#struggling writer x reader

[bellarkeselection]

Living My Storybook

Request from @thefandomdiaries07 John Dutton x reader from Yellowstone. I was thinking maybe something along the lines of a much younger reader (like mid 20s even) who lives/grew up in Napa Valley and is a struggling author, so they take a trip to Montana and meet John?

Tag list @whateverthecostner @artoldfartsandunicornhearts @nettysworld-madisonclark @elenavampire21

Parking my truck next to this barn, I sighed, closing my notebook and putting it in my bag, heading towards the building. Peaking my head inside the door, I think I got the right address my friend Monica sent me since I told her I needed a place to stay for a few weeks to get inspiration for the book I'm working on. There's a horse saddled in the barn so I slowly walked up climbing on which causes the horse to suddenly bolt out of the barn and towards the field. Gripping the reins I screamed struggling to stay on as he races finally throwing me off his back. Rolling on the ground I groaned holding my ankle of my right leg. "Well that couldn't have gone any better." I mumbled to myself before someone raced past me riding their horse a lot easier than I did moments ago.

The rider chased after the horse, throwing their rope over its neck, allowing them to gently grab the reins and lead the other horse back in my direction. Tucking hair behind my ear, I blushed, seeing it was an older looking cowboy than I expected. But he was still attractive. He dismounted his horse, tipping his black hat down at me. "Never in my life did I think someone would just saddle my horse and think they can ride him like I can. Care to explain why you did that, darling?" Running my fingers through my hair, I sighed heavily, feeling really embarrassed now. "Sir, I'm sorry. Look, I thought that my friend Monica saddled him for me. Since she knew I was coming here for a few weeks to hopefully get ideas for my next book. But again, I'm so sorry, Mr Um.."

"John Dutton, ma'am. Let's get you back to the house. It was a simple mistake so I ain't mad at you." He extended his right hand to me, so I put my hand in his, but when he tugs me to stand my right ankle gives out and I stumbled into his chest. He wrapped his arms around my waist, helping me to stand, noticing my ankle was injured. "Woah, I've got you. Looks like you twisted an ankle when you fell. Come on, ride on my horse with me." He helped me back onto the horse he was riding, and we made it back to the house where he put the horses up in the barn. John came back handing me an ice pack that I put on my ankle moving over so he could sit on the swing beside me. "I'm Y/n, by the way... thanks for the save...this place is beautiful. It's almost like the scenery I am writing in my book."

John removed his hat, sitting it on his lap, staring at me where I turned my head, looking into his eyes softly. My heart skipped a beat feeling comfortable around him even though we hadn't even known each other for a day. "Forgive me for being sudden Y/n, but would you like to get a drink with me tonight?" He asked nervously, playing with his hat in his lap. I smiled, leaning forward and kissing his cheek, causing him to blush red. "Uh...what is your book about if you don't mind asking?" Gripping the ice pack, I felt a little shy since what happened today might have just given me the inspiration I needed. "Well, John, I wasn't really sure until now. Would you be open to me writing it about you and your ranch?" John placed his hand on mine softly, placing his cowboy hat on my head smiling. "As long as you write the truth and consider letting me take you on a date. I'll be happy." Monica was right that coming here was a good idea.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[writerstruggle]

me whenever something happens

[bethsvrse]

me, a writer, at 3am: WHAT? I CANT FIND THE SPECIFIC FANFIC THAT I MADE UP IN MY MIND WITH A WHOLE PLOT AND ORIGINAL CHARACTERS??? WHO DO THEY THINK THEY ARE??? DO THEY EXPECT ME TO WRITE THE STORY I THOUGHT UP OF???

[bejeweledraven]

all the fics in my drafts watching me start a new one

[cinnamon-galaxies]

I'm likely one of the most talkative people around, but when it comes to writing, I struggle with creating extensive dialogues.

please tell me I'm not the only one...

[lady-ashfade]

I am in love with Izuku Midoriya.

That’s it. That’s the post.

[fandomnerd9602]

Y/N rubs reassuring circles into Cairo’s back…

Y/N: I know. It was one rejection

Cairo: I can’t believe they didn’t want my novel

Y/N: luckily there are still several others on our list

Cairo: and if they say no?

Y/N: then I’ll just find a way to get your novels published myself.

Cairo: (giggles) what?

Y/N: yeah I’ll open up my own publishing company just to publish your works. Because I love you that much

Cairo: I love you too, you dork

For @iamnicodemus

[burntsecrets]

Steve Doesn't Know

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader 

Word Count: 2022

Prompt: Scotty Doesn’t Know by Lustria

Summary: A secret affair between the reader and Eddie Munson begins to unravel when Steve Harrington, unaware of their relationship, confesses his feelings.

