had a full grasp on what she did on those errands, always returning with more junk than she had left with, always leaving the bulk of it all in the trunk of her car for you to carry in. Even at such a young age you could feel your bones aching and your back practically begging for a break as you carried in pile after pile of magazines. Never knowing what she did with them, or why she had so many, but also never being curious enough to ask.

A huff of exhaustion yet relief left you after plopping the last stack of magazines in front of her door, twisting and turning parts of your body to release any tension before you went back to supervising the kids. Turning your head in a slow circle until your eyes landing on the halfway open door to the art room. The top of a head picking in and out of the crack, scattered papers with markers all over the floor. It didn't take you long to realize it was Cheol. After breakfast and a short lesson, he asked to retire to his room because he wasn't feeling the best, not in need of a nurse or tea that you offered but just wanting to sleep.

You knew how hard of an adjustment it must've been for him to be dropped off in the middle of his adolescents. So many questions could be going through his head, mainly wondering why? And as you think back to his older sister you can't help but wonder what type of hardship they might've been through at such a young age.

The bleak weariness that overtook their forms showed that the past hadn't been kind to them, and even in the safety net of an orphanage they still kept their walls up high. Being self-preserved and reluctant to bond to those around, as if at any moment the world around them would start to crumble, and their efforts to build anything other than a simple acquaintanceship would be futile when it's all said and done.

Without a second thought you made your way over to him, giving the crowded play room a mere glance to make sure the kids were behaving appropriately before making your way inside the art room.

A few gentle knocks were placed on the door before you slowly made your way in, even with the intention of being subtle, you still managed to frighten him, his body jumping before he backed into the leg of a table. A junction of apologies leaving your lips as you slowly made your way towards, your hands held out as you approached as if he was an injured animal.

"I just wanted to see what you were up to." you quietly whisper, bending down far enough to pick up a piece of a paper he colored on. His once rigid form slowly relaxed, scooting himself closer and closer to you when he realized you didn't pose a threat.

The picture messily drawn showing three people in front of a house standing and holding hands with big smiles. "Who's this supposed to be?" You asked, turning the page toward him, having the smallest hint of who it might be.

"Me, my sister, and my mom." he clarified, beginning to draw on another piece of paper, his eyes never leaving the page even as he dropped a marker to pick up another one. You didn't want to press the issue, thinking of all of the possible outcomes that could've led him to end up here, instead settling for a hum of approval and a meek "You draw very well."

A small smile creeped on his face at your compliment, the rapidly moving hand that sketched across the paper halting as he slowly looked up at you. "You wan' me to draw you?" his head slightly tilting to the side, his doe eyes gleaming with something adventurous.

You reciprocated his smile, before nodding, offering to draw him as well, leaving your mother to supervise the other group of rowdy children on her lonesome, you were sure she could handle herself.

As you drew each other on the floor of the art room, you exchanged your likes and dislikes, foods you hated and adored, and your all time favorite tv shows. Small laughs being exchanged between you two, while a light weight lifted off of your shoulders to see him fully relax into the atmosphere. His posture eased and his babbling nonstop, cutting himself off between sentences to tell another story than the other one he told, which was something you also did when you got too excited.

Just as he was in the middle of telling a story, two short and rapid knocks broke through the tranquil bubble created between you two. Looking over your shoulder, your eyes slightly widening at the sight of his sister, standing placid, her face wearing the same exhausted yet impassive expression she wore last time.

Cheol gasped before lifting himself off of the floor and running towards her, his arms locking around her waist as one of her hands rested on the top of his head, messily combing her fingers through his flat locks. "We were just talking about you, noona!" he exclaimed, his toothy grin looking up at her as he rested his chin on her lower abdomen, arms still locked tightly around her waist.

A flash of confusion crossed her face, her eyebrow lifting up only for a split second before returning to her regular stony composition. "You were?" she asked, the tilt of her head similar to the way Cheol had completed the action earlier. Although different in looks you could tell they were related by the allusive mannerisms, even the way they talked occasionally reminding you of the other.

You lifted yourself off of the floor, dusting the sides and back of your pants off before slowly making your way over. "He was just telling me a story on how you taught him how to ride a bike." you clarified for him. A grin creeping on your face as you recalled him telling you she wasn't the best teacher at the time, the longest she'd been on a bike no longer than 10 seconds as she always ended up losing her balance.

Sae-byeok's gaze fell from yours to her little brothers, a ghost of a smile tugging on her lips for a split second before disappearing as her head turned over to the ruckus of the playroom next door.

You didn't mean to stare, but your eyes couldn't help but lock onto the visible scar on her neck, something you hadn't noticed the first time you saw her. Your head tilting the slightest to gaze at it. It was a faded pinkish color, a whisper of a tragedy etched into her skin for life, just barely being covered by the stray hairs falling from her pulled back low ponytail.

It felt as if you were underwater, falling into a trance of your eyes trailing the visible parts of her body to see any other unmarked scars that you had missed at first glance. Her hands barely concealed yet the scratches and traces of dried blood on the knuckles shined a brighter light on who she was. Her fingers long, slender, and littered in bruises, making you wonder what she could've done to sustain such injuries.

The way her hands consciously slipped deeper inside the sleeves of her jacket to conceal her hands didn't go unnoticed, and as if you were pulled from the suffocating waves of the ocean, you heard Sae-Byeok's voice come into view.

"Why aren't you playing with the other kids?" she asked, your eyes catching hers for a second before they diverted to Cheol who was still gripped onto her tightly. He hummed in response, not wanting to tell his sister that he was afraid.

Afraid of what the other kids would think about him, how they would treat him if he spoke too much, and if they'd see him differently if he was truly himself.

"Um, I just wanted to color." he murmured, his eyes avoiding his sisters, his hands resorting to latching onto her wrists, swinging them back and forth to keep himself occupied from having to meet her gaze, knowing that she can read him like a book.

You saw Sae-byeok tense, her face cringing at the sudden pressure around her wrists, but quickly masking it with a frown. Her mouth opened to question him but was abruptly interrupted by Cheol. "Oh, Miss Kim, Can I show noona what we were drawing together?" He suddenly asked, his head turning towards you, a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

You nodded, your eyes abashedly meeting Sae-Byeok's for a split second. "Of course, and if you want you can color with your noona in the visitor area." you offered, already gathering the sheets of paper off of the floor and bending down to throw markers back into their bin.

You smiled as he quickly nodded his head up and down, quickly scattering down to the floor to help you clean the mess you made together. "Will you join us?" Cheol suddenly asked after gathering the multitude of supplies, holding the bin of coloring items with both of his hands, occasionally using his knee to keep it from slipping.

You opened your mouth to answer but was soon interrupted by the yell of your mother calling your name. A small sorrowful smile making its way onto your face, "I don't think I'll be able to..maybe some other time, yeah?" you query, holding the now neat stack of papers close to your chest.

Cheol nodded, his smile still never slipping as he made his way back over to Sae-Byeok.

You held the papers out for her to take, not wanting to pile too much onto Cheol, only then being close enough to realize the noticeable height difference, she practically towered over you, her head having to slightly tilt down if she wanted to maintain eye contact.

