#the coat is for if he needs to wrap a child in it for reasons to keep them safe

[rockingbytheseaside]

omg, I am quite literally in love with your work.

pls I cannot tell you how frickin ecstatic I am when I read your stuff 😭 like I’m Fr Rolling on the floor and stopping every five secs bc of the butterflies-

AND! I saw that your asks are open!! (If I misread/misunderstood then I’m so sorry and just ignore this) I was wondering if you could do Harbingers x reader when they find reader quietly weeping- like reader thought they were alone and didn’t wanna burden them :3 romantic if you would !!

no pressure ofc!!!! fr I love ur stuff sm like I’ve been reading ur stuff OVER AND OVER😭😭😭

(bshdhsgdhagjds Okay, let me just hold in my tears- that’s so kind of you anon! Sorry for making you wait, I hope this is something similar to what you wanted) 

✦ How they comfort you when you cry

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

Sometimes, your days might feel bitter, and sometimes the weight of your inner struggles can accumulate into a somber heap of self-doubt. Whether it was a minute inconvenience that resulted in your dampened mood, or stressful memories of the past – the reasons behind it fade into insignificance. Because next thing you know, you feel your shoulders slightly shaking, and your hand reaching to conceal your silent weeping. Thus, when talking becomes a burden and your breath runs short, your beloved is the first to listen to your sniffles.

✧ Pierro’s already icy gaze becomes unreadable. Is it fear? Is it astonishment? Or is it the readiness to unleash hell upon anything that compelled you to shed these silent tears? He sees you hugging yourself, trying to shield yourself away from him. His gloved hands cautiously reach for your form, like a blanket wrapping itself around your shoulders. 

“My divine one, why hide your tears away from me? Why conceal the sadness in your eyes when you silently weep? Please, grace me with your gaze and look at me.” 

His voice is careful despite its deepness, suppressing his boiling temper at the sight of your sadness. He reaches for you tenderly, and when you turn towards him, you allow yourself to cry further into his chest. He cradles you silently, never once wasting breath on simple shushes or admonishments to cease crying. No, The Jester will hold you, let his lips press softly to your forehead, and let you cry as much as you need. He'll personally worship and wipe every teardrop off your cheek. 

Yet despite his gentle arms, you sense him shaking. His gloved hands hold you securely, yet subconsciously gripping. Because pray to the archons above, he will not rest until the source of your sadness is annihilated. 

✧ Il Capitano never saw you cry before. He saw you as an equal in matters of battles, duels, and personal life. Through ups and downs, your best and worst. And yet the imposing, mighty Captain never witnessed his beloved’s face slowly scowl and emit those saddened sobs as you're doing now. 

“No… who bestowed such sadness onto you, my cherished? What sorrows are you fighting?” 

He asks, half in disbelief and worry. The Captain kneels down, the back of his armored hands gracefully meeting your face. He makes sure you’re not physically in pain, his touch asking permission for the simplest caress. You might feel embarrassed to explain why you're crying, but the Captain will coax you to talk only if you bestow him this honor. Otherwise, he never mocks or admonishes you for crying – “This is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of humanity in your strength.”

To soothe you, he'd drape an arm around your shoulder, bringing the side of his coat to shield you. If you desire, he'd immediately discard his coat entirely and wrap it over your shoulders. And if you desire neither this or that, he'd silently kneel, asking for permission to pick you up in his forearms, so you may rest on his shoulder while he carries you away. 

✧ You cannot conceal your sorrows from Il Dottore. He suspects you are feeling dejected before you even realize it. Should your shoulders quiver and tears well in your eyes, he'll be the first to perceive it. His already tense countenance will harden, and in short, murderous intent, he’ll ask:

“Who did this to you?”

His first suspension is that someone foolish enough dared to hurt you, and his next task is to seek out that moron. And stars above, if someone did ruin your day, the Doctor will have a new cadaver on his lab table. You'll have to physically restrain the Harbinger in front of you by putting your hands on his shoulder and explaining hurriedly that no one did anything harmful. 

Il Dottore won't quell his inner rage so easily though. As you shake your head, and rub your eyes, it will require much persuasion to convince him that it’s not as dire as he suspects. Nonetheless, Dottore will keep a tight hold on your form. If he won't murder someone in rage, then he'll prepare a soothing beverage and wrap you up in a comfortable seating so you may rest your weary head. He’ll have to personally drag you to sit by his lap so you won’t desolate yourself into a depressive fit again. 

“Wasting your breath and energy on crying is a futile endeavor. You'll only tire your body out… so rest in my arms before your mind starts weaving more puny sentiments.” 

✧ The ever-prideful and strict Scaramouche would find himself faltering into silence when the unfamiliar sound emanates from your being. The hiccupped sounds of choked cries are not foreign to him - he recognized them very well and was personally acquainted with the physical pain of crying. But seeing the closest being, the one he calls most cherished, to unexplainable weep was a new form of pain he had never experienced. 

“... Are you-? What's wrong, are you hurt? Did something-!”

An expression of shock and fear bestows the Balladeer, his hands are reluctant and afraid to cross your boundaries when you cry in front of him. His first instinct is to believe that he has erred, that he has hurt you or spoken insensitively. Anguished, his fist tightens, dreading your stern rejection. Yet, all it takes is a gentle shake of your head and a soft reassurance - no, he hasn't actually done anything wrong.

His brow will remain furrowed, and only under your permission, he would glue himself to you in a reassuring embrace. It's only after he's assured of your safety and well-being that the Harbinger begins to ease up and scoff. Maybe, just maybe, he will go and bring your favorite sweets afterward. Regardless, his hands kept cupping your face, thumbs gently wiping your tears.

“Ha, you’re that sensitive that you’d weep at the most minor inconvenience? Fine, I’ll stay here. But don’t get too comfortable. And you better stop apologizing for crying. You should never say sorry for something like that. It’s in your right to cry… Just come to me when something’s troubling you, alright?”

✧ You cannot recall a single instance when Pantalone's captivating smile ever wavered. The man has perfected his charismatic, million-mora smile that only you can discern if he’s being genuine or not. But to witness it dropping completely in a cold stare while you cried was chilling. You felt scared, as the Harbinger grew eerily silent with each slow step, he demanded:

“... Give me names and I will make sure they will disappear permanently.”

You jolted. This was bad, and it sure didn’t quell your sobbing as you hurriedly shook your head. Pantalone took a deep sigh, his brain forced to flip a switch and change to a more tender tone so he wouldn’t scare you further with his sinister rage. He will deal with the causes later. What mattered now was your shaken state. Hence, like the dotting lover he is, he softly inquired whether you wish to talk or have some privacy. 

If you willingly welcomed his physical touch, then prepare yourself for a day filled with him enfolding you tightly. He will draw you near, letting you cry your frustrations out until you get fatigued and rest against his lean chest. The Regrator always fulfills his pledges, gently rocking you back and forth. He will vow to spoil you on the next shopping spree and purchase everything you desire - luxuries, clothes, perfumes, or fancy meals, all of it is yours with a snap of his fingers (even if you reprimand his indulgence). His embraces are tenacious, endless kisses raining down on your face until you plead and whine to be released from his insistent hugs.

"My heart, how can I possibly release you when you should be adorned with kisses instead of tears? I am afraid I won’t be so easily reassured until I see your smile again."

✧ Tartaglia’s highlight of the day is mirroring your luminous smile; hence when he first heard your sorrowful sniffles, it felt like a sudden dark cloud washed past him, pouring cold water to wipe his smile off in an instant. Without hesitation, his hand found itself on your shoulder as he guided you to sit first.

“Hey, hey… What’s wrong, darling? I’m here, it’s alright.”

He observes your attempt to explain the root of your troubles, but as you try to elaborate, your tears only intensify against your own will. Kneeling in front of you, his gaze was resolute - he now had a mission. He will immediately soothe your mood with tender words of endearment, lighthearted banter, and the occasional joke here and there, anything to make you crack up with that sweet smile he so adores.

Tartaglia will remind you that first and foremost, he is your Ajax - the one who will bring laughter through his playful teasing and delightful humor during your times of melancholy. The one who will cook you the best Snezhnayan Bliny better than any pancake restaurant. And the one who will always be there so you can lean your head on his shoulder and just feel his heartbeat as he embraces you deeply. In any other circumstances, he is the 11th of the Fatui Harbinger who will work and bloody his fists for your safety. However, for now, you shouldn’t occupy your thoughts with such concerns.