Warnings: secret relationship, implied sexual content, romantic tension, emotional manipulation, jealousy, love triangle, secret-keeping, mild angst, friendship betrayal, power dynamics, suspense

You lean against the worn, grimy counter of the laundromat, the faint hum of machines filling the air, trying your best to focus on the magazine spread out before you. The pages are glossy but dull, and the content is irrelevant because your attention keeps slipping to the back corner where Eddie Munson sits, legs sprawled out, his dirty boots propped lazily on the folding table. His posture is relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the chair while the other holds up a dog-eared comic book. He flicks through the pages absentmindedly, not really reading, and every few moments, his lips curl into that familiar, secretive smirk—the one that sends your pulse racing.

It’s a smirk he reserves just for you that says he’s in on the secret you’ve both been keeping for months. Every shared glance, every brush of his fingers, feels like it’s charged with something unsaid—something electric and heated that only the two of you understand. His dark eyes lift every now and then to meet yours, just for a split second, and in that brief moment, it feels like the rest of the world disappears. 

It’s a game, a dangerous dance of sneaking away, of meeting in the dead of night when the town is quiet. The back of Eddie’s van has become your sanctuary, the place where he pulls you close, his hands on your waist, his lips on yours as the metal walls rattle around you. Or sometimes it’s his trailer, the cramped, messy space where you can hear the creak of the bed as he whispers your name against your skin.

No one knows—not Steve, not your other friends. They’re all blissfully unaware of the secret conversations shared in the shadows, of the way Eddie’s smirk grows just a little darker when you’re alone together. And when you're back out in the open, you both return to your roles, acting as if nothing's different, hiding behind casual smiles and subtle nods. But you feel it—he feels it—the crackling energy that lingers between you, the magnetic pull that no one else can see. It’s a secret world, one only the two of you share, and with each stolen moment, the line between danger and desire blurs a little more.

The bell above the laundromat door jingles loudly, its shrill ring cutting through the stillness, pulling you back to the present. Your gaze snaps up just in time to catch Steve Harrington as he strides in, his broad grin lighting up the otherwise dingy room. There’s an easy confidence in the way he moves like he’s oblivious to the undercurrent of tension that hangs thick in the air between you and Eddie. Steve’s always had that ability—his carefree charm, his boy-next-door grin that disarms everyone in the room.

He heads straight toward Eddie, hands shoved in his pockets, oblivious to the electric glances exchanged between you and the man sitting in the back. Eddie barely shifts in his seat, though the smirk playing at the corners of his lips never falters. There’s a strange dynamic between the two of them—part grudging respect, part camaraderie, built from their shared battles in Hawkins. They’re not best friends, but there’s something between them that can’t entirely be defined, and today, Steve seems utterly unaware of just how much he’s walking into.

You force yourself to look back down at the magazine, its glossy pages a blur. Your fingers tighten around the edges, though you try to appear casual, pretending that you’re engrossed in the article. But your pulse quickens, the beating of your heart loud in your ears, because something feels different today. Steve has that look like he’s here for more than just a casual chat.

Steve approaches Eddie with an easy confidence, standing just a few feet from him. “Hey, Eddie, you got a minute?”

You glance up briefly, just in time to catch Steve standing a few feet away from Eddie, his easy confidence still intact. There’s something in his tone, though—something that tells you he’s about to say something important. Your curiosity spikes, and you shift your posture slightly, angling your body toward them while pretending to flip another page of the magazine, though you aren’t reading a single word.

Eddie lowers the comic book in his hands slightly, one eyebrow quirking up in mild interest. “Yeah? What’s up, Harrington?” His voice is relaxed, but there’s a glint in his eyes, a knowing look that’s hard to miss. He’s already sensing that Steve has something on his mind, something more than idle conversation.

Steve shifts on his feet, a nervous energy radiating from him that’s out of place compared to his usual carefree demeanor. His eyes flick briefly in your direction—so quick you almost don’t notice—before he looks back at Eddie. You keep your head down, pretending not to notice how he hesitates. Steve’s hands dig a little deeper into his pockets, and then he lowers his voice, his tone suddenly quieter, more cautious.

“It’s about her,” Steve says, his voice dropping just enough to make it clear he’s trying to keep this conversation between him and Eddie.

Your body tenses instinctively, fingers tightening slightly on the magazine as his words hit you. Me? Steve wants to talk about me? A rush of surprise shoots through you, making your pulse race faster. You fight to keep your expression neutral, not wanting to give anything away, though the words on the page blur beneath your gaze. You stay frozen, pretending to stay focused on the magazine, but your heart is hammering in your chest.

Eddie leans back slightly in his chair, and though he keeps his casual posture, you notice the subtle change in his body language. His smirk deepens, and there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes like he’s already two steps ahead of whatever Steve’s about to say. The tension in the room thickens, heavy and unspoken, as you wait for the conversation to unfold, your heartbeat syncing with the undercurrent of secrecy swirling around the three of you.