Her eyes stayed trained on yours, eyelids fluttering at the smallest graze of her fingertips against yours as she took the drawings away from you. A mumble of what you assume to be a 'Thanks' was heard as she turned her back towards you, her and Cheol treading down the hall to the visitors area to continue coloring together, faint murmurs of Cheol's voice being heard as he told Sae-Byeok how good of an artist you were when you were merely average at best.

As they turned the corner you couldn't help but feel your heart skip a beat at Sae-Byeok's departing glance at you over her shoulder, her eyes flickering towards yours like a magnet before she disappeared into the halls of the orphanage. She evidently wasn't one for words, speaking her own secret language with her eyes, you just had to figure out what she meant.

Where did you come from Kang Sae-Byeok?

' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ' 📷 : @miabcuzz @twicesuuui @kissyslut @kritkalhit @st4rcs @dumbbellxo @theforestchoseme3 @wlvlurvsfimmia @genshinenjoyer @theweirdanimation @ch-3-rry @nenukkjhj @giaqnn @crack240 @pookalicious-hq @laurenkenss @sheinhamood @pooksterrr @bbynai @diorzs @beaaluv @colorfulkittenperfection @yourl0caltrash @kidicaruslover911 @sherryuki-callmeyuki @i0nic02 @knfthxv @mina-has-been-here

#kang sae byeok x fem!reader #kang sae byeok x reader #kang saebyeok #kang sae byeok #kang saebyeok x reader #kang saebyeok x fem!reader #squid games x reader #squid game imagines #squid game x y/n #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game x fem!reader

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pearlofthewoods · 2 days ago

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I’ve seen so many videos like this too, both about ships (particularly jegulus) and about specific fics people believe have ‘ruined’ the fandom.

To be honest, I think it’s particularly an HP/marauders phenomenon. Not that this doesn’t happen in other fandoms, but so many of the fanfic scandals (like fic binding for profit, AI in fanfilms) and now this, happen here. And I’m so tired of it.

It’s probably a result of being such a large fandom- people are used to choice and to so much fic to read that they can treat it like ‘content’- whereas in a smaller fandom you might just have to treasure what few small fics for your ship/fandom you have.

I think people on Tiktok are slowly becoming more aware that critiquing fics directly isn’t ok, but instead I’m just seeing it replaced with negativity about certain ships that people dislike.

And I understand, I’m not the biggest jegulus fan in the world, but I wouldn’t go into the comments section of someone’s video about jegulus or their fic hating on the ship and its portrayal.

I think this is even more crucial when we get to ships that have no basis in canon (such as jegulus) because the entire basis of the ship that you’re hating on is fanfiction.

That ship doesn’t exist outside of a fanfiction context and outside of the fic writers who built that relationship dynamic from the ground up.

So when you dunk on a ship that’s entirely fan created, you can only be dunking on the labour of love by the fic writers who write for that ship and for the fandom as a whole.

Since there is no interaction in canon, the only ‘dynamic’ between those characters that you’re criticising consists solely of the fic versions that you’ve read.

Obviously it’s different when we come to discussing preferences in ships that both have a basis in canon.

For example, another fandom I’m in is Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In BTVS, Buffy has 2 big canonical ships within the source material, so when I discuss why I prefer one ship over another, I only ever reference the dynamics of the characters in canon to make my point. Never fanfiction.

Of course there’s validity in saying you don’t read jegulus because there’s no canon basis or canonical interaction, but I find that’s not what people do. They never leave it there.

They say ‘I hate jegulus and what it’s done to the fandom’ or ‘I hate how y’all make james fall in love with a death-eater, he would never’ etc.

My brother in Christ, Jegulus doesn’t exist in canon. You don’t have to read it.

When you ‘hate’ on jegulus and their dynamic, you’re hating fanfic writers’ portrayals of jegulus. That’s the only jegulus content there is to hate.

I will say it now. I don’t personally read jegulus, I like my ships to have some basis in canon if I can. That’s just my preference. But that’s no reason to hate on the work of other fic writers. Click away, there’s always something else to read.

And if you can’t find precisely the ship and characterisation you’re looking for? Then congratulations, it’s time to get writing my friend.

we are incredibly blesseddddd in the harry potter fandom. no matter what era you are reading, there is such a wide array of fics for you to enjoy - such a multitudeeee of long-fics, aus, ships, tropes etc etc. we are so blessed to have this much to engage with.

but with that comes a lot of entitlement i feel. because there's more to "compare", there's more to call "the big fics" or "the best fics" and suddenly we're no longer blessed, because people don't appreciate fandom for what it is - a bunch of losers (affectionate) sitting in their rooms, writing fanfiction about wizards in their spare time, and sharing it with strangers online. rather it starts becoming competitive.

and 99.99% of the time, it's not the people writing these fics that start the comparisons and the competitions, it's those reading it. they'll publicly question why a fic has so many hits, they'll assume that fandom etiquette no longer applies just because a fic is popular, and they'll forget that these are people writing them, not just ao3 pseudonyms. they'll critique writing styles, get hung up on typos or grammatical errors etc etc. they'll start saying which piece of creative writing done by a person in their free time as a hobby is "worth it" and which ones aren't. and it's wild because they're the ones that have put these fics at the top. they're the ones that have decided these fics are the most worthy,,, and then they critique them?

and most of this is because of the hierarchy, absolutely. there's been a mass separation of readers-writers because people refuse to engage, and they start viewing themselves as "customers" receiving a "product" and they complain when it doesn't fit their standards. some of it is also the changing face of fandom spaces as they get big on more traction-based platforms like tiktok. all of it comes down to entitlement.

they start enforcing standards for fanfictions to live up to and start dictating what "good" writing is, as if that doesn't go against the very nature of a fandom space. a space where everybody's voice is heard and everybody has the same opportunity to create things (side tangent: this is not the time to be dictating what voices/experiences/talents deserve to be heard. free and open sources of literature are incredibly important right now. we often talk about the fact we hold fanfiction to the same standard as publit, which yes we do and that is not what we should be doing. but now we're starting to police it the same way publit is, and now is not the time. there is never a time tbh, but now when book bans are running rampant across the world? you want to decide which fics deserve to be read and which ones don't? hm).

and the worst thing is that not only are people critiquing the works we already have, but they demand more.

they'll say there's no more long-fics getting written, and then they won't go and engage with WIPs and encourage authors to continue, they won't start a fic until it's complete and then complain that nothing is complete. they'll say there's not enough fics for a certain ship, and instead of engaging with those producing them or encouraging love and engagement for them with others, they'll go into comment sections and hate on another ship. they'll say there's not enough of a certain trope and then they'll read one and go "hm. not like that" or not enough of a certain character and then go "actually i don't see them like this so this is written awfully".

most of all, they'll say that certain fics or ships have a ruined a fandom, and then they'll post things that go sooooo against what a fandom is, and just add to what is actually ruining wider fandom spaces - entitlement.