“Hey, it’s alright… You don’t have to feel embarrassed for crying. We all have bad days from time to time. How about this, leave today’s dinner on me. I shall cook your favorite even better than you could imagine! Or else what sort of boyfriend would I be if I’m not spoiling my darling.” 

[creamecream]

Pro Hero: Search-and-Rescue Hero, Hachikō

[luveline]

SPOILERS FROM SPIDER-MAN ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE BELOW

please don’t read any further if you are avoiding spoilers for satsv

I hope it’s okay that I took this for a request anon! this is a follow up to The Wishing Tree so you’re welcome to read that beforehand if you want to, but otherwise I think if you’ve seen the movie you’ll hopefully understand what’s happening anyhow. miguel x fem!reader

Miguel's been different lately. Ever since the night he got mugged, he's changed. There's something he's not telling you. You wonder if you should ask him about it, but guiltily, shamefully, you don't want to. You don't want this to stop. 

Because all of a sudden it's like he's in love with you again. You're being cruel to him, you worry, in thinking he didn't love you before. Of course he did. Just getting married, having a child together, it’s changed you both so much over the years, it's only natural that the honeymoon affection faded. Natural, and yet you'd been missing it. You didn't realise how much until now. 

Miguel gets home from work now and he's tentatively sweet. Before, he'd get home, sighing from how tired he felt, overlooked and overworked at Alchemex, and there'd be little energy left in him for more than a kiss on the cheek and a shoulder squeeze. You missed him and you were glad to have him home, but you wanted more from him that you felt you couldn't ask for. 

These days you're waiting by the door and pretending you aren't. You'd be embarrassed if he found out. Maybe he knows; there's no reason for you to be sitting on the stairs with a half full laundry basket in hand, but there you are, your heart racing with an almost teenage-like excitement. 

"Hey," Miguel says, smiling as he brushes through the door. "Are you okay? Why are you sitting there?" He waves his hand at you ineffectually as he takes off his coat, hanging it on the rack. 

"Just got tired," you lie, slightly breathless at the sight of his smile. 

He really looks like he adores you. All the time. It's making you weird, but how are you supposed to react? You'd never slander him to anyone, but it had been so disappointing to wait for him and get brushed off night after night. You know he was tired. You know he was doing it for you, for Gabriella. But you can't help feeling the difference. 

"You sure?" he asks, tucking his bag into the hutch. 

You nod. 

He nods back, murmuring, "Okay," as he leans down to kiss you. On the lips, and not the cheek. 

He takes the laundry basket from your lap quicker than you realise. You can't stop him in time as he steps around you on the stairs and races up them to the bathroom where the washing machine resides. Your heart jumps into your throat —he'll see the full load and he'll know you were sitting there with the basket for no reason at all. You'd wanted to look busy, and now you'll look like a fool. 

You follow him slowly, not wanting to see. Miguel loves you, but he's always said you need affection more than the average person. Not once had he implied that you should feel bad about that, but you had anyhow. What if he thinks you're being childish, wanting to see him? 

He puts the basket next to the washing machine, barely looking at it. "No more chores," he says, grinning at you. "You do too much." 

You blink. "You think so?" 

"Do I think so?" he asks, with a fond incredulity. "You're always doing something. Washing, cleaning, cooking. All you have to do tonight is sit down. Can you do that?" 

"You don't have to tell me twice," you say. 

Maybe this will wear off. Someone held a gun to his chest and it unsettled him, knowing how close he was to dying. He's feeling grateful for a second chance, and it's manifesting in all this extra care and adoring. In another month, he'll settle down. Still your husband, still an angel, but not so touchy. 

Or maybe he'll stay like this. It's been three weeks now and he shows no signs of stopping, if anything he's getting more and more affectionate every day. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind last night while he was sitting at the kitchen table, expecting him to kiss your cheek and gently nudge you away, but he'd covered your arms and held them, kissing a tender line from the crook of your arm to your shoulder. When he spoke it was with a warm, almost husky cadence. Hello, you.

He's staring at you. "What are you thinking about?" he asks. 

"Nothing." He raises his eyebrows at you. "Nothing, just wondering what to make for dinner," you say. 

His hand finds your wrist, pulling you toward him. "What don't you understand about sitting down? I can make dinner." 

"You've worked all day," you protest. 

"What have you been doing?" Miguel pulls your hand to his chest. "What, am I a bad cook?" 

"I'm always asking you to cook," you say. 

Miguel kisses your knuckles where they rest against his collar, rubbing them with enough tenderness to have you reeling. He must see something in your face, because the lovey-dovey softness in his own expression melds to hesitation.

"Is something wrong?" he asks. 

When he looks at you like that, you can't lie to him. "No. It's not that something is wrong, exactly, but… you're being so nice to me." 

Distress or something similar flashes in his eyes, so quickly you think you might have imagined it. 

"I'm not usually like this," he says carefully. 

You're expecting him to be offended by what you aren't saying. You've had similar fights before. I don't have time for this, cariño. 

You shake your head vehemently before he can get the wrong idea, but he isn't mad. His hands are soft as he grasps your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing quarter circles as soon as they touch down. Your surprise is obvious. 

"Do you wish I was nicer?" he asks. 

"You're plenty nice, my love, really. That's not what I meant." 

"No, but humour me." 

You grab his elbow. "It's not about being nicer. I just… I know I can be a bit much for you, and I know what happened was scary and confusing, and now you're back safe, you– you don't have to do all of this. Not if you don't want to." 

He's classically handsome and has been since the day you met, but there's something to be said about how love changes his features. How affection for you softens his strong jaw, his thick eyebrows inching up his forehead just so. 

"I don't want you to be nicer," you say quietly, looking down at his chest. "But this has been nice. I finally feel like–" 

You stop short as Miguel takes your face into his hand. His thumb along your jaw, he tilts your head up straight. 

"What?" 

"I was worried maybe I was getting to be too much for you," you say. "But not lately. I'm sorry." 

The look he gives you is peculiar. He looks sorry, which is both unexpected and not, and he looks glad. Like you've told him something he wants to hear. 

Light from the frosted bathroom window catches his eyes, has brown turning to liquid honey, his lashes a neat hedging that grows fainter in the sun. They lower as his gaze falls to your mouth. 

"Can I…" he trails off.

He shakes his head gently and leans in, pausing a half a centimetre from your lips. You lean in to meet him. 

He kisses you as though there's nowhere in the world he needs to be besides here. He's been so many things since he got home that day, hesitant and hungry, undecided and undulating in his touches. Even late at night, with a hand on his abdomen and your face hovering over his, it was almost like your enthusiasm surprised him. 

And now he's realised that you're surprised in turn.

"If I ever gave you the impression," he says, breaking the kiss suddenly like he can't not say what he's thinking, "if you ever for a moment thought that I didn't want too much, I'm sorry. I was an idiot."  

"It's not like that," you insist.

"I've been different, I know that. Tell me if it's good or bad different." 

You wrap your arms around his neck, on tiptoes to hug him properly. He leans down again, taking the bulk of your weight in his arms like it's easy. Your heels lift off of the tile.

"Good different," you mumble into his shoulder. 

"Was that so hard?" he asks. 

His playfulness rears. You try to get out of his arms before he can start, but his hands dive for your sides. His tickling makes you laugh so loudly that Gabriella abandons the TV in her room and demands to be tickled too. 

—-

thank you for reading and sorry the formatting on this post is ugly but there’s no way for me to put a spoiler warning before an ask so I thought it was best to screenshot the ask and put it underneath one myself!

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader

genre: angst, hurt comfort, minors dni

word count: 5k

summary: You, both a member of David's group and one of his former victims, are already contemplating escape when Ellie arrives at the resort. Seeking Ellie, you decide to take advantage of the unexpected opportunity to run. But before you can find Ellie, you cross paths with Joel instead.

warnings: age gap, virgin!reader, mentions of past grooming attempt, mentions of cannibalism, past rape attempt, PTSD, blood, canon typical violence, no smut for now, spoilers for s01 e08

a/n: this was previously named let me follow this is also new for me because I've never written virgin!reader before (mostly because i didn't have the best experience with that) but i felt like it was fitting with the story and where i wanna take it in the future.

Revelation 13:3-4 "One of the heads of the beast seemed to have had a fatal wound, but the fatal wound had been healed. The whole world was filled with wonder and followed the beast. People worshiped the dragon because he had given authority to the beast, and they also worshiped the beast and asked, 'Who is like the beast? Who can wage war against it?'"