"Her, huh?" Eddie's voice is slow and deliberate, each word rolling off his tongue with calculated ease. He leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on Steve with a glint of amusement as if he already knows where this conversation is going and savoring every second. The casual smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth tells you he’s entirely in control here. "What about her?"

Steve shifts nervously, the weight of what he's about to say hanging between them. He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, his usual confidence faltering. "Look, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an idiot, but... I think I might have feelings for her."

Your heart skips a beat, but it’s not for the reasons Steve would expect. Feelings? For you? Steve—your dependable, kind, and funny friend—has feelings for you? It catches you off guard, but it doesn't set off the kind of reaction you’d imagine. Sure, you and Steve are close, have always been close, but the idea of him harboring deeper feelings had never crossed your mind. You’d always seen him as a friend, someone you could count on, someone who made you laugh and always had your back.

But now, here he is, standing in front of Eddie, spilling his heart, and you can’t quite process it the way he’d want you to. Instead of feeling flattered, it feels… strange. Unfamiliar. And your eyes instinctively dart toward Eddie.

Eddie’s smirk falters for a split second, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, but it’s fleeting. The smirk returns almost instantly, sharper now, more amused. "Feelings?" He drags out the word, toying with it like a cat with a mouse. His tone is casual, but you know Eddie well enough to sense the undertone beneath it—the subtle, dangerous edge. "Didn’t see that one coming, Harrington."

Steve laughs awkwardly, running a hand through his hair, his unease apparent. "Yeah, I know it’s probably stupid, but she’s... different, you know? Not like other girls." His voice is a little too eager, a little too hopeful. "I just… I don’t know what to do about it."

You glance at Steve, feeling a pang of something—maybe guilt, maybe sympathy—but it’s not enough to stir anything deeper in you. You’ve always liked Steve, but not like this. Not in the way he seems to like you. For you, Steve has always been a friend, and nothing more. There’s no rush of excitement, no nervous flutter in your stomach when you’re around him. Just warmth. Comfort. Friendship.

But Eddie? Eddie’s the one who sets your pulse racing.

As Steve keeps talking, his words fade into background noise, overshadowed by Eddie's presence. He doesn’t even have to move, doesn’t have to look your way, but just knowing he’s sitting there, the quiet confidence in his posture, and gods that smirk, sends an unexpected thrill through you. It’s Eddie who makes your heart race, Eddie who fills the air with a tension so thick you can barely breathe.

You shift slightly, the heat of the moment pressing in on you, making you hyperaware of everything—the worn fabric of the laundromat seat beneath you, the buzz of the fluorescent lights, the way Eddie’s fingers drum lazily against the comic book in his hand, the secret weight of the moments you’ve shared with him when no one else was around. The late nights in his van, the stolen kisses, the way his hands move over you like he’s staking a claim. That’s where the fire is, the electric undercurrent that Steve can’t even begin to suspect.

Eddie leans forward slightly, and that smirk on his lips sharpens like a blade. "You sure she’s not already taken?"

Steve blinks, clearly confused. The question seems to knock him off balance. "What? No way. I’d know if she was seeing someone."

Eddie’s grin widens, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Are you sure about that?" He’s playing with Steve now, dangling the truth in front of him like bait.

Steve frowns, his confusion deepening. "Yeah, man. We hang out all the time. She would’ve told me if she was with someone."

Eddie lets out a low chuckle, the sound dark and knowing, sending a shiver down your spine. He shakes his head, leaning back in his chair with an almost mocking air of disbelief. "You think so, huh?" His voice drops lower, more dangerous now as if he’s daring Steve to figure it out. His eyes flick toward you for the briefest moment—just long enough to send another wave of heat crashing through you. "Maybe she’s got her hands full with someone else already."

Your breath catches, heart pounding, as you realize what Eddie’s doing. He’s no longer hiding it, no longer playing coy. He’s toying with Steve, pushing him closer and closer to the truth without ever saying it outright. And you’re caught in the middle, feeling the weight of the secret you’ve been keeping with Eddie pressing down on you like never before.

Steve stares at Eddie, his confusion giving way to suspicion. His eyes flick between you and Eddie, the pieces slowly starting to click together, but he’s still not quite there yet. "Wait... is she seeing someone?"

Eddie shrugs, his smirk never faltering, the look on his face one of pure triumph. He’s enjoying this far too much. "I’m just saying... maybe you don’t know everything that’s been going on with her."

Steve’s face goes pale as the realization begins to sink in. His gaze locks onto you, searching for something—confirmation, denial, anything—but you can’t bring yourself to move. He turns back to Eddie, his voice quieter now, more hesitant. "What are you trying to say?"

Eddie doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t need to. The truth hangs in the air, thick and suffocating, waiting for Steve to finally piece it together. Eddie’s smirk widens, and the tension in the laundromat becomes unbearable.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as Steve’s confusion shifts into understanding. You can feel the secret unraveling right in front of you, and there’s no stopping it now.