you are not entitled to long-fics, these are being written by people in their free time, and you refuse to engage with them as they're being written. you are not entitled to perfect grammar and presentation, fanfiction is for everybody and it is not a profession, it's a hobby. you are not entitled to the characterisations that you deem to be best, everything is malleable and you engage with what you like (better yet, write it yourself if you're so open to shitting on others. you do it then). you are not entitled to regular and consistent updates, you do not get a monopoly over this person's time. and you're going to see a lot less works over time if this is the way you treat them.

you are not entitled to any content in a fandom space, and no one is required to provide it for you. and most of all, your opinions and your characterisations and things you enjoy are not more worthy than anyone elses' - reading is subjective, we learnt this in primary school.

fandom is for self-exploration and it is self-curated. it's so self-curated and if you are having such a negative time in fandom because you can't find anything "good" or "worth it"? maybe there's some self-reflection to do as well. maybe you should sit and wonder why you feel entitled to things and why you feel the need to pit authors against each other or critique free works publicly, instead of wondering why other people are reading them.

we are so incredibly blessed to be in a fandom as diverse as this one with such an array of interpretations and such a wide spread of fics to choose from, but let's return to our roots and remember that - despite how many there are - everything is written by a Human Being. in their Free Time. For Fun.

and it's not fun to watch videos calling works bad get thousands of views and likes. you are not owed anything. and it is not okay to say these things just because "they'll never see it" - it says a lotttt about you as a person that there has to be some kind of impact for you to be kind.

it's like,,, would you go to a free bake sale and go "god i fucking hate red velvet!!!" and tell them they're doing a bad job, or would you pick up the chocolate cupcake you like instead and move on with your day whilst acknowledging that someone, not you but someone elseee, might like red velvet??? ykkkk??? you get me????

#possibly controversial #but I think jegulus-like anything else fan-created- ought to be treated with the same ‘don’t like don’t read attitude.’#its ‘ship source material’ at this point is fanfiction -not canon- treat it as such #fandom ettiquette #hp fandom #marauders #marauders era #marauders tiktok #fanfic #ship discourse #ship discussion #fic criticism

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fragrantdream · 3 days ago

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prince xavier

The rustling leaves of the weeping willow shelter you from the sun and the gentle afternoon breeze. You sit beneath the magnificent tree with your legs crossed and head leant back against its’ trunk. The sun starts to waver in the sky, its light turning from bright white to a much more comfortable orange. You can’t help but fall into the clutches of a light sleep while you wait, but after a while the tranquillity of the gardens is interrupted by a restless presence. Opening your eyes, you look up to see Xavier standing before you, the loose white fabric of his undershirt billowing around him like a halo, and his skin tanned rather strongly in of the dwindling days of summer. He smiles down at the disorientated look on your face, admiring the way you look up at him in awe.

“Have you been well?” Xavier asks with a smirk, sitting beside you comfortably.

“I should stand to greet you.” You aren’t sure who is watching you, so you do just that. You bow, trying to greet the future king with the proper protocol. He chuckles at the sight of you standing before him with your clothes stained by the dampness of the ground – a leaf hangs from your shoulder. He stands and returns the bow mockingly, before reaching out and picking up the leaf between his fingers to let it flutter to the ground.

“Nobody is watching.” Xavier silently hopes that he’s right, and that his minders hadn’t followed him into the woods. He grips your shoulders and pulls you into a hug, which forces you to smile despite your anxiety. You know you aren’t permitted to see him, and you let the fear of being caught flicker over you for a second before the feeling of his head nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck makes you forget. You both stand still for a moment, taking the moment as it is – beautiful, and fleeting. Birds and bugs begin to chirp louder as the sun continues to set, the air growing colder. Naturally, and as you have many times before, you lay side by side for a while to silently watch the stars as they appear. It’s easy to lose track of time chatting about the upcoming winter, and anything else that comes to mind. You eventually light the oil lantern he’d hidden in the trunk of the willow months ago when you’d first met in this meadow. It is the only way you’re able to stay out just a bit longer past sunset.

You look over at Xavier, now illuminated by the warm glow of the fire with an arm resting behind his head, eyes trained on you as you lay back down beside him. His hands grasp yours tightly, and he pulls them to his lips where he kissed them, before letting them rest on his chest over his heart. Even after all this time, he was yet to kiss you, so although foreign the action was not undesired. Propping your head up on your elbow you look down at him, and he’s surprised you’ve let go of his hand and wonders if he’s done something wrong. You start to think about how it wasn’t long before he’d no longer be your prince, but rather, a king. He’d be betrothed, and running the country. You wonder how much he might change when that happens though you quickly dismiss your doubts because it’s Xavier, and he has a habit of handling anything life throws at him. You find yourself lost in the sentimentality of the moment and lean down to press a kiss to his lips, certain that his father the king would be disgusted at the thought of his son being touched by a commoner. He winds his hand behind your head and sits up, and you quickly realise he wants to kiss you too – you both slowly test the waters, and relish in the feeling after so many years of imagining it. The feeling is completely different from those daydreams, yet it is a thousand times better at the same time.

Xavier opens his mouth first with a loud exhale that tickles your face and sends shivers down your spine and neck. You both straighten up and readjust for a moment while he moves his open mouth against your lips, waiting for you respond, and you cave in an instant and open your mouth to fully taste him. The remnants of wine and fruit from his lunch linger in his mouth, and the tastes are richer than anything you’d ever had access too before. He whines slightly at the feeling becoming enthralled with your mouth and softly guiding you to lean back against the now dewy grass. You follow his lead, stretching your legs beneath him as he straddles you, lips never leaving your own. This doesn’t last long however before he pulls away, asking if you’re okay as he lays himself atop your body and guides your legs to wrap around his waist. You nod in an instant, hastily pulling him back to you. This pulls forth more prominent groans from his throat as his lips venture to press open-mouthed kissed to your jawline. You open your eyes for a second to watch him move to your neck, before immediately scrunching them back closed when you feel him sucking on your skin. Unsure of what to do with your hands you reach down to grip at his hair, though he grabs hold of your wrist before you get the chance to tug.

“I must be presentable for dinner with my father tonight.” Xavier reminds you, and you let out a breathless laugh at the thought. He tightly clasps both of your hands together above your head between one of his own, fingers cold yet strong whilst holding you in place. He kisses your upper arm, letting out a sigh and opening his eyes to look at you below him, already completely wrecked. There is something wild and unfamiliar in his expression, even with only half of his face visible in the light of the nearby oil lamp as it grows dimmer over time. He reluctantly lets go of your wrists to feel your waist and chest, imparting only the softest of touches before moving your arms over his shoulders. You run your hands over his upper back and grip onto the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling it up slightly to feel the buttery skin of his lower back.

You are interrupted by the sound of Xavier's name being shouted from the woods, and quickly reach for the lamp to extinguish it, breaths heavy and eyes wide. He shushes you while standing and offering you a hand to help you up, before guiding you behind the great tree. He adjusts himself and calls out a haphazard “I’m coming now”, before reluctantly walking towards the clearing. He makes it over to his minders but turns back, telling them he’d forgotten something after falling asleep. They dismiss him with a sigh, arms folded and posture trying but failing to intimidate him. He rushes back to the tree and grabs hold of the brass handle of the oil lamp. When he is certain he is out of view, he hooks it between your trembling fingers to leave it with you.