The wind blows cold. You, a girl who has lost everything, sit on your knees on the ice. Your family has been long gone. Your hope dwindles, hanging only by a simple thread. You don't know how long you've been crying. Your hands, young yet covered in the warmth of blood. The scent of pine reaches your nose, and you sniff involuntarily, just like you did before you lost everything. Before the world ended. You hear the sound of men approaching you, and you wish they would just kill you. Sixteen and already you wish for the sweet mercy of death.

“Now what do we have here?” A man speaks, his tone is humorful. Melodic. Your mind and body already slipping and reaching towards the warmth of it. “You poor young thing. Where’s your family, girl?”

When you finally look up from your hands you see a man on a horse. Typical for this day and age. Near him hovers four others. All of them looking weathered and older than you. Your eyes move back to the one that seems in charge. He has strawberry blond hair and a thin beard of the same color. His eyes narrow slightly. They pop under the cold blue sky and the frozen lake. You don’t know what to say. How to answer this man who is an obvious threat. 

He hops off the horse, and you attempt to move away but your legs are frozen in place, your heart beating loudly against your ribcage. He kneels next to you. Observing. You swallow, fear coating your tongue with the taste of bile. His eyes soften when he takes in the sight of you. Bruised and wounded. Your eyes squeeze shut as he reaches out and pushes a loose strand of hair only for the wind to bring it back. 

“No need to be afraid, child. We’re a peaceful group and there are more like us if you want to join.” 

“J–Join?” your teeth chatter, your lips hurting as you speak. There’s a bit of light filling the cracks of the iron cage of your heart. Hope. You realize it to be. Hope that you found someone to help you. To look after you in this infected world. He must’ve seen it in your expression because his soft smile grows, eyes glimmering with mirth. 

“So afraid,” he hums. “But we’ll change that soon enough. You’ve been brought here for a reason. And I think I know what your purpose is in our small clan.” 

He swiftly stands, leaving you dumbfounded and still upon the freezing ice. Your mouth gapes, your body buzzing with a newfound need to stay alive. 

“What’s your name?” you ask. He throws an old coat over your shoulders. Not his own. But one he had extra on his horse. Probably taken from someone else who was more unfortunate than you. 

“David,” he answers gently, as if he’s scared you’ll run away. Before you reach out, he grabs your hand and lifts you. You nearly fall, only prevented thanks to the strong arm that wraps around your waist. He’s warm. Much warmer than you expected. “Lovely to have you with us.” 

The men near him don’t seem to share the same sentiment but you smile all the same. 

You don’t want to think for a while. Maybe not even for a millennia. If possible. 

10 YEARS LATER

Whispers of death surround you. The names of the fallen circling you and squeezing your heart tight. Suffocated. That’s how you feel. Helpless. Trapped. Consumed. Faint murmurs fill the hall room. The cold that seeps through the wood, the same wood that was intended for summer and not winter, worries everyone, including you. But at the same time, you think this is what you all deserve. An icy grave. Freezing to death and surrendering to the cold. 

You were never meant to feel warmth. You know that better now. 

The chair creaks next to you and when your eyes shift to the side. You see James taking a seat. A sudden rage fills you. An indescribable rage. It disappears as soon as it appears like it always does. He turns to you and gives you a curt nod. You don’t nod back. He might think he’s looking after you but he’s not. All he’s done is turn the other cheek to a faith that is spewed by a liar. A deceiver. A disgusting man that makes your stomach turn—

The aforementioned man finally stands and clears his throat. Loudly. But not loud enough to overpower Hannah’s cries. She sniffles. Rubs her eyes roughly. Her mother wraps an arm around her and starts whispering words of comfort. You have no idea what that comfort would be since it was her father that had died. You remember the day you lost your parents. You felt utterly defeated at the time. Hopeless. Swallowed by darkness. Your eyes rubbed raw and stinging from crying and crying and crying—

David opens the bible and reads. His glasses are perched innocently above his nose. His voice, despite the rasp of time, still carries that melodic lilt. You don’t listen. Refuse to. 

“And I saw a new heaven and a new Earth. For the first heaven and the first Earth were passed away. . .”

You close your eyes with a stuttered breath. Your body is thrumming. Your legs shaking and heart pounding. These are the most painful times for you. The times where you have to listen to him and pretend to be moved by God’s will. You hate hearing his voice. The same voice that told you you were his. The same voice that commanded you to strip for him completely when it was only your arm that was wounded. 

Your pulse quickens. Your cheeks grow warm. 

You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. 

It happened years ago but it doesn’t matter. No matter the passage of time it still feels like it happened yesterday. His touch on your cheek. The way his blue eyes ate you up as he stalked around you, pretending to be worried while he was just taking in the sight of your body. A soft touch here and a soft touch there. Knuckles following the curve of your spine. Palms feeling the weight of your behind. The memory makes you sick. The way he was marinating you for something unspeakable. 

He enjoyed when you flinched. Enjoyed the way you whimpered and curled away. He laughed and did nothing else. He wrapped a bandage around your arm while you remained stark naked. Then he left. Leaving it to James to come to the room, telling you to get dressed while averting his eyes. 

You jerk, eyes going wide as a sharp cry echoes within the thin walls. 

“. . . And I heard a great voice out of heaven say, ‘Behold… the tabernacle of God is with men. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes—’”

He’s trying hard to ignore it. You can tell by the way his lips twitch ever so slightly, his nostrils flaring with annoyance when another cry is heard. 

He stops. 

And your heart stops along with it. 

You’re still afraid even when his anger isn’t directed at you. Cold beads of sweat make you feel clammy and gross. You want to hide. And even though you blame him, you want to move closer to James, hoping that whatever it is that’s going to happen, he can shield you from it. 

David turns his gaze towards Hannah and Joyce, Hannah’s mother, and lets out a sigh as if it pains him to see someone so distraught. 

“I’ve read this passage too many times,” He walks towards Hannah, his brows slightly furrowed and eyes full of rue. He places the book on the table and removes his glasses, placing it above it. You’re surprised when he kneels but your stomach twists as he places a hand above Hannah’s knee. She’s unaware, her bottom lip trembling. “Do you remember what comes next?”

She shakes her head. 

“‘And God will wipe away all tears from their eyes… ‘that there will be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither will there be any more pain… for the former things are passed away.’” 

Your eyes move to the crowd. Everyone holding on to one another, eyes red and wet. Hannah takes a sharp inhale, your gaze promptly landing back to the scene. 

“Do you know what that means?” She nods and when she does, David grips her shoulder. “Good.” 

He exchanges a glance with the mother and stands up, a groan dropping from his lips as he does so. You feel a momentary satisfaction at his discomfort. 

“When can we bury him?” 

The question surprises everyone, including David who doesn’t show it. The only oddity is him looking at James, a gaze so quick and short that if you hadn’t been sitting next to James you would’ve missed it. “The ground is too cold to dig. We’ll bury your father in the spring.”

Hannah seems content with the answer for now. The sermon is over when David opens the doors. His eyes linger on you as you get up, slow and groggy. Despite her recent loss, you find Hannah to be lucky. At least she had someone to protect her for a good while, her body free of being viewed as an object that belonged to someone else. 

You don’t look at either James or David as you leave. Not that it mattered. They were too busy talking amongst each other.  

You wipe the snow that catches over your eyelashes with the back of a gloved hand. Everyone had a job to do and yours today was to chop wood in the freezing weather. You hate the feeling of shivering and sweating at the same time. It’s a disgusting feeling. But you were the youngest of the group—and had fallen out of favor with David, which meant that he didn’t try to get into your good graces by giving you the stay-by-the-fire duties. Not that you missed it. You’d rather freeze to death than give any part of yourself to him. 

Your feet drag over the snow. Your biceps ache with the added weight of the firewood within your arms. Breathing from your mouth, your eyes are drawn to one of the sheds. That place always gives you the creeps. It’s always locked. The windows dusty and blocked by cabinets from the inside so no one could see. You never thought of asking what the hell was in there, no one else did either. Everyone just wanted to survive. A herd of sheep following the blood-stained mouth of their leader. Not that they knew he had a blood-stained mouth. That information was only reserved for his victims and James. 

A log slips from the top and you loudly groan towards the sky. You need to leave this hell hole. You don’t know when. But you have to. 

Just as you lean down you sense someone coming towards you at full speed. Jumping, you move back only to see James huffing and puffing with a small package in his hand. You raise a brow. “Weren’t you supposed to be hunting?” you ask, picking up the log. “What the hell are you doing here running like a maniac? ‘Scared the shit out of me.” 