[hazelfoureyes]

How are you so good at writing smut??? It legit makes my body warm all over and my brain fuzzy, you fucking smut wizard <3 do you have any tips on writing smut? Or just writing in general?

Thank you for such a compliment! 💖🥹This is mildly embarrassing-- but I really am so horny?? I am not playing a character. lol I am a goblin. When I watch porn (for pleasure) I just take in the sounds and the sights, really just going full art reviewer on that shit for inspo even when I'm not trying to.

"Wow his cock got so big suddenly, is he going to cum? his head his massive...omg he sunk it right back into that guy after he came?? he's still going!? DICKS CAN DO THAT?" *takes mental notes*

"Her hips kept pulling away there before she orgasmed, overstimulated a bit maybe, love how he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back down" *jots down on my notes app*

"wow the way he said that-- jesus I just got dizzy I need to hear <whatever character> say that." *writes Luci saying that shit immediately* I am unqualified to give tips on anything, but I'll tell you what I tend to do! For smut; I just focus on sensations, I think. We can all see what sex looks like! Imagining the feeling of it, that's whats so fucking hot to me. Why is that man moaning? What is he feeling that is so good? What made her legs shake like that? Yeah his dick went into her pussy. Nice. But like---- was it warm? did his head get caught on the way in, popping past that unyielding flesh untrained to his size, just at her entrance? did the feeling of wet walls and a tight grip make him go weak for a second, mind blank?

For general writing; oh geez....I have a super visual brain, so I just try my best to describe what I'm seeing.

If it feels like I've forced someone to say or do something, then I back up and try again.

I wrote a part in A Doe in Fall part 4 that I had to redo; I had reader slap the detective when he suggested maybe she was hitting on him, a man coming to intervene making Brady get nervous and apologize before leaving all flustered.

But I realized--- no, this reader is too smart. She would never make a scene like that, she wouldn't know what might happen. What if everyone watches her then sit with Alastor? What if people notice and somehow remember seeing him? What if they recognize him? I loved the scene but I had to remove it. She would never do that, even if I loved seeing it.

I try to just shut down a little and see what my brain throws out unfiltered. It's really mentally taxing. I'm either 100% focused or I can't do it. I proofread maybe 6 or 7 times, or more. I don't stop until I get through it at least once without edits, and if I find myself bored of reading it, then I walk away for a second. If I am too disinterested to read it again for proofreading or just feeling the flow of it, then why would anyone else want to?

Hazbin Smut Masterlist I spent way too long rereading before posting

I felt this like this wasn’t helpful at all 😭

[berryispunk]

10 Minutes

summary: 10 Minutes is all it takes to spiral. tags: (former) drug addiction, Frankie being his pathetic puppy self, struggling Frankie, inner turmoil, angst and more angst, a little sprinkle of fluff, Frankie's POV, established relationship, no smut notes: If you're uncomfortable with heavy topics like addiction this may not be for you and it's absolutely fine. Just be aware of possibly triggering topics.

Word count 1,1 k

After my warning, enjoy reading 🤍

He’s wandering restlessly through his dark apartment. He doesn’t need any lights for trailing up and down like a caged animal.

The walls of his apartment suddenly threaten to crush him any minute.

Ten minutes. She said she needs ten minutes to get here.

The cravings were bad, hitting him out of nowhere.

He fidgets with the keychain she gifted him a while ago. A photo of them, smiling and in love.

Happier times.

Something to hold onto.

10 minutes feel like a lifetime if all you can think about is your next fix.

He looks at the keychain again, tilting it in his hand. Pressing its plastic edges hard into his palm.

It hurts, a sharp sting. But he needs that, needs the distraction.

His mind is clouded, his throat dry.

As he musters the photo again he sighs.

She’s his everything. She is everything he dreamed of. He can’t fuck this up.

He promised to stay clean.

For a while he didn’t even think about their promise because the cravings weren’t strong enough to notice.

9 minutes and the world around him keeps spinning, the addiction screaming his name.

He was so caught up in her orbit, her presence grounding him, pulling him into the light when he had been in the shadows for so long, that he forgot the ugly side of being a recovering addict.

8 minutes and the monster extends its claws to drag him down. Down into the abyss she had finally found him in.

He had been happy. God damn, so happy.

He can’t remember the last time he genuinely laughed like he did in the last months.

She is his everything. His reason to show up. His reason to be better. She deserves nothing less than the best version of him.

7 minutes and his leg bounces restlessly while he sits on the sofa.

But how is he supposed to be his best version right now?

6 minutes and he’s contemplating if just one line would be that bad.

No, it would be.

He couldn’t stand the disappointment seeping out of her.

5 minutes and he starts sweating, his breath coming out in short bursts, his hands too slippery to hold onto the keychain any longer so he throws it onto the couch table. He can’t stand looking at the photo anymore, either.