“Please find your way home safely in the dark.” You press another kiss to his lips as a thank you, hoping that he’d hurry back to his minders before he gets in trouble, though as the crown prince you suppose he is always in trouble. He smiles in return.

“I love you.” Xavier turns and begins walking back before you can respond, hoping you managed to hear him over the sound of the crickets.

#lads smut #xavier #xavier x reader #xavier love and deepspace #xavier lads #xavier imagine #xavier smut #l&ds xavier #love and deepspace xavier #lads xavier #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader

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i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 4 hours ago

Text

P*rn ☆ Chapter 2, Moving noises?

Masterlist Word count: 1.9 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Author's note: Haha, take this! 2 chapters in one day!

Mature content under the cut.

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘

'Are you alright? You look tired.' Tara sounds awfully concerned and you can imagine why. The bags under your eyes might as well be down to your knees by now. Turns out your new neighbor is nocturnal. You couldn't care less about the moving noises, but the fact that they only happen past ten pm is killing you.

'No kidding,' you sass at her. Quickly, you smack your hands in front of your face. Sure, you're known to have an attitude but never to Tara. She's too sweet. 'I'm sorry, I'm just so tired.'

Tara frowns: 'Is it that new neighbor of yours? Kieran told me he has a tendency to stay up late.'

'That's an understatement. He's nocturnal.' Tara lets out an annoyed groan in solidarity, but it just sounds cute coming from her. 'It's fine. I'm sure he's almost done. I mean, how much stuff can you fit into one of those units? You've seen mine, the one next door isn't much bigger.'

'Must be a big change, considering you and Zayne were so close.'

'We still are,' you tell her, 'we just see each other a little less now. I do miss him a lot.' She nods but her eyes have a little twinkle in them and you know where this is going. 'No, stop that. Zayne and I are just friends.'

'Never even... you know,' she questions with a cheeky smile and a wiggle of her brow.

'No, never,' you laugh, 'as I said, just friends. I don't know, he just feels like a brother. I mean, I've teased him before as a joke and nothing “physical” happened on his end. So I don't think he likes me either.'

'He goes through an awful lot of effort to be “just friends,” just saying.'

'Yeah, yeah, sure. You have a very filthy mind for the way you look.'

'It's been said,' she responds with a gleaming smile. You lean back in your chair and cross your arms, looking her up and down.

'About that.' Her body tenses up every so slightly. 'Your boyfriend is not what I expected at all. I mean, I've seen him pick you up before and he looks quite tough, but he seemed just as awkward as you are.' Tara's eyes flicker around the room a while, seemingly not wanting to explain anything to you, until her phone lights up. She quickly checks the notification and gasps with excitement.

'Hold that thought, so Kieran just told me they're doing drinks to celebrate Sylus’ move. That means they must be done,' she states in a chipper tone. You raise an eyebrow at the strange change of topic. There's a freaky side to that woman, you're sure of it.

'So?'

'So, I'm dropping Kieran off so he can have some drinks but maybe we can have a girls' night,' she suggests. Considering Red Crow isn't posting anything today for once, your evening is completely open. Could be fun to have a quiet night in with Tara.

'Sure, sounds fun. What are you thinking? Movie, face masks, board game?'

'All of the above,' she squeals in excitement, 'I'll bring some snacks.'

'Great, just let me know when you and Kieran are driving over.'

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘

To be a good neighbor, you decided to get this Sylus guy a little something as a housewarming gift. Considering they'll be drinking; a bottle of whiskey can never go wrong. Lucky for you, you were gifted a bottle of whiskey a few weeks ago but you know that one is not quite your style. The Writer's Tears single pot still. It's a very nice whiskey and you've had different whiskeys from Writer's Tears before, but you're just not the biggest whiskey drinker. It's expensive too, so it might give a good impression.

Tara just texted you she's on her way, which means you've got about fifteen minutes before she gets here. You considered waiting for her and Kieran to hand over the gift so it could be in the spirit of "oh, just dropping my friend's boyfriend off" but that’s just weird. Feels like you're a parent dropping your kid off at school and you're not about that.

So now you're here, in front of the oh-so familiar door that you used to have a key to. Part of you is really curious how the place looks now, another part of you wants to keep the memory of how it used to be in a time capsule. Either way, you've got a present for your neighbor and this interaction could be done within a minute if you do it right.

You press the doorbell and hear something fall followed by a string of curses. The door opens fast and the person on the other side, who you think is probably Sylus, towers over you. You look up at him with wide eyes and recognize him right away. That man right there is the reason for most of your pleasure and orgasms. Red Crow.

'What,' he barks. Rude , and not at all what you would've expected. Still, it takes you a second to take all of him in. He’s even taller than you imagined, eyes even more piercing, face even sharper. It's like a fucking God leaning over you and staring down like you're no more than a puny peasant.

And a switch flicks in your head.

'Fix your tone,' you huff, 'I'm your neighbor. I thought I'd bring you a housewarming present.' His eyes widen ever so slightly. How you managed to muster up such a bratty tone in the face of who's talked you over the edge more times than you can count is a mystery to you, but it feels kind of nice to see him stunned like this. You hold out the box the whiskey is packaged in towards him.

His shoulders relax and he does actually fix his face. His features soften a little and his eyes no longer stare at you like you're an intruder. Your heart starts racing, as if your body just now realizes who is in front of you. You beg to the Gods above that your cheeks don't get bright red. A cold shiver goes down your spine when he takes the box from you with a flicker of an amused smile, the box suddenly seeming much smaller in his hands. 'Thank you, that's nice.'

'No worries. Tara told me you're having a party, so I thought that wouldn't hurt,' you say, trying to sound as casual as possible. He studies your face for a second, searching for the answers to a question he doesn't ask you.

'You know Tara?' You nod.

'She's my coworker.' Shit, your voice isn't as steady as it was at the start anymore. You've got this man on a fucking pedestal and he's here, in reach. It's a weird feeling. Your panties are soaked but you're highly put off by the way he greeted you. Still... there are very little appropriate thoughts going on in your head right now. If this was your last day on earth, you'd have this man bend you like a pretzel right here right now in the hallway.

He nods, amused like a cat playing with its prey. 'Is that right?’

'Yes. Whelp, nice meeting you. I'm gonna go back to my place,' you ramble awkwardly and quickly turn to slip back into your own apartment, accidentally slamming the door. How the hell are you going to face Tara now? Your body is going into overdrive. You bet you could cum just hearing your vibrator turn on. However, you can't risk it. Tara has told you Kieran drives like a maniac and always drives if he's sober, which is now. She could be in front of your door any second.

"Just breathe," you tell yourself, "it's just a man." Yeah, just a man, a man that could fuck you like there's no tomorrow. Shit, your thoughts aren't your friends right now. A cold shower ought to work. Hopefully.