“David is at gunpoint.” Good. “And the crazy girl demanded some medicine. Hopefully, I can sneak up on her.” 

You scoff, “A girl? Since when does David follow any kind of demand?” 

“It’s complicated.” He looks uncomfortable, you must’ve struck a nerve with that. “She’s with the man that killed Alec.”

“You’re taking medicine to her? Actual medicine.” 

“David said. . .” 

You raise a hand and shoo him away, “Just go. I don’t care.” 

Watching him leave, your brows knit tightly together. This had to be a joke, they found the girl and by proxy, the man who killed Alec and. . . David is helping the girl? You don’t necessarily care for revenge— but the fact that he’s actively wanting to show just how kind he is to this girl is suspicion-worthy. He likes what he sees and pulls a curtain over his true colors to obtain it. You know word of this will come out soon. You’re positive that James told at least one person when he went in to get the medicine. It would spread like wildfire. 

And most of the people here, starving and cold with no warmth left in their chests are hungry for the heat of revenge. 

Just like you had predicted rumors were spiraling. 

You’re sitting someplace unnoticeable and near the windows. Snow hits the glass like heavy rain. The clear panels freezing over, you visibly shudder. Your decades-old jacket isn’t enough anymore to keep you warm. 

Your head turns with another whisper coming nearby. Something about a girl being with the man who killed Alec. Your eyes shift to Hannah and her mother sitting in the middle, the young girl seemed furious, her eyes hardened but still carried a juvenile chubbiness in her cheeks. The look doesn’t suit her. It looks like a drop of blood on top of snow. No one is touching their food. Steaming bowls of meat sitting on top of weathered tables. You’re not hungry so you push it away. You’re hoping with every fiber in your body that they haven’t found the girl. You wouldn't wish David on even your worst enemy.

The doors open with a loud, bone-chilling creak. You jump at the sound. Soft flakes of snow hurry inside, melting as soon as the light touches them. James holds the door open for David and the latter, with great effort, drags a large stag inside. The entire room stops breathing, their eyes glued to the scene, their minds full of questions. 

The door closes. Suddenly you feel trapped and suffocated. 

“Big one,” David says, looking towards the tables with a crooked smile. Not even one person is talking now. Just deafening silence. James moves away quickly, his eyes find yours, and takes a seat next to you. You’re not sure why he hovers around you. Maybe in some sick way, he thinks you’re friends? 

David sighs loudly, bringing your attention back to him. “If you’ve heard a rumor… yes, we found a girl who was with the man who took Alec from us. When the sun rises, I’ll lead a group out to pick up her trail. Won’t be hard to find in the snow. We’ll follow it to wherever they’re hiding… and we’ll bring that man to justice.”

“You should kill him. You should kill both of them.”

David’s head snaps towards the vengeful voice. Your blood freezes, a tingle settling at the base of your neck, your skin grows taut over your muscles. You’re afraid. And your fear only grows when David stalks towards the girl, a faint smile on his lips, he removes his gloves. One by one. His movements slow, unrushed. He stands in front of Hannah, briefly stares down at her—

You flinch at the sound. The loudest smack and thud you’ve ever heard. Your eyes widen, heart beating in your throat as your eyes remain glued to Hannah who’s scrambling on the floor. David seems unbothered by it. Like he hadn’t just backhanded a young girl. The mom stands, murmurs getting louder, without thinking you attempt to get up too, thinking of all the ways you can kill the man. 

But James—fucking James—he stops you with a hand on your knee. You give him a disgusted look and he quickly pulls his hand away. But the damage was done. You settle back, the chair groaning underneath you. 

You watch as David halts the mother with a single hand, gently gesturing her to sit back down. She does—she does and it drives you insane. It’s surreal almost. There’s a loud hum in your ears as David kneels next to Hannah, her eyes looking anywhere but him. Scared, she takes David’s offered hand. You feel sick. Your stomach churns, bile rising to your throat. He helps her up and sits her down. He’s still on his knees, his eyes soft. 

Disgusting. 

“I know you think you don’t have a father anymore. But the truth is, Hannah, you will always have a father. And you will show him respect when he’s speaking.”

Tension rises with his words. You can tell from the brief glances that happen behind David’s back. However, it’s not enough. No one does anything. They just sit and wait as Hannah’s mother brings David a bowl of food. They begin to eat, the rest follows. 

Spoons clink. Wind blows. Birds caw.  

You look down at the meat, clutching the fork in your hand. You can’t. Something disturbs you. James also lingers before he takes the first bite. Something in his eyes makes you rather starve than taste. 

You look back at Hannah. Her bottom lip is trembling, her cheek red. 

She eats. 

“Where is she?” 

David’s eyes glimmer with amusement, his teeth showing as he smiles. You’re out in the open. Snow falling all around you. Your chest squeezes. You can barely breathe, yet your chest continues to rise and fall. 

“Is my little lamb jealous?” Heat simmers under your skin. How fucking dare he? “Head back. This doesn’t concern you.” 

“Like hell, it doesn’t,” you snap. His eyes narrow and for a brief moment, your mind flashes images of him tying you to the bed whenever you swore. A nasty shiver crawls up your spine. “Let her go.” 

“And why would I do that?” he shakes his head. “Do you want to know why I never touched you again? I got bored. I knew I could have you whenever and wherever I wanted. The fire in your eyes died. You had no fight left in you.” he chuckles. You’re trembling now, your legs feeling weak underneath you. “And I enjoyed seeing the fear in your eyes whenever I entered the room. . . wondering. . . thinking about when I would finally make you my own.”  

You don’t know what to say. The snowfall picks up in pace. Hurling, dancing around you both. A sign of a storm. The cold kisses your cheeks. David grins and extends his arms towards the sky, you take a step back. 

“I finally found myself a pet that’s fun to play with. Someone that won’t be so easily broken.” 

Broken. Broken. Broken. 

That’s what you are, isn’t it? Broken. Alone. Unwanted. 

You have to get to the girl and get the hell out of here. 

You lift your chin, “You’re sick.” 

Bad move. His nostrils flare with anger as he grips your chin and forcefully brings you closer to his face. As someone who went on and on about you being too submissive for his liking, he sure as hell seems to hate that you’re defying him. 

“Don’t you dare talk back to me,” he spits, squeezing your jaw until your lips part with a whimper. “I'm the one who saved you and spared you. I’m a good man but never forget that you belong to me.” Without hesitation, he cups you between your legs. You stiffen at the touch, fear chills your skin, feeling little pins needling into your muscles. “You’re mine to break and when I do, you'll love it. And you'll finally be a woman.” 

He doesn’t linger. Leaving you, he disappears between the cabins. You collapse to the snow, shaking, trembling and tears flooding your eyes. You fist at the snow, your fingers becoming numb as it melts between your fingers. You were a fool to think that you were safe. You genuinely thought that after so long he’d let you do your own thing within the community. But no. He still had his eyes on the “prize”.

You want to run into the forest but you can’t. Your eyes fall to the ground where his footsteps are perfectly visible. Now you know where the girl is. 

The door that is always locked is open. 

Your brows knit together as you observe the old wood swaying back and forth due to the wind. Your skin is icy cold. Coming closer you see that the lock had been broken, shattered. You see a spray of blood on the snow and that entices you to take a step forward into the dark cabin. You know you shouldn’t be taking any detours. Your backpack is secured tightly against your back filled with essentials and some sentimental items you gathered during the years. You should go. But you’re curious. You have to know what’s been in this shed for all these years. 

You sigh. Curiosity killed the cat. 

“But satisfaction brought it back,” you murmur. 

You pull out your gun, your finger on the trigger as you explore. It seems pretty standard. Some items, lots of dust—

Two large hands shove you roughly against the wall. You choke, all the air leaving your lungs as your gun is knocked out of your hand. Momentarily you’re pulled away and slammed back against the wall again, this time the back of your head thudding against the wood. You groan in pain. Your body screaming at you to run and hide. 

“Where is she?” you hear a man hiss through gritted teeth. “Where the fuck is she?” 

You’re slammed once more, tears prick the corner of your eyes and you barely manage to raise your hands. 

When you finally manage to open your eyes, panting heavily, you see a disheveled man. At first glance, he doesn’t make you feel that you’re in danger—which is an ironic feeling considering the throbbing at the back of your head is his doing. Lines run across his face, his eyes full of worry and anger. You immediately know who he is. There was only one girl after all. 

“You’re—” you swallow. “You’re him.” 

His hand tightens around your throat and a gun is hastily pressed against your forehead, “Tell me where she is or I’m shootin’ you.” 