Happier times reminding him of what he is about to lose. What he could lose if he fucks up.

4 minutes and he’s standing again, cursing under his breath.

“You’re a fucking loser Frankie. She deserves better.”

3 minutes and he’s punching the wall, gritting his teeth.

What does it even matter? She will move on quickly, find someone who’s not this big of a mess.

2 minutes and he can’t see straight. The call for the next high is too loud to ignore.

Everything is screaming at him. His body is aching and he feels like he’s about to vomit any minute.

What kind of sick joke is this? Is this the universe's way of telling him to stop believing that finally everything will fall into place?

That he’s worthy of a happy life? That he deserves to be loved exactly like he is, flaws and all?

1 minute and he’s a bundle of pain and self-pity on the ground.

He’s so pathetic.

He knows exactly where he hid his emergency stash. If she hasn’t found it yet.

Being high would fix this, he decides. Being high washes away all his self doubt and anger. A high Frankie is the best Frankie. He’s on top of the world. He is the version he so desperately wishes to be when he’s sober.

But he isn’t.

He is weak, so weak.

How can she even love him like this?

Finally his front door flies open, bringing in some light from outside, illuminating the dark room.

“Frankie?” Her voice echoes through the walls. It's soft and comforting. It’s his favorite sound.

“Here,” he whimpers from the ground, still bundled up.

“Oh my god, baby…” Her voice is laced with panic immediately as she leans down next to him, pulling his head into her lap.

Soft and warm. A stark contrast to the cold he’s feeling inside.

“Are you okay?” she asks, gently brushing some damp strands of locks out of his face. She’s handling him with so much care, almost as if he could shatter any minute.

Which he might have, if she wouldn’t have made it in time.

“I am okay,” he murmurs, his voice strained and hardly more than a whisper.

She scoffs, her hands still caressing his tousled hair.

“Are you sure about that?” she asks as if she doesn’t know the answer already. But he doesn’t even know what else to say.

“I am sorry…” he whispers and the words hang heavily in the air.

“No need to be,” she assures him.

His eyes are filled with tears.

He’s too weak to hold them back. Too weary to pretend.

So he just cries it out, silently. But the sobs shake his whole body and all she does is hold him, kissing his temple and his hair repeatedly. Comforting him without saying any words.

When the tears subside he feels lighter but still dizzy in his mind. The feeling of impending doom not quite shaken off.

“I would understand if you leave me now,” he finally breaks the heavy silence.

“Why should I?” she asks. He feels her questioning eyes on him even if his own are closed.

“Because I am a mess. You deserve better than this,” and he means every word.

He wants her to be happy, even if that means she breaks up with him.

Even if it’s breaking his own heart.

She is all that matters to him.

"I'm a mess too, Francisco. I am far from perfect myself. But you… you bring out the best in me.” Her tone is sincere. Even in his broken state her love is unwavering, he can feel it.

He finally lifts his head from her lap, his eyes finding hers. He swallows, his throat is dry.

He laughs sarcastically.

“Whatever I did to deserve someone like you in this life. Because hell, we know I did enough shit to be damned to eternity.”

She laughs softly.

He leans forward, her head in his hands now as their lips meet in a gentle kiss, filled with all the love and devotion for each other.

And maybe this is all the reassurance he needs to believe that, despite everything, she’s chosen him.

Feedback highly appreciated 🤍

Thanks so much for reading !!

[sotwk]

Every so often I run into posts/discussions of people bashing Reader fics and I'm not blaming anyone but istg it gives me gut-punching anxiety every time. Like what am I doing with my life am I just wasting my time here.

[writerstruggle]

nothing is better than a well-written heavy angst fic

[cherry-pop-elf]

Master List ✍️

((WIP duh))