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘

The bottle of whiskey from his neighbor was put on display on his bar cart. He knows the kind and that type of whiskey isn't for parties. Not even small parties like this. He figures it might be a regift or something. No sane person would give a total stranger an expensive whiskey like this. Never mind a stranger who has been a disturbance from the start.

Then again, they're not really strangers. He saw the look in her eyes. He's seen it before and hasn't been wrong about it yet. It's that "I've seen you naked" look. To be fair, Sylus would've preferred to stay anonymous in this building for a little longer but considering his neighbor is friends with Tara, she probably won't tell anyone what he does. That is, if she knows what her boyfriend Kieran does since he wears a mask in his content.

But there was more in her eyes. More than just scandal or embarrassment. There was lust. A lot of it. So much so that Sylus feared he might've caused his pants to tent if she would've bit her lip. Best for both of them that she left when she did.

He runs his hands through his hair in frustration. Normally, he's not one to obsess like this but there was just something about her. Something about how she looked at him, about the way she commanded him to fix his tone. It's been a long damn time since a woman showed that kind of dominance to him and, shit, it turns him on like crazy.

Maybe, just maybe, he can rub one out real quick. He sits down on his bed and looks down at the bulge in his pants. He truly hopes he didn't look like that before. He hadn't seen her look at it. Besides, would that be so bad? It looked like she wanted him to take her right then and there, and he would have if she asked. Or demanded, he isn't picky.

A devious thought pops up in his head. He promised his followers he'd record himself getting off if they begged and beg they did. Maybe he could tease her with this as well if she really does watch him. If it wasn't just a look of attraction and intimidation, but recognition.

He whips out his phone, puts it on his dresser across from the bed pointed at his crotch and upper body with his thighs still visible. His face is just out of frame, not on purpose but he doesn't mind his followers not seeing how flustered one small interaction got him. Not that they'd ever know why, but she would.

He sits down on the edge of the bed once more to check if everything's in frame when he hears it. The shower. Her shower. So, her bathroom and his are next to each other, which means their bedrooms are probably also next to each other.

“Good to know,” he thinks to himself, and that's when he hears it. The softest, most muffled of moans followed by a string of whimpers. He feels his dick twitch against his pants like it's being chocked, his ears feel like they're burning while a wicked grin plays on his lips.

And then he presses record.

Previous - Next

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cheshirewrites · 2 days ago

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Luka gives the girl a thorough look over, noting her knotted hair, the dirt smudged on her cheeks, and the thread-bare state of her clothing. Holes in the knees of her trousers, patches on her elbows (clearly hand sewn, he knows that much), even the fabric of her bandana fraying at the seams.

She looks like an ordinary girl, one who has faced far too much peril during his father's rule.

"Are you certain?" Luka asks his guard for a second time, because he doesn't want to be wrong about this. Doesn't want to put the weight of the world on a little girl because of a false prophecy. "You're sure-"

"Yes, my prince," Fox says, grinning their sharp grin. "My love, my dear, you know I wasn't misinformed. The Misses aren't wrong about things like this."

And they're right, of course.

Ari and Dahlia were the best advisors a prince could ask for.

So when the two of them found a prophecy, claiming that a girl who shared his birthday would grow to hate the world, would try and burn it to the ground if she was left alone? Luka just wanted to find the girl and hold her close, apologize for everything he hadn't done and everything he hasn't changed yet. Prophecies are complicyed, after all, and Luka refuses to look at someone and only see the bad in them.

People deserve more than that from their prince, their king, their- whatever title Luka gained when Fox convinced a Dark Lord to overthrow the throne.

( After all, Fox is the best person Luka knows, and Gods know that Fox isn't innocent, no matter how sweetly they may smile. )

"Do you want some cake?" Luka says, and he knows how strange it must look. The prince and his guard, offering you cake in your own home, and on your birthday, at that. "I promise it isn't poisoned or anything, my aunties Dahlia and Ari made it, and both of them think poisoning is a cheap way to fight."

The girl stares up at him for a long, long moment, until something like amusement creeps onto her face. "Sure," she says, taking a few steps closer. "I've got some questions, though, and I want answers."

Luka grins at that. "Of course!" He says, almost shouting. "Can I ask you one, tiny thing first?" A nod. "What's your name? The Aunties told me a few things about you, like where to find you, but they left that out, and-"

The girl holds up a hand, and Luka falls silent. His grin turns sheepish. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it, Princey," she says, grinning. "The name's Cassandra, but most people just call me Cass. Now-" Cass leans forward, crossing her arms across her chest- "Tell me about these aunties of yours."

"They're actually the reason I'm here!" Luka says. "Ari and Dahlia -- yes, that Ari and Dahlia, the long dead Hero and Dark Lord, it's a long story -- told me I needed to find a girl who shared my birthday, and well," his voice trails off, "you might wanna sit down for this bit."

Cassandra -- her name is Cassandra! --gives him a questioning look, but sits down at her table anyway. "I'm seated, Princey," she says, nearly sounding reassuring. "What terrible news do you have to deliver? You look like you're gonna tell me the world is ending, for fuck's sake."

Luka looks at Fox pleadingly, but his partner only shrugs. Both of them know that this is Luka's responsibility, even if Ari would be the best at it. She is the one who found the prophecy, after all, and Fox has told him word for word what she said to them that day they first met.

Their exchange isn't subtle, though, and Cassandra's jaw drops. "You're kidding me," she says, her voice perfectly even. "The world isn't actually ending, right?"

"No!" Luka says, and this time, he does shout. "No, no, nothing like that. It's just-" He hesitates, trying to find the right words. Knows that there aren't any right words, not when it comes to prophecies and royalty and the like.

It's better to be straightforward, right? Luka thinks to himself, and then takes a deep breath. That's what Dahlia always says.

"How do you feel about prophecies?"

You are a poor girl selling flowers. Today is your birthday but no one knows. When you return home you find the prince of the kingdom waiting for you with a birthday cake. "Are you sure this is the one?" He whispers to his advisor.

#cheshire writes #writing prompts #prompt fill #prompt fic #original writing #creative writing #my writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #fantasy #lgbtq

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eldritch-spouse · 5 hours ago

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At first, Belo believed his Goddess was just really affectionate physically. She frequently cuddled up to him, burying her face in his chest, or absentmindedly stroking whatever area of his body wasn't covering his soft fur, sighing happily as her hand moved. However, every time she's had a friend over, they'd hug briefly, then… hang out on opposite ends of the couch. Between the short greeting hugs, there was little to no physical contact.

…Does his Goddess only enjoy touching… him?

(while not exactly touch-averse, the Goddess in question just generally prefers to have her own space and tends to show affection in different ways. excluding Belo, obviously. his fur is so SOFT and COMFORTING to touch, it feels like her heart will explode from PURE JOY)

[Adorable! I like this. Fem reader.]

He's always thought he was unworthy of such attention.

Powers like him are only meant to guard and fight for their Lords and Ladies. It's not even their job to worship, not to the extent of other casts, but Belo still likes to think he can perform decently in that field... His kind isn't meant to be showered in attention and rewards, they're taught not to expect such for simply executing their duties.