“I’m actually trying to find her myself,” you answer, which by the looks of it was the wrong this to say. “I—I wanted to help her. Free her. David. . . the man that took her—he’s a monster.” 

His eyes narrow, “You from this community?” 

“He took me in when I was sixteen,” you explain. “I had no choice but to join.” 

“And why should I trust you?” 

“Because I know exactly where she is,” you bite the inside of your cheek. “And I know that you’re hurt. I can help.” 

“Then what?” 

You shake your head, not understanding. He clarifies. “You help me and then what? What’s the catch?” 

Your eyes blur with tears. You’re just so fucking tired. 

“I just want to leave.” 

Something about the way you whisper must’ve wake something in him because he lets you go. He lights the flashlight. “I ain’t in the business of takin’ in strays.” 

What? “What?” 

“Just leave. I don’t need your help.” 

“You—You don’t understand!” Just as he turns you jump towards him, fisting the back of his jacket, the fabric isn’t soft enough for you to get a good grip on him so you grab his shoulder instead. “He’s a monster! Everyone fucking underestimates him—he’ll—he’ll—!”

He stills. Rushed steps coming to a halt. You think he’s going to shove you off, push you away but he’s glued. With the fear of silence, you pull back and step to the side. He’s still not acknowledging you. His hard gaze glued to where the flashlight is illuminating. You follow the light speckled with dust. Horror curling in your stomach like a hook. 

There are three of them. Three bodies hanging like animals being prepared to cut into pieces. 

“Oh god—” 

You bring your hands to your head, your heart ramming into your chest, you shake your head. “No, no, no, no—” You take a step back. The man rips his gaze away from the bodies, away from what it implies. You take another step back and another. You’re shaking, your eyes glued to the floor. He—David—he fed you people. 

Fucking people. People that you knew.

Finally, the scent hits you. The smell of flesh and blood. 

You scream. 

The man is on you in an instant, you tumble to the ground and he goes down with you willingly. “Shit—no no no. Shut the hell up— shut the hell up.”

The knot that forms in your throat is large and uncomfortable. You bawl your eyes out, hiccuping against his chest. He takes you into his arms and you can’t be bothered to think of the why of his actions. His biceps tighten around you. You’re still shouting, still thrashing around, crying—he presses you further into his chest, muffling your sounds. You vaguely hear him shushing you, telling you it’s gonna be alright. Lies. He’s telling you lies. 

You start to quiet down and only then do you begin to make sense of his words. He’s murmuring bits of his life. Of what he’s seen. You finally learn the name of the girl: Ellie. The thick baritone of his voice is like a melody. It soothes you. Maybe not fully. But it helps calm your raging heart. You breathe. He smells like wood and snow. 

“Thank you,” you manage to whisper, pulling away. “Please let me help you.” 

“Yeah—Yeah, you can help.” He guides you to your feet in a way that your back is turned to the bodies. Just the thought of what's behind you makes your lungs cave in. 

“What’s your name?” you ask, desperate for any kind of distraction. 

“Joel.” 

“Alright, Joel,” you head towards the door. “Let’s go.” 

She escaped. 

You can’t help but be impressed at the sight of an empty cell. But the pride for a girl you haven’t officially met dies in your throat when you see who’s against the wall, covered in blood. 

“You knew him?” Joel asks, his tone lacking any kind of grief. A question asked more so as a courtesy than actual worry. 

You stare at him. His blue eyes now lifeless, lips parted. It almost looks like he’s sitting, just taking a rest on the cold floor. It would be easy to make you believe that if it wasn’t for the cleaver sticking out of his neck. 

“No,” you answer dryly. Yet, you still walk to the dead man and gently close his eyes. You warned him this would happen. Joel doesn’t ask any more questions. He doesn’t have to. “We need to find her before David gets to her.” 

Joel immediately rushes out, you following him close by. You feel utterly useless. You have no idea where Ellie might’ve run off to. It doesn’t help that some part of your brain is still occupied with James. You hated him in a way but still, he was there. You’ve known him nearly your entire life. It felt off to be the one to close his eyes. 

The storm had stopped. The sun reflecting from the snow irritating your eyes. Joel seems to be getting irritated with every step. Desperate. 

He’s the one that sees her first. 

Ellie staggers out the large building currently being engulfed in flames. Her walk is uncoordinated, her steps uneven as she breathes in the icy air. Before you can warn Joel not to startle her, he’s already running, grabbing her by the shoulders. Your heart shatters into a million tiny pieces when you hear her screams and shouts. 

“It’s me,” Joel says, cradling her face with both hands. She hits his chest with sideway fists, he holds her more firmly. “It’s me.” 

You see it in her face, the exact moment she realizes. You see blood splattered across her face, her expression hurts you. It’s the same expression you’ve seen on yourself for years. 

“Hey… look. It’s me… It’s me. It’s okay.”

She mumbles, “He—” Before Ellie can complete the sentence she wraps her thin arms around Joel, the man hugs her tight. Your heart shatters then. The damns you were so adamant on keeping locked being teared down by people you barely know. 

You cry. Salty tears just bursting out of your eyes. There’s no slow build, no single tear and then the rest. It just all comes down flooding. Your shoulders sag, your fingertips numb. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay, baby girl. I got you.”

You sniff and look up to the sky. Fuck. It’s so hard to stop when it begins. You see grey smoke rising into the crisp air. He’s dead. You don’t need to see the body to know that he is. 

Your eyes drop to the two survivors embracing infront of you. That girl saved your life while you were trying to save hers. You were too late. Both of you were. She looked the beast in the eye and slayed it. Freeing you. 

They part and Joel quickly wraps his jacket around her tiny trembling shoulders. You’re empty. What now? That was his question. You don’t know. Do you go back? Do you explain to the people who David manipulated just how horrendous he really was? Would they believe you? 

Your eyes are drawn to a flicker of movement. Joel is looking straight at you. Ellie still unaware of your presence and you can’t blame her. 

You’re lost. 

But then his eyes soften with something akin to understanding and he gestures you to follow. 

Like a lamb to a stream, you do. 

[minhosimthings]

love.

Synopsis: in which Hyunjin comforts you on a hard day

Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, heavily self indulgent because I can, hurt/comfort, reader cries, mention of food

A/N: yay I did this finally it's out of my notes Woohoo! Idk when this idea came into my brain but it did and I couldn't stop thinking about it so now it's here. For my loves @chlorinecake and @astraystayyh they are my Hyunjins

Song rec: love by Wave to Earth

The weight of the world on your shoulders.

You had often heard that phrase as a child. It was ridiculous, initially.

The world can't possibly weigh that much.

You were the smartest in your class, you knew the multiplication tables by the time you were five, the capitals of the world by eight, and by fifteen, the weight of nothing but your own shoulders dragged you behind everyone.

University was an easy affair, that's what you told everyone. Someone's got to keep up the smart girl, book child status up right?

Studies were easy, just understand it, write it down better. Yet, fuck, you could feel the words fading by, was it a stalactite or a stalagmite?

Graduation was easy, you were peaking and nothing was in your way!

Then you realised something.

The world did weigh too much.

Everyone weighed too much.

Your mind weighed greater than your heart, something you fought off for eons now.

And diamonds are formed under pressure, but hadn't you learnt that diamonds turn into graphite every now and then too?

You were so smart as a child, what happened?, You wished ever so fervently that you could tell them that you weren't a child anymore.

No longer the child that thought the only thing that she needed to do to be loved was to get a good grade off her papers.

Or was that love starved part of you still inside?

"Rough day, love?"

Love. It was the nickname you most adored. Lucky for you nicknames were Hyunjin's personal favourite job.

"Fuck..." You swore softly, immediately collapsing onto your couch, and wrapping yourself into the warm cocoon that was your boyfriend's arms. You swore you would become a butterfly from your current catterpillar state one day.

The gruesome world always seemed to calm down on its axis of rotation as soon as you reached Hyunjin's touch. As if he was the petals of honeydew calming down the speed of a hummingbird. Would you have been the overactive bird rushing around to cater to the needs of everyone around her?

You could hear your own heartbeat in the moments of silence, when the dust seemed to still and the winds seemed to wait, eavesdropping on conversations old and new. The hauntedness of the thumping sound made you shiver.

The tightness around your throat felt tighter by the moment, like an invisible rope hanging round it. Your heart felt too heavy too for some reason. It's a heart, you tried to convince yourself, you need it to live. But you knew that you could rip it out of your chest at this moment, and you would still keep living on. But did you really have to-

"Want to talk about it, love?"