Fluff: 🩷

Angst: 💔

Smut:🫦

Disability’s: ♿️

Platonic: 🫂

Hurt/Comfort: ❤️‍🩹

Triggering Topics:���

Violence/Gore: 🔪

Weasley Siblings

Nickname Headcanons 🩷

Muscle Spasms Headcanons 🩷♿️

Reacting To A Tattoo Inspired By Them🩷

Baking Headcanons🩷

Safe This Night ❤️‍🩹🩷♿️

Kissing The Siblings 🩷

Reaction To SelfHarm ❤️‍🩹♿️💔❌

Reaction To Agere 🩷

Amortentia 🩷

Reacting to you saying you are pregnant 🩷

Reacting to you coming out as trans 🏳️‍⚧️ ❤️‍🩹🩷

What Nicknames they like to be called 🩷

Firebender Types 🩷

Giving You A Mani-Pedi🩷

Bill Aka William

Unleashed 🫦 🩷

Farmers Market 🩷 🫂

Percy

Work Load 🫦

Fred

Cold Hands, Warm Heart ❤️‍🩹

Sucker 🫦

Warming Up The New Client 🫦

George Weasley

Morning Routine/X Wheelchair Reader 🩷♿️

Training/X Wheelchair Reader 🩷♿️

Disabled George Headcanons ♿️

Princess Treatment/X AMAB Wheelchair Reader 🫦 ♿️ 🩷

Angel With A Ticket/ KnightBus Reader ❤️‍🩹

Handsome Man: Trans George 🫦

Aquarium 🩷

Realistic 🫦

Curious ❤️‍🩹 🩷

Daycare ❤️‍🩹🩷

Every Perfect Curve ❌ 🩷

Happy Birthday To We ❤️‍🩹 💔

Cuddle Party 🩷

Kissable ❌❤️‍🩹

Detox Day🫦🩷

SFW Alphabet 🩷 ❤️‍🩹

Breakfast 🩷

Drink With Me 🩷

Fred And George

Pretty Rain Cloud ❤️‍🩹

Honey Wounds ❤️‍🩹 ❌

Birthday Boys 🫦

Hoof Race ❤️‍🩹🔪 🫂

Snuggle Company 🩷 🫂

Sweet As Sweets 🩷 🫂❤️‍🩹

Ron

Home Sweet Home 🩷

Draco Malfoy

Newly Made Man 🩷

Sirius Black

Honey, I’m Home! 🩷🫦❤️‍🩹

Remus Lupin

Big Bad Wolf 🔪 🩷 ❤️‍🩹

Not Called Moony For Nothing🫦🩷

Newt Scamander

Late Night Cutie Pie 🩷

Severus Snape

Morning Classes🩷

Charlie x Shouren

More🩷♿️

HPMA

Diary Of A Tavern Keeper 💔

Tall Glass Of Wine: Gridley X Reader 🫦

Abigail Grey

S.P.E.W For Werewolves 🩷🫂❤️‍🩹♿️

Shouren

Disabled Headcanons 🩷♿️

Need A Hand 🩷 ♿️ 🫦

What In Hell Is Bad?

Morax

Moment Of Peace ❤️‍🩹🩷♿️

Fairy Odd Parents

Peri ‘Poof’ Fairy-Cosma

Flowers For You 🩷

Human Nature 🩷 🫦

Mouthwashing

Curly

Kiss it better Series! (In progress)

♿️ ❌ ❤️‍🩹 🔪 💔

Anya

New Chapter ❌ 🫂❤️‍🩹

Break Him Back ❌ 🔪 ❤️‍🩹

Crew

Your Own Happy Ending ❤️‍🩹❌ 🔪 🫂

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

please go gentle into that good night (childe x reader)

tags: primordial!reader (she/her), reader is death personified, is annoyance to lovers applicable here??

The 11th Harbinger has seen death, there is no question about it among the agents of the Fatui. Scarred from battle after battle, always thirsty for more, death is a familiar friend of the Harbinger.

He’s delivered death to many in his endless pursuit of strength.

Has been on death’s door more times than anyone could hope to count.

“Oh, I’ve seen death and I don’t mean metaphorically,” Childe has laughed, sitting with his men drinking firewater around a fire indulging pleasantly in the friendly chatter. That’s all that is needed for the discussion to divulge into enthusiastic regales of his conquests, mostly regaled by his enthusiastic men while the newest recruits listen in awe. Yet no one will notice how their Harbinger falls silent, peering into his reflection with a light grin.

Ajax has seen death.

Felt her cold fingers caress his face, thumbing away the blood that dripped down his cheeks. Saw her eyebrows knit in concern and frustration in equal measure. Took in her cloak, black as the void. Could feel the fatigue in the heavy bags under her eyes.

Death is a woman and she is undoubtedly the most beautiful woman Ajax has ever seen.

They first met when he was simply a recruit, a far cry from the Harbinger he is in the present somewhere off the border of Fontaine and Liyue. The mission was a success, though the casualties were great in number. 

There you formed from out of water, void-black cloak and all, taking in the sight of the bloodbath. Then your eyes rested on him, expression unreadable.

He knew who you were immediately.

“Humans,” you scowled, tone bereft of resentment as you kneeled to touch his face and he shuddered from the chill. Death looked at him and he looked back, all while feeling the gentle reverence in your touch with a voice like the night, soft yet coarse. Comfort enveloped in an instinctual fear.

An unending juxtaposition.

Ajax now knows you enough to know how you likely felt that day, staring at a bloody Fatuus crumpled against a large rock. They were your foolish but beautiful, endlessly aging humans.

“If you keep this up,” you told him, staring into his blue eyes unshakingly. “You’ll end up being one of my passengers.”

“You’re beautiful,” Ajax saw you balk in confusion, his reply unexpected.

“Fool,” you all but hissed as you stood and Ajax found it adorable. It’s another accomplish that he, Tartaglia, holds alone. He flustered Death itself. “Cherish your life, Fatuus,” you told him, summoning your oar to your side. “Cherish it so it is a long time before we see each other again.”