Yet, since shortly after Belo found his place at your service, you've done nothing if not treat him with endless kindless, endless love.

Part of him had wanted to caution you that touching him is beneath your status. That he didn't deserve it.

Hardly ever would those words manifest, because Belo simply couldn't stop himself from enjoying it. He'd hate himself if he said something that made you truly not touch him anymore.

He's always wondered why you did it.

There's no doubt you enjoy the feeling of his fur. He's memorized the way you like to lace your fingers on the tufts that warm his chest, the way you'll slide from the top of his wings to his arms, leaning onto him just so you can feel more of it. Belo often forgets he tends to lean during those encounters, chases after the hand that pets him, forgetting who he's meant to be and who he's in front of. There's no way to describe the way his heart hammers behind his ribcage, how his eyes will flicker everywhere and he tenses all over -Puffing out that fur you seem to love- before he's floating in his own Eden.

Do you like to touch Belo simply because he's, as you put it, "fluffy"? Do you enjoy touching him because you seek to reward him? Do you touch him because you think he should be the only one who gets to receive that privilege?

Selfishly, he silently wishes you'd touch him more. Many, unfortunately, were the times Belo would get distracted throughout the day, daydreaming of you running your hands all over him, unhindered by his outfit, feeling everything everywhere just because you could, because he's your angel and his body is also yours to keep, to order. The blood in his body would rush elsewhere and the celestial would curve to hide his own shame, even as it continued to throb and demand attention until he succumbed.

Pervertedly, Belo did such an experiment once. He dressed casually. It felt wrong, felt inappropriate to present in such a relaxed hammer around the most important figure in his life... But you had expressed delight in his supposed drive to adapt a little bit more, so the guilt was ever so slightly lessened.

That day, there was hardly a limit to your boldness. He remembers you embracing him from behind, arms coming forward to squeeze at his chest and rubbing the soft clumps over his abdomen. The knee-length sport shorts he picked were pushed down slightly. Belo had done it on purpose, and it yielded results. You had, perhaps in distraction, perhaps knowingly, massaged the fur-dense spot right above his slit. The angel couldn't breathe in that moment, he feared he might even collapse if your digits wondered just a tiny but further. He knew that he would react shamefully but the notion wasn't strong enough to make him prevent such.

He was ready to be punished, if it meant having this small guilty pleasure.

Your phone, that blasted electrical contraption that you love so dearly, rang so jarringly loud in that exact moment that Belo nearly yelped. Your hands were off his overheated body in a blink, and the interaction ceased there, with his Lady none the wiser to the state she left him in.

He could barely feel a shred of indignity for the way disappointment radiated off him in thick waves.

Belo hasn't had the courage to try that again, though it's more than safe to say the memory is engraved in the forefront of his mind.

It got him to... Think about you.

Your actions, your behavior around others.

It's not often you allow people into your sanctuary anymore. Belo insists that you shouldn't invite those beneath you into such close quarters. This ground is pure and protected for the sake of your well-being, to allow ignorant outsiders to disrespect and desecrate this location is an act of self-harm the power will simply not stand by!

Yet still, his Lady's word is final on a lot of matters. There is faith in some people, who you see as good and deserving of your holy presence. The celestial sees naught but lessers in delusion of your supposed "normalcy", but if you believe these individuals are somewhat excusable, then he'll try to see things through your eyes.

You've always tended to keep your distance from them. Not emotionally, physically. This was something Belo was initially quite relieved by, he didn't have to warn you not to put yourself in such unsightly positions. Just the thought made him itch in an unnatural way...

Now though, he wonders why, if you're aware of the distance you should keep from others, you still choose to touch him frequently? Belo is still beneath the honor of such, yet never once do you hold the hands of the people you invite, refuse their embraces, look uncomfortable at the slightest unintentional brush... In contrast, you appear to be greatly comforted by the sensation of his physique.

He freezes, mind running so wild with possibilities that the angel's fingers tremble.

You have clearly made a choice.

There's no one you'd ever like to touch, except Belo.

In your eyes, in your actions, in your mind, he's the only one worthy enough

He's the only one who can reach your standards!

You only need contact from him.

Belo understands now.

He feels his chest tighten with delight, feels weightless for a second, the rush of euphoria clawing its way up his spine makes his wings flutter and he makes some sort of noise entirely undignified of his cast.

He remained in a state of barely concealed hysteria until you arrived home that day.

For once in his life, he commits something unthinkable.

" Welcome back, my Lady. "

He greets when you step through the door. Instead of standing by your side as he typically does, the angel crowds you, ruffled and tense. You don't get to answer before Belo summons the courage to reach out, to ghost his hands across your soft face and ever so gently, so carefully -like you'd shun him forever otherwise- embrace you in a comforting hug.

He feels as if he broke a thousand rules in one moment alone, but it was worth it.

Because he felt you smile against him.

#Belo oc #3moghost #angel boyfriend #yandere monster #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster lover

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measuredingold · 2 days ago

Text

my soul is useless without you

author's note: part two to i'd walk through hell for you is finally here ! i'm not sure if i want to do a third part, but we’ll see lol but i'm currently working on something for folio 👀 as always, i hope you enjoy and feedback is appreciated ! also, if yall have any requests, send them my way :) i'm in the mood to write but inspiration is running thin lol

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

divider: @saradika-graphics

word count: 3.5k

cross posted on ao3 / part one

cw/tw: angst, hurt/comfort, Noah Sebastian Is Bad At Feelings But A Good Friend, reader is going through it, anxiety, hints/mentions of depression, noah is just a good guy and cares about reader a lot ( more than he realizes ), friends to lovers pining lol, 18+ minors do not interact

It's when Jolly asks Noah in-between takes if he'd heard from you recently that the anxiety finally settles in.

Because he doesn't know the last time he's heard from you. Which isn't normal.

He's a bad texter, notorious for looking at messages and making a note to reply to them later or replying in his mind, but he always makes sure to reply to you whenever the two of you aren't together. It's just always been a thing, to always have some form of communication with you when he wasn't over at yours or if you weren't at his, so it panics him when he can't remember the last time he'd spoken to you.

He goes through your messages and finds that it wasn't him this time who didn't respond, but instead it was you. Relief washes over him briefly, the guilt of forgetting to respond to his best friend vanishing, but then that anxiety comes back full force.

You didn't respond.

You always responded.

He sends off a quick message to you, apologizing for being in studio mode and not leaving the house and asks if you're alright. He waits. They go through another take, he somehow doesn't fuck it up even though his mind isn't all the way there. You still haven't responded by the fifth take and that's when he starts to feel sick, stomach twisting with the worry of what could be wrong.

He tries to think back to if you've ever gone this long without speaking and he can't think of a time when that has happened.

"Earth to Noah." Jolly's voice pulls him away from his thoughts.

"Oh. Uh, sorry."

"All good, man." His bandmate eyes him for a second before his eyes flicker towards his phone. "She respond?"

"Um. No." His brows furrowed as he stared at his phone, the black screen mocking him. "Kind of worried."