That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

A loud sob ripped through the thick air, coating the curtains of the atmosphere in a blueish paint that seemed to have rotted inside it's bucket far too long. Hyunjin was quick to bury your head further into his chest.

You know you smell really comforting?, that went on in his mind, the thing you said on your first cuddle session, in which, he remembered fondly, you described his scent a bit further than most people usually did.

Broken strings of words escaped your lips, I'm sorry—im so sorry! Guilt always flowed through your veins whenever anything like this happened.

But Hyunjin understood, he always understood. And fuck, you both hated and loved that he understood.

One hand lay on the back of your head, while his other caressed your back, rubbing circles on it. As if a magical void would appear and take all your problems away.

Hyunjin was your magical void.

"Can you talk to me?" Hyunjin asked quietly. He felt you shake your head against his shoulder, causing him to tighten his hold on you.

"It's going to be okay love. I promise you."

Another wave of tears surged through you, nearly making you double over at the rush of fresh emotions popping off in your brain, your jaw tensing as you tried to stifle the illegible babbling falling from your lips. 

Hyunjin's words in your ear and his hand rubbing ribbons of comfort onto your back made you catch your breath, and slow down. Silence rose once you had stopped crying, you felt even more tired now and you had to admit, Hyunjin was a nice pillow.

The occasional sniffle and tired breath from you, broke Hyunjin's heart even more. He hated seeing you cry, so much so, he'd always distract you if he ever sensed you were in a depressed mood. Even if there were times that you poured your entire heart out of him in tears, he'd always shed his own tears in private, sometime later.

"Love?"

"Hmm?"

"Want me to run you a bath?"

"With the candles and everything?" You managed to say in a quiet, exhausted voice. Your throat was tired from all the crying.

"With the candles and everything." Hyunjin smiled down at you, pushing back stray strands of your hair behind your ear, "Can we go up to the bedroom, love? Can we do that?"

He was speaking so softly to you, and it was making you want to sob rivers again.

Silently nodding, you felt yourself droop down all over again as soon as Hyunjin got you up, strong arm wrapped around your waist, hugging you to his side.

Pressing a sweet kiss to the side of your head, Hyunjin started with shuffling moments upto the bedroom, which you followed, not even being able to lift your head up from the pure exhaustion.

Sitting on the bed felt like you were hung down by iron nails, while Hyunjin prepared the bath for you. Even a moment without him felt down, and even if it was a bit dramatic , you were willing to admit it.

"Hands up?" Hyunjin looked at you softly, taking off your shirt for you and discarding it in the empty laundry basket, "You did the laundry yesterday? Wow, I'm proud of you baby."

You let out a breathy giggle at his words. Hyunjin somehow always knew every word in the instruction manual of how to make you laugh.

"Is the temp alright?"

You couldn't get yourself to say yes so you hummed what seemed to have been a 'yes'. Your throat was raw, and your face was congested as well as your chest. You sounded like you swallowed a frog, and the frog was also now sick and subsequently congested.

The water truly didn't have any texture or temperature to it when you got into it. The world felt numb again as you relaxed into the tub, which, evident from the scent, Hyunjin had filled with your favourite bath salts.

What seemed like a year's worth of time, passed in silence, as Hyunjin quietly stroked your skin with soap, was it the lavender one or the tea tree one? You couldn't tell, remembering how you often joked that both of them gave off the same perfuminous vapours and that Hyunjin should just buy one of them. The water seemed more mellow now.

"Love, look at me?" Hyunjin's voice broke you out of your seemingly never-ending stupor. Like it always did.

You turned your head and rested your eyes on Hyunjin's softened ones, and you felt that familiar tightening of your throat again.

"Hyun I-"

"Don't you dare apologise." Hyunjin said before you could even get a word out, "You never have to apologise to me. Not for this."

His hands were sickeningly sweet as they ran over your back, washing lathers of soap off of your back, his voice even more so.

“You deserve to relax, you know that right?" Hyunjin said, as he wrapped you up in your purple coloured towel, "“You did so well today and you do so well everyday and you deserve to rest for a while."

Hugging you into his arms again, Hyunjin provided you with a little den, a cave where you could settle into whenever you felt that you were too tired for a lion's hunt. And you were forever grateful to him for him.

"Now-" Hyunjin looked down at you with a cheeky smile, "You are not allowed to leave the bed until you finish every single cupcake I got you."

"You got me cupcakes?" Your lips broke into a smile, a genuine one this time, "What flavour?"

"Beef." Hyunjin joked, sending both of you into a frenzy of laughter, as you pressed a kiss against his nose, making it turn the touched skin like a tomato.

The one thing that you'd have never admitted to anyone when you were younger was the fact that you wanted to be loved. That was a silly notion to you.

But maybe now, under the watchful gaze of Hyunjin as he saw you devour the cupcakes, you'd admit it.

You'd want to be loved, even if it was another weight on your shoulder.

Maybe that'd be a weight you'd like to ephermally lift.

[parkerslatte]

Finding Home || Part Three

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mentions of parental death

Summary: Azriel and Y/N cross of two tasks and get to know each other a little better.

Finding Home Masterlist

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

If Azriel had thought a week ago that he would be sitting outside a small cafe with flowers overflowing in hanging baskets waiting for Y/N to come out with drinks, he would think it was a completely made up scenario in his head. But it was his reality. The air was cold but it was nothing that he couldn’t handle, but Y/N was wrapped up in her scarf, thick coat and gloves and shivering as she sat in her chair, placing a mug of coffee in front of him. 

As he looked at her, he did feel bad. The only reason they needed to sit outside was because of him. There was nowhere inside the cafe where Azriel could sit comfortably with his wings. Azriel watched as Y/N pulled out a seat and sat down opposite him, cupping her mug between her two gloved hands. She raised her gaze and met Azriel’s slightly concerned one. 

“What’s with the look?” Y/N asked, her voice slightly muffled by her scarf. 

“You can sit inside,” Azriel said. “I can stay out here.”

Y/N frowned. “Absolutely not! We are completing that list together. It will not be together if I have my coffee indoors while you sit out here all on your own.”

“But you are shivering,” Azriel said.

Despite the many layers Y/N wore, there was still a small shake to her body that Azriel could tell she was trying to hide. “I will be fine,” she answered. “Now, how do you want to tackle the tasks?”

Azriel took a sip of his coffee, the small chill in his body slowly warming. He was used to the cold temperature yet the warm drink still felt satisfying spreading through his body. “I don’t know. I haven’t even read the whole list.”

Y/N held out one of her gloved hands. “Give me the list.”

Without any questions, Azriel handed over the list and Y/N unfolded it and placed it on the table. She shuffled her chair closer to him, the metal scraping against the cobblestone street. While Y/N’s eyes were on the list in front of her, Azriel’s were on her. He still couldn’t believe that someone was willing to do any of these tasks with him. 

“We can cross a lot of these off in one go,” Y/N said. “You can easily do number one and number thirty at the same time.”

“What are those?” Azriel questioned.

“Read a book and relax,” Y/N said. “In fact you can easily pair number twenty two with it as well. Have breakfast in bed.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “I don’t see how I could have possibly done that by myself. I would need to go to the kitchen and make the food then go back to my room. It would be easier to just sit at the kitchen table.”

Y/N giggled and Azriel turned his head toward her. “What’s so funny?”

“That you assume that I will make you breakfast in bed.”

Azriel’s eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant, I just…”

Y/N placed her gloved hand on his forearm. “Relax, I’m just teasing. But I will be expecting you to make me breakfast in bed too.”

“There will be no doubt about that,” Azriel replied, his gaze falling to the list once again. “So what shall we do about the theatre one? As far as I know the theatre in Velaris is currently under construction.”

“Well, there is a theatre in the Summer Court, it’s right on the beach. It’s gorgeous! My father was originally from the Summer Court and he took me there when I was child. I try to go back on occasion. It’s a way to remember him.”

“I’m sorry,” Azriel said, placing his hand on top of her gloved one.

Y/N smiled, yet it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s okay. It didn’t happen suddenly or anything, he caught an illness that was incurable, even the best healers couldn’t help him. For a year I was expecting it but even when it happened, it was a surprise.” 

“When did it happen?” Azriel asked. 

“Nearly one-hundred years ago,” Y/N answered, looking at where Azriel’s hand rested on top of hers.

Azriel looked at Y/N, truly looked at her. Despite her happy and calm demeanour, there was a certain sadness lurking beneath the surface. Something within him wanted to take all of that sadness and pain away and make sure that she never had to feel it again. 