“My name is Ajax,” he laughed and he coughed painfully. “And I hope the next time we see each other again, it isn’t much longer!”

Your head shaking in exasperation was your only response as you took to the corpses, gathering the souls of the lost. Some left with ease, others sobbed in despair and others resisted you in their entirety. Yet all were eventually sat on boat you fashioned out of water, resting atop of the river that you would ride to take them home.

With a sparing glance to the living, to Ajax, you drifted away thinking this to be the last time you would encounter Ajax of the Fatui.

Much to his pleasure and your chagrin, it was not.

“You have a death wish,” Arlecchino told him once, chock full of contempt and vinegar.

“You’re not wrong about that one, comrade,” the 11th Harbinger grinned with a barking laugh. “It’s just that with all my wishing, she can’t seem to stand me.”

You had met each other countlessly, taking in that foolish Fatuus’ battle scars. Each time he learned something new about you and in turn he happily gushed about himself. He had many tells to share of his homeland, his family and the Tsaritsa he follows and you always listened.

“Keep this up and I’ll kill you myself,” you told him one particular encounter after a stint in his Foul Legacy form.

“Wouldn’t that be cheating?” Ajax grinned, ignoring how you flicked his forehead in annoyance.

You glared at the redhead sharply, “who would there be to tell?”

Ajax’s grin only grew wider, “I knew you wanted me, Death, but I didn’t know you wanted me that much.”

If looks could kill, Ajax is sure in that moment he would have been killed ten times over. “Can you not ask your god for jobs that won’t leave you at my door? Can you at least attempt to refrain yourself from violence?”

“But then how would I see you again?”

“When it’s finally your time to-”

“That could take forever,” Ajax whined and you groaned in disbelief. “How about this. Tell me your name and I promise to at least give it half a year before you have to see me again.”

You fixed him with a look, “you already know my name.”

With a shake of his head, Ajax clarified, “I don’t mean what everyone else calls you.” Death is what you are, not your name. “No one calls the Tsaritsa ‘Cryo’ or the Lord of Geo ‘Geo’. You have some sort of personal name, don’t you?” When you say nothing immediately, his expression morphs into a sad curiosity. “Is that really all anyone ever calls you?”

You hesitated only a moment longer before you finally answeredー “The ones affiliated with Celestia call me Pursan,” Ajax leaned forward in anticipation, blue staring into [color]. “But you may call me [First].”

[First].

[First].

“[First],” he relished the sound of your name. What would he give to hear you say his name? He would promise you kingdoms, entire nations at your feet. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long for it, no promises of conquered nations required.

“Keep your promise to me, Ajax,” his name dripped from your lips like honey and he wished you would say it again. “If you’re determined to continue this fool’s errand, I don’t want to see you any sooner than what you’ve promised.”

All of this leads to now, Ajax nursing a moderately sized cut on his stomach whilst sitting along the banks of Yashiori Island nine months later. Despite the hard-to-use cutlery, Ajax is fond of Inazuma. The duels permitted by the land is one he favors, it isn’t something he expected from the Nation of Eternity.

It is a perk that a duel a foolhardy coward challenged him to would lead to something that would surely catch your attention. He can hear you scolding him already, nursing him back to health all the while.

“You’re there aren’t you?” He asks the waves lapping the shore, welcoming the cool evening breeze brushing against his skin. You’re Death, you’re never too far. You’re everywhere at any place at any time. It’s part of your charm.

When he sees the waves falter, he knows he is correct as streams of water raise to create your form. The ferrywoman donned in black, Death in the flesh. Even with your tired reproachful look, Ajax can’t bring himself to regret his actions.

He’ll gladly do them time and time again even for a hint of you.

"Don’t you get tired of this, Ajax?” There’s nothing to be tired of, not when it allows him the thrill of battle. When it allows him to further his strength. Your arrival only sweetens the persistent battle he chases.

“Of seeing you?” Ajax drawls, pleased to take you in before you left him once more. “Never.”

You’re scowling, just like when you first met him, and yet all the same, your touch is gentle as you brush your fingertips against his cheek. Despite the chill that touches him to the bone, he leans into your touch and places a hand against yours. “You’re a fool,” you tell him and he smiles lazily in return. “Chase someone in the land of the living. There are plenty that would be taken with you.”

Ajax ignores that request promptly, “are you here to take me?”

“I am not,” you reply without missing a beat.

“But one day you will,” he sighs, almost dreamily. In any other context, he is sure the sentiment is frighteningly morbid. “There’s some bandages in my supply bag,” he motions to his supply bag nonchalantly and you part away from him. “Of course, it would be a win-win situation to the both of us if you would visit me more often. No wounds required,” he isn’t disheartened by your lack of response. “The cuisine of Inazuma is quite nice. But if you’re not one for Inazuman food, I know quite a few places in Liyue Harbor.”

Supplies in hand, you kneel in front of him. “Remove your shirt please.”

He considers joking that you should at least take him to dinner first, but instead he removes his shirt quietly. The cold of your hands feel reminiscent to the cold of his homeland. He wonders how much of it you’ve seen in the past. If you’ve ever truly seen it. You mentioned before you’ve never had a day off in the eons of your existence. How could one truly see the beauty of the land if they never stopped to appreciate it? 

I hope I can take you to Morepesok. Ajax burns something fierce akin to freezer burn. (Strange when what runs in your veins is the same deep blue of his Vision.) During a holiday when he’s guaranteed time to go home and visit his family. He burns for you to see it, to take any time for yourself to dance alongside the hearth alongside Tonia and to play games with Anthon and Teucer.

How alive would you be then, you who cherishes life more than anyone in the land of the living?

“I don’t think many can say they’ve had their wounds tended to by death itself,” Ajax starts and when you say nothing, he continues on unperturbed. “Isn’t keeping me alive cheating?”

You glance at him from your work of lightly dabbing his wound with your water. “Not cheating,” you answer at last. “It isn’t yet your time.”

“Do you know when it will be?”

“Yes,” you begin to ravel the bandage around him.

“Will you tell me when that is?”

“I will not,” and he sighs something along the lines of ‘I suppose I won’t be receiving any spoilers as to when you can stop avoiding me’ in Snezhnayan. You look at him and he wonders how much of his tongue you understand, if at all. He hopes to teach it to you, should you ever ask. “There,” you finish your bandaging in record time. “I can at least say I’m pleased you kept your promise to stay out of major trouble. Nine months is a record for you.”

Your smile is small, barely visible under the light of the moon and stars as silence falls over you. You’d insist that one like you is at home in the darkness, Ajax argues that one like you is a child of the sun.

“[First],” he rests a hand on your cheek, wanting to imprint every feature into his palms so that he won’t forget what they’re like. When you don’t reject him, he leans hoping to catch your lips with his own. Instead, he feels your finger tips and he opens his eyes to stare into the unknowable look yours hold.

“Live, Ajax,” you murmur like you’re telling him a treasured secret. He truly loves the way you say his name. “This fascination borders obsession. Whatever you want, you won’t find it in me. Find someone else to chase and live. Live long and live it well. Your life is precious.”

Love, obsession, it’s the same thing no?

He wonders if one can truly put an age on Death. You are one who has lived eons, definitely older than Zhongli. Probably as old as Teyvat itself. He wonders what it must be like for you, feared by many and only wanted by one. Ajax wants you deeply. Perhaps you think he lost his mind those three months in the dark realm he stumbled into as a child. 

You will never call it love no matter how much he begs to differ.

We’ll have to agree to disagree. Finally, Ajax moves back from your fingers, “Is it precious to you?”

“Your life is precious to many people,” you tell him, resting your hand in your lap. “To your mother and your father, to your siblings in Snezhnayaー”

He asks again, “but is it precious to you?”

In spite of his Hydro Vision, he burns. He burns to know your answer, burns for your acceptance. It’s a burning that can only be sated by the chill of your being pressed against his.

Death looks at himー you look at him and he looks back.

Ajax’s eyes flutter shut when you lean forward, and he feels your breath ghost his lips. Yet nothing follows and when he opens his eyes, all that remains of your presence is the damp sand where you once knelt.

You’re a cruel woman, [First], Ajax laughs humorlessly, wondering how long it would be until your paths crossed once more. He sets camp close to the beach, the rhythm of the waves lulling him to sleep and the dull ache of his wounds remind him that he’s alive.

Ajax will see you again, it’s only a matter of when.

Will it be when he’s on your door once more? Frustration in your eyes as you insist he let go of his feelings you won’t allow yourself to return?

Or will it be the end of his time roaming Teyvat, unable to continue his endeavor to become the strongest? When that time comes, will you greet him warmly or with a look of melancholy as you hold out your hand for him to board your boat?

Or perhaps the next time he sees you, you’ll accept his outstretched hand and follow him out of the dark and into the light. You’ll follow him to appreciate the seven nations, saving his homeland for last. You’ll dance with his siblings and smile widely, accepting the reprieve from your grim duties as his mother insists you eat more of her solyanka.

Nor will you run from his lips when they seek yours.

Death brought to life.

He’ll live long enough to see the day, that much he can promise.

“Пока мы не встретимся снова,” Ajax thinks before sleep takes him for the evening. Until we meet again.

[midnight-mourning]

I LIVE

god this was a doozy, sorry about the wait. Writer's block caused by things happening in one's life is substantially worse than normal writer's block (as I've come to find out)

hopefully y'all enjoy and hopefully the next one gets out into the world much sooner (hopefully)

[theemptyislost]

Since this is taking so long, here is a snippet. (its unedited and still a rough draft)