"Yeah... I am, too." Jolly murmurs. He clicks around on the screen a few times before twisting his chair around to fully face Noah, arms crossing over his chest. "You should go over there. Check and make sure she's alright."

Noah raises a brow at him. "We're in the middle of recording?"

"And?" Jolly shrugs, waving him off. "We got a lot done today, we can wrap it up. Something's obviously wrong and she might need you. That's more important than some song."

He blinks at his friend, letting his words settle in. Jolly's right, he thinks. You are more important than whatever song they're working on. That confirmation makes him feel funny, something tightening beneath his chest but he ignores it, nodding slowly.

"Okay. You wanna come?"

Jolly shakes his head. "Nah. The both of us might be overwhelming. If you do need me then call, if not..." He shrugs again before lifting himself up out of his chair, groaning softly to himself, "...might be best for just you to go. She'd probably feel better if it's just you, anyways. You know how she is."

Noah isn't quite sure what he means, but nods along anyways. He checks his phone again and still no text, but he notices that you read the message. He should feel relieved at the sign of life but it only makes his anxiety worse, stomach twisting violently.

"Okay. I'll text you when I get there."

He's practically running out of the studio after that, the only thing on his mind was you. He needed to make sure you were okay. Deep down he knew that if this was him, you would've already been here, and he feels guilty all over again. He should've paid more attention, shouldn't have let this slip his mind so easily. He thinks back to your last messages together and how you were talking about your work day, overwhelmed and quite frankly, upset about it all. He should've paid closer attention.

He makes it to yours in record time, legs moving him to the door before he can even think about it. He sends up a quiet prayer to the universe that you had given him an extra key months ago and uses it to unlock the door, slowly pushing it open.

He calls out your name, but no answer.

His eyes sweep over your apartment as he enters, scanning the open space. Your kitchen looked untouched, minus the few dirty dishes that were in your sink. A few boxes of Chinese take-out and some bottles of water. He feels almost relieved. You'd been eating and as far as he can tell you'd been keeping yourself somewhat hydrated, so that was a plus. He knows how bad you can be when you get into this headspace - brain fog, forgetting to do basic things like eating and drinking water. But this... this is a step in the right direction.

His eyes move towards the living room and it's just about the same. A pile of blankets lay together at one end of the couch, pillows scattered along the length of the cushions. You'd been there quite a bit, he can tell, but other than that nothing was too bad.

Noah feels like he can breathe for just a second, eyes going straight to the cracked open door to your bedroom. He hears the faint hum of your television and hears the muffled voice of your favorite characters in your favorite comfort show. His chest tightens. You only ever watch it when things get bad inside your head, when things start to become too overwhelming and you need to cling onto something that you know. Something that won't throw any surprises at you and make things worse.

He makes his way towards your room, ready to call out your name again as he pushes open your door but stops halfway. You're curled up in your bed, covered in a pile of blankets. He steps closer to get a better look at you and he doesn't think he's ever seen you look so peaceful. Lashes against the tops of your cheeks, lips parted. The crease between your brows is relaxed, which never happens.

Noah takes a deep breath.

You're alright. He can see that you're safe and sound, at least for now, and that's enough for him. He shuts your door behind him and makes his way back into the main room, taking his shoes off by the door. He takes another deep breath to center himself as he looks around your space, hand finding its way to his hair.

He decides he'll clean up your kitchen and living room. It isn't too bad, and it won't take him too long. He also just... doesn't want to leave yet. He'll wait until you wake up. Make you talk to him, ask what’s up. Probably make you eat something. Then he'll head home.

Sounds like a good plan to him.

Even though your door is shut he still tries to be quiet, making sure to carefully wash and put away your dishes without making too much of a fuss. After the dishes, he throws away all the take-out boxes and water bottles. He even makes a note to take the trash out for you when he's all done, because he knows you would've done it for him.

The constant reminder of you and knowing that you'd do something like this for him, and have, is the motivation he needs to continue. It makes him feel warm all over and he thinks how lucky he is to have someone like you as his best friend.

And he definitely ignores the bitter taste in his mouth at the word best friend.

It's maybe an hour after he's finished, curled up on your couch that now has its pillows in place, and the pile of blankets are neatly folded and put away, that you finally emerge from your room. You rub the sleep out of your eyes, not noticing him on the couch at first, but when you do you make a noise of surprise that has Noah laughing.

"Hey."

He notices the slight flush of your cheeks but ignores it. "Hi?"

"I uh," He scratches the back of his neck, sending you a sheepish smile. "Hadn't talked to you in a few days. Got worried. So did Jolly. Told me to come over. Check on you. You were sleeping so I just," He throws his arms around, gesturing to the space around him, "cleaned up a little? Figured you would appreciate a clean house when you woke up so..."

He's talking too much, he knows it, but he can't seem to stop the word vomit from coming out. Noah knows you wouldn't mind, but he was nervous, especially because all you do is stare at him without saying a word. Stare and stare and stare until you sniff, brows furrowing.

"...Thanks."

You're unusually quiet and it makes his stomach turn again. You sniff again and Noah swears you look like you're on the verge of tears, and he sits up on the couch. He watches you closely as you wring your hands together in front of you, mouth opening and closing as if you want to say something. You don't, and Noah catches the exact moment when your bottom lip trembles, and he's moving before he can even think about it.

"Hey. It's okay. You’re okay."

He tries to keep his voice soft and free of any panic, but his heart is beating so rapidly against his chest he swears you can hear it. You sniff again, head shaking as your lip continues to tremble and he does the only thing he can think of. He pulls you into his arms and presses you into his chest. You don't move for a second, but eventually your arms circle around his waist. You squeeze, tight, but he doesn't mind. He just squeezes you back.

Your body begins to shake as the cries start to rack through you, the sound muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Noah swallows down the lump that was beginning to form, cheek resting on the top of your head. He's always hated when you cry. He himself wasn’t one for much display of emotions, but when it came to the people he cared about, he hated seeing them anything but happy.

Especially you.

He's seen you cry a few times. Well, more than a few times. Sometimes it was over nothing, and then sometimes it was over an incredibly cute dog you'd seen scrolling on Twitter. He didn't mind those, but when it was over something serious, he fucking hated that. He never wanted you to be anything but happy, and whenever you weren’t, it’s like a piece of him breaks.

“What’s wrong?” He whispers into your hair, trying to pull you even closer to him.

“Everything.” You eventually mumble against his chest, sucking in a deep breath as you try to control your tears. “Fucking everything is wrong.”

He fucking hates the way that answer makes him feel. His chest feels like it's on fire, and he swears his heart just fucking broke at how sad you sounded, voice muffled by his shirt. He squeezes you to his chest again.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He wants you to talk about it, to tell him what's wrong so he can make it better. Noah knows it'll probably be damn near impossible to even do that, but god, he'd try absolutely anything to make your tears stop. You take a long moment to respond, trying to control your breathing, before you eventually shake your head against his chest.

"Not right now."

"Okay.” He mumbles, raising a hand to smooth down your hair. “That's okay, we don't have to."