Y/N cleared her throat. “So, how about we tackle two of these tasks today? One obviously being the coffee and the second could number seventeen, cook dinner? Only if you want to, of course.”

Azriel smiled. “Of course I want to.”

The smile that spread across Y/N’s face was unlike anything Azriel had ever seen. It felt as if a warm blanket had been draped across him. “Great,” Y/N said. “We can buy some ingredients and go back to my apartment. Unless you want to do it at yours?”

Azriel thought of his apartment. The lifeless rooms that held no meaning to him. He had moved into it when he began to feel like he was intruding on Cassian and Nesta. Every morning he would have breakfast with the two of them and he could tell that both of them were too polite to mention that they just wanted breakfast for the two of them. 

His small apartment was the first and only thing he looked at before he bought it. It did its job well enough and that was all Azriel was after. Now…he only craved a home. Somewhere where memories are etched into the walls and floors. Somewhere where he could make his own memories…with his own family someday. Y/N’s apartment was the closest thing to that. Even if he hadn’t even fully looked around it, just from the living area alone, Azriel could tell it was well loved and lived in. He could tell that it was a home, not just a building. 

“No, your apartment is fine with me,” Azriel answered.

Y/N nodded and folded up the list and placed it within her own pocket. Azriel couldn’t help but smile at that simple action. She was really in it for the long haul with him. This complete stranger he met not even twenty-four hours ago. 

“I don’t have a particular recipe in mind but when we buy the ingredients, we can just improvise,” Y/N said, taking a sip from her coffee. 

Azriel agreed and lifted his own coffee back to his lips, smiling as he took a sip. The feeling of a real smile still felt foreign on his face yet he was getting used to it. As he looked at Y/N wth her thick scarf, gloves and coat he couldn’t help but smile a little wider. He wasn’t expecting to be caught but as soon as Y/N’s eyes met his, she smiled in return. Her quiet laugh was the only sound he could focus on. 

“What?” Azriel asked. 

Y/N shook her head. “Nothing, I just…you weren’t who I expected you to be.”

Azriel frowned. “What do you mean?”

Y/N shrugged. “I just didn’t expect the shadowsinger of the Night Court to be all smiles and laughs. It’s far from the way others talk about you.”

Azriel deflated a little in his chair and Y/N’s eyes widened. “Not that it’s a bad thing. I was just expecting you to be…broodier, I suppose. But you seem to smile a lot. It’s rather beautiful.”

Her compliment sent another faint blush across Azriel’s cheeks. He hadn’t received attention like this from someone for quite a while. It was nice. 

“I-thank you, Y/N,” Azriel said. 

Y/N waved her hand dismissively. “You don’t need to thank me for a simple compliment you know damn well is true. Just look at those dimples.”

Azriel cleared his throat. “You are ruining my reputation here.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “It was ruined the moment that gorgeous smile appeared on your face.”

Azriel’s cheeks began to ache. He tried to fight the smile away but he couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. “So,” he said, changing the subject, “when do you want to buy the ingredients?”

Y/N quickly glanced at her coffee, it was nearly empty. She lifted it to her lips and took a final sip. “Now, if you are ready too?”

The coffee in Azriel’s mug was gone, only a tiny amount remained, not even enough for a mouthful. “Let’s go.”

As the two stood to their feet, Y/N suddenly gasped. “Wait, before we go.”

She dug in her pocket and pulled out the folded list and placed it down on the small wooden table. “We can now cross one thing off.” She handed a pencil to Azriel. “You can do the honours.”

Azriel took the pencil from her grasp, her fingertips brushing against hers. He expected her to pull her hand away the moment they made contact but she didn’t. In fact Y/N didn’t even pay any attention to the scars on his hands. All she did was look at him with an excited expression on her face. Azriel didn’t want to recall his hand. 

“One down, twenty-nine to go,” Y/N said as Azriel reluctantly pulled his hand away to cross out the task.

“Twenty-nine to go,” Azriel repeated.

Originally thirty tasks seemed to be a long and pointless list but now as he stared down at it, he couldn’t help but think that it was too short. He was only one task down but he had found that he hadn’t had as much fun or smiled as much as he had in a long time. The way Azriel felt; he never wanted the feeling to end. 

“Let’s go and get the ingredients,” Y/N said, tucking the list back into her pocket. “There was a recipe my parents used to make that I loved when I was younger. If that’s okay with you? If there is something you would like to make, just tell me. They are your tasks after all.”

“That sounds perfect to me, Y/N,” Azriel said. 

She smiled and linked her arm through his. “Then let’s go, shadowsinger. Let’s show the rest of Velaris how intimidating you are with that gorgeous smile.”

Azriel couldn’t help but blush. 

***

The moment Y/N and Azriel entered her apartment, it was getting dark outside. Their trip to gather ingredients for their meal took a lot longer than originally anticipated. The two of them simply enjoyed strolling around different stores with one another. The domesticity of it all made Azriel’s heart soar. 

“So,” Azriel said as he peeled potatoes. “Tell me more about yourself, Y/N. I’m sure you have spent more time talking about my smile than you have talking about yourself.”

Y/N laughed as she nudged Azriel out of the way to reach for the carrots next to him. “I can’t help it if your smile takes my breath away and I find it hard to speak.”

Azriel rolled his eyes but remained silent. 

“In all honesty, I’m not too interesting,” Y/N said.

“Liar,” Azriel said, nudging her with his elbow lightly. 

“I’m serious!” Y/N exclaimed. “I just have a simple job.”

“What is it?” Azriel asked. “You haven’t mentioned anything about your job so far.”

“I haven’t? Hmm, must have slipped my mind,” Y/N said and began to chop up the carrots. “If you must know, I work in a music shop. I teach lessons there on occasion too.”

Azriel smiled softly. “That is not simple.”

“It really is,” Y/N replied. “It’s nothing like a job defending this court and keeping it safe.”

Azriel frowned. “It may not be but it is a beautiful job regardless. What do you teach?”

“Mostly piano and violin,” Y/N answered. “I mainly teach children but sometimes I get some older fae request lessons.”

“How long have you taught them?”

“Probably close to a century now,” Y/N replied before sighing. “Before that I simply worked in a bakery.”

Azriel gleaned over and noticed her eyes glossed over in sadness. He stopped peeling the potato immediately. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Y/N said, though it was clear she wasn’t. “It’s just…the reason why I started to teach children to play music is because it is what my father taught me. From the moment I could walk he began to teach me piano. I was awful at first and I hated playing it. But I soon fell in love with it.”

Azriel placed his hand gently upon hers, squeezing it to offer some comfort. Y/N’s eyes snapped to his hand then to his eyes. A small smile appeared on her face. 

“That piano over there was his,” Y/N said, glancing to the corner of the room where a piano resided covered in a layer of dust. “I haven’t been able to play it since he passed.”

“It is a beautiful piano,” Azriel said. 

Y/N smiled. “It truly is. My mother gifted it to him for their mating ceremony.”

Azriel smiled. “She must have truly loved him. It is a beautiful gift.”

“She did,” Y/N said. “I don’t remember much of my mother, she died when I was only two years old. But I do remember the love she had for my father. And from what I vaguely remember and from what my father told me, she loved me very much.”

Azriel smiled. “Your parents sounded wonderful.”

“They were,” Y/N said sadly. “My mother was Illyrian, you know?”

“Really?” Azriel asked, looking to her back, seeing if she had hidden wings she hadn’t told him about. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Y/N chuckled. “A lot of people don’t realise. I was born without wings, not even the power to summon them at all.”

Azriel looked down at the potato he held in his hands as he realised he had gotten caught looking for the most distinguishable feature of an Illyrian. 

Y/N brushed her hair behind her ears. “My ears aren’t as pointed as the High Fae’s either, but not as rounded as yours.”

Azriel looked at her ears, at the tips that seemed different to any he had seen before. Though he was rather distracted by the jewellery that decorated them. 

“So it seems that we have something in common, Azriel,” Y/N said. 

Azriel looked away from the jewellery that decorated her ears and back to her eyes. “It seems that we do.”

Y/N smiled before picking up her carrot again. “Tell me about yourself now. I feel like I’ve spoken about myself forever.”

“There is not much to talk about,” Azriel answered. 

Y/N groaned. “Come on! You are what? Over five-hundred years old? There is surely plenty you can talk to me about.”

“You are not that much younger than me!” Azriel exclaimed. “There is surely more fot you to talk about too.”

Y/N gasped dramatically. “You should never assume a female’s age, Azriel. Now, tell me about yourself. Remember I am holding a knife, I might not be able to do anything with it, but remember I am holding one.”

Azriel huffed out a laugh. “What do you want to know?”

“What are your hobbies? What do you like to do except flash that smile about?” 

Azriel nudged her gently before cutting into the potato. “I am…not really sure what I like doing.”

“Come on,” Y/N said. “There has to be something.”

The shadowsinger shrugged. “I like reading, I suppose.”

“Great, that’s a start,” Y/N said. 

Azriel placed the potato in the pan and moved onto another but found himself at a loss for words. What did he like to do? In his feelings of loneliness he had seemed to abandon everything he enjoyed doing in favour of taking on more tasks and missions to distract himself and keep himself busy. He was sure that he hadn’t picked up a book for his own pleasure in quite some time. 

“I honestly can’t think of what I enjoy doing,” Azriel admitted. “It’s been a while since I have done anything for my own personal pleasure.”

Y/N looked up at him, something akin to empathy in her eyes. Azriel looked away quickly and continued to peel the potato. “I normally just ask Rhys to send me on more missions to fill my time.”

“You need to take time for yourself,” Y/N said, lowering the carrot once again. 

Azriel scoffed. “I’ve taken enough time for myself. All I ever am is by myself.”

“I never mentioned anything about being by yourself,” Y/N said. “Do the things you enjoy doing but invite someone along.”

Azriel looked down at her, his eyes calculating before his shoulders slumped. “It’s difficult. Every conversation I have with my family now is all about their family. I just feel so…behind.”

Saying exactly what he was feeling aloud made everything real but at the same time lifted a small amount of the weight on his shoulders. 

“It’s okay to be behind, you have a long life Azriel. You don’t need to catch up with your family, you can take things at your own pace,” Y/N said, toying with a carrot shaving. 

“Y/N, I am nearly five hundred and fifty years old,” Azriel said. “If I was destined to have a family, surely I would have been blessed with one by now.”

Y/N shrugged. “I am four hundred and ninety eight. If I were destined to have a family, surely I would have one by now. It doesn’t matter when you begin your family, Azriel. What matters is that you are ready to start it with the right person.”

“You’ve never found that person?” Azriel found himself asking. 

Y/N shook her head. “I thought I did. It was a long time ago now but he was from the Winter Court and I was in love with him and he was in love with me.”

“What happened?” Azriel asked. 

“We grew apart,” Y/N replied. “He was part of the Winter Court’s army and was constantly busy with his duties where we would have no time to see one another. We still loved one another but we weren’t in love with one another. It ended amicably, I was even invited to his wedding. When I saw them, that was the love that he deserved, not the surface level love I was offering.”

“What about you? I guess you haven’t found that person either?” Y/N questioned.

Azriel thought of Elain. “I thought I did too. But we were not compatible at all. After the initial…lust passed, we were left with stale conversation. She is a great friend now, though. There has been no one since.”

“There’s another thing,” Y/N said. 

“Another what?” 

“Thing we have in common,” Y/N responded and shuffled over to the other side of the kitchen and poured glasses of wine out and passed one to Azriel. “To our loveless lives.”

Azriel huffed out a laugh and clinked his glass against hers. “To our loveless lives.”

Taglist:

@justdreamstars @naturakaashi @thesunloveschips @hijabi-desi-bookworm @mischiefmanagers @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @ithan-holstroms-girl @meshellexplosionmurder @nightcourt-daydreaming @brujitafantomarico @qinfeii @pinksmellslikelove @schultzlindsey5 @mell-bell @we-were-beautiful @fightmedraco @glitterypirateduck @lostinpages13 @actuallyacerrr @poetryinshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @topaz125 @acourtofbatboydreams @luvmoo @daily-dose-of-sass @applerubyy @tonysttank @just-a-social-casualty-1 @scatteredstardustt @samaxraph99 @i-m-in-loki-s-army @katlyndawn51 @skyesayshi @iamjimintrash @reverieinthestars @witchymomfrien @oliviajdjarin @tele86 @sfhsgrad-blog

- strike through could not be tagged -

[ofallthingsnasty]

pairing: crocodile x f!reader tags: fat reader, yandere, past violence, written from nico robin's pov as a little character/relationship study, minors dni word count: 0.9k

note: I had this thought about Robin meeting Crocodile's well-kept basement wife for the first time ages ago but wanted to expand on it a little, mainly because I love the melancholic and stuffy feel being his basement wife has to me. This is mainly vibes and exploration, but I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it! If you want to know more about 'your' scar, I talked about it here and here.

For the first time since she’s met Crocodile, Nico Robin is actually surprised. 

She hadn’t been when she had first seen his lavish base at Rain Dinners in all its opulent glory, hadn’t flinched when she noticed the gigantic species of gators swimming through an even more gigantic, underground tank, hadn’t raised a brow at his penchant for expensive clothes and jewelry and countless cigars, something so decadent compared to the starving land around him.  No, instead it fit him like a glove; that elegant, suave style of evil that had crawled into the very foundations of his lair to fester and rot and ooze wickedness whenever she returned. A marvel to witness, truly, such commitment to the bit. Predictable. Placeable.

What doesn’t fit, however, is a dependent. 

A man like Crocodile - with all his peacockery, arrogance, scorn and grandeur, isn’t someone she can see oh-so-graciously letting someone partake in the riches he has carefully hoarded just because of the goodness of his heart. It’s laughable, the thought. She could have seen him with a child, maybe, a little brat from some old flame many moons past, a little snot-nosed kid who is the epitome of spoiled, who gets too little attention and too much money from daddy.  That, she could have seen sitting on that old, luxurious chaise after getting called back to the base. 

But not you. Not fully-grown, very much not snot-nosed, you.

You’re so small, she thinks, or at least you seem to be. Compared to the grand interior surrounding you, the expensive leather settee you’ve been put on, the dark fur that nearly swallows you as you sit, nothing but your hands and round face peeking out from underneath, you are, in fact, quite small. Small and scared, the coat that’s been draped over you making you look like you’re all fat, bug-eyed rabbit and no part lithe and feisty wolf. If she wasn’t trying to grasp this situation she’d suppress a laugh at the clear intention behind your gaudy little outfit: like a purse, you’ve been dressed to compliment his outfit of the day, undoubtedly just as ornamented with pelt as you. You’re an unusual sight for the wife (and wife you are, she notes with a glance at a gold band wrapped around your pudgy finger) of someone as high-ranking as a warlord - if she had to imagine anyone befitting of that title it would have been someone more sleek; tall, classy, with observant eyes and painted lips that give way to pearly and sharp teeth. Someone whose mere presence whispers power, someone who is at least half as capable as Mister 0 himself.

What’s sitting right in front of her is a liability, a living, breathing shackle. And those are dangerous in the world the two of them operate.

And it begs a simple question: why? Why show her this, make her aware of your presence? Everything he does has a reason, but what purpose does this encounter serve? Robin’s life has been nothing but running, running and then some more running - and so does her mind, ever on edge, ever hunted. She needs to put this into a category, to discern good from bad from somewhere in between, especially when it comes to the inherent danger that is Crocodile. But it makes no sense to her, no matter how hard she tries to find any in the short second she has seen you. Is this a lesson? A show? A reward? A sign of trust? 

Nothing quite fits. She tilts her head as your eyes flutter over her form; taking in the seemingly relaxed elegance, her effortlessly chic outfit. You don’t seem to know either, fear and confusion etched into your soft features. Too easy to read, she thinks. He has clearly never told you about her. Not involved in this business. Hm.

Before she can take another step towards you - to glean another detail, to lure a word out of you that might solve this little mystery - the heavy thud of opening doors startles you. You sit ramrod straight in a millisecond, face instinctively pulled towards the source of the noise. Although she stays right where she is, it gives her another piece in the puzzle to work with: with the motion, a gnarly scar bulges underneath fake light, spanning from the edge of your mouth almost to your ear, gifting you an unnatural, lopsided smile. Ah. She knows Crocodile’s handwriting when she sees it, knows how heavy it can be with his left hand especially. 

You aren’t here out of your own free will.

How fitting, after all.

Not a dependent, but a captive. A cherished one, at that. A little pet, his favorite, tucked away and kept in safety.

She almost wants to scoff at the revelation. Evil, through and through. But this isn’t yet another display of just how cartoonishly bad he is, she thinks, until-

Until you part your lips to reveal a horribly tainted smile as you spot him, hurrying to sit up from the stiff leather and scuttling over. He doesn’