"Thank you."

You stay like that for a moment, in the middle of your living room. Noah doesn't plan on letting go any time soon, thinking for a split second that he wished he could keep you in his arms forever. If you were there, he'd always know if you were okay. The thought fades before he could think too hard about it when you finally pull away from him, and Noah catches sight of your slight red and blotchy face. He frowns.

He doesn't remember the last time he's ever seen you so sad. So defeated. Whatever was going on really pained you, and he wishes you'd just tell him so he can fix it. Another passing, fleeting thought, but he thinks he'd do just about anything right now to see you smile again.

"Have you eaten?" He breaks the silence between the two of you, not waiting to hear whatever you were planning on saying.

You blink up at him. "Um... no. Not since this morning. Had some fruit and coffee."

"I figured." He guides you towards the couch, practically pushing you onto it. You snort when he grabs a throw blanket and dumps it onto you. "Pick something to watch."

It's not a question, but more of a command, and Noah ignores the way his chest flutters at the small smile you give him. He turned away from you, pushing whatever feeling was brewing inside of him so far down and got his brain to focus. Food. You need food. To be honest, so does he. He’d been so worried about you for the last few hours that he didn’t even think of getting something to eat.

It takes him a few minutes of rummaging around your kitchen to settle on making something easy - instant ramen. He’s surprised you hadn't eaten it all in the week you’ve been off-grid, but thankful nonetheless. Noah's way too impatient to wait any longer to actually cook something, especially knowing you hadn't eaten anything since this morning. Every so often he looked over his shoulder to watch you, wishing you'd say something, but would find you either staring blankly at the television or your phone.

A bitter taste settles in the back of his throat every time he turns back around to the stove. He hated this, and he fucking hated that he couldn't do a goddamn thing about it.

He brings your bowl to you once he's finished, already making a mental note to clean up the mess he had made while cooking. You blink up at him and reach for it, giving him a quiet, "Thank you."

Noah doesn't verbally say anything, just hums out a response as he ventures back into the kitchen to grab you something to drink. When he comes back he notices you had slowly begun to eat, and he feels his shoulders finally relax. Just knowing you ate something eases him, the tension in his body leaving him completely. You're already reaching out for the glass of water in his hand that he happily hands off to you, giving you a gentle smile.

"Need anything else?"

You shake your head, peering up at him. "No. Just want you to come sit with me."

That same fluttery feeling beneath his chest returns and he wishes he could ignore it again, but it doesn't go away. No, it stays perched underneath his chest, as if it's decided that it's making a home there and never leaving. He doesn't say anything, just nods at your request before grabbing his own bowl and a Pepsi you had in the fridge before making his way back to you.

You wait until he's settled on the couch to scoot closer to him, legs pressed flushed together. You're already halfway through your ramen and for a split second he forgets that weird feeling in his chest, instead focusing on the intense pride filling him. He was able to get you to eat, he was able to help out in some way. Knowing you were alright for the most part and it was from his doing made him feel good.

The both of you eat in silence as whatever show you decided to put on plays in the background. He’s just now realized it was The Office, and he huffs out a small laugh at something Michael Scott said. Another one of your comfort shows, something easy.

It isn't until you both are finished with your food and Noah's back in the kitchen cleaning up that you finally speak. He doesn't hear you come up behind him, focused on washing the dishes and making sure everything's clean and good to go, so he can't help but jump when he feels your arms slip around his waist and squeeze.

"Shit." He swears, followed by a breathy chuckle. "You scared me."

You don't say anything to that, just squeeze him harder and he feels you press your face against his back. Then ever so softly, he picks up the faintest, "Thank you," muffled against his back. His face flushes, eyes casting down to the soapy water his hands were currently submerged in. He's glad you can't see the blush on his cheeks, and he fucking hopes you can't hear the way his heart is pounding beneath his chest. Can probably feel it, though, and that makes his face burn even more.

"For what?" He manages to mumble out, resuming his efforts. Your arms squeeze his waist again.

"For being here." You sound so small. "You don't have to be, but you are, and I can't thank you enough for that."

"You'd do it for me." His response comes easily, voice nonchalant because it's true. He knows you'd do the same for him, and the thought has his stomach flipping every which way. "And have done it for me. It's the least I can do."

You're silent after that but don't part from him, and Noah can't help the smile that spreads across his lips at the feeling of you rubbing your face against him. It makes him feel warm all over, and that damned fluttery feeling in his chest is back yet again. You stay like that until he's finished with the dishes, moving with him as he shuffles to the side to dry them off. You don't pick your head up even when he manages to turn in your arms, finally facing you.

Noah's arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him and now you can rub your face against his chest. He laughs softly, pressing his cheek against the top of your head.

"Still don't wanna talk about it?" He knows he's pressing but he can't help it, a part of him still needs to know what's wrong and how he can fix this for you.

You shake your head. "Not yet. Tomorrow, okay? I just... don't wanna think about it tonight."

"Okay." He thinks he can handle that.

"Thank you." You say again and finally lift your head up from his chest, blinking up at him. There's still a sadness there, roaming around behind your eyes, but not as prevalent as it was earlier. He’s at least done something right. "I'm really fucking lucky to have you, you know that, right?"

The way you're looking up at him is overwhelming, Noah's throat tightening at the softness surrounding your tired eyes. You smile at him and this time it reaches your gaze, not faked but real, and his heart slams against his chest. A thought passes his mind again, something he hasn't thought of in years, and he pushes it back with a hard swallow.

"You're just saying that because you didn't have to do the dishes."

You roll your eyes but that smile never drops from your lips, and Noah thinks he'd like to keep you smiling like that for the rest of his life.

"Shut up. I'm being serious." You're giggling now, eyes crinkling and he catches a glimpse of the real you for the first time in hours - probably days, weeks even.

"So am I." Noah yelps when you pinch his side, your laughter growing louder. "Hey!"

"I'm trying to be nice here, asshole. You can at least try, too."

He softens at that, eyes meeting yours. He's well aware his face is on fire right now, cheeks pink.

"You already know I'm lucky to have you. Didn't realize I had to say it."

Even if he doesn't say it often, he is very lucky. So incredibly lucky to have you in his life, for sticking by him and for understanding him. For always being patient with him. Jolly reminds him occasionally how lucky he is to have you, how all of them are lucky to have someone like you in their lives. He doesn't know what the fuck he or anyone did to be so deserving of you, but dammit, he's fucking thankful for it everyday.

You don't say anything, just continue to beam up at him and Noah can't seem to stop himself, tilting his head down to brush his lips against your forehead. He feels you press further into his chest, if it was even possible, and practically melt in his arms.

He wishes he could keep you here forever, tucked away in his arms. He thinks there isn't much he wouldn't do to keep you safe, to make sure you were okay, and that thought alone scares him. He'd never admit it, at least not out loud, and he tucks that thought away for another time. Or to possibly be never thought of again, he doesn't know. He doesn't really care.

No, all he cares about right now is that you're okay, at least for now, and that you're nestled against his chest like it's the only place you want to be.

And that's enough for him.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #mine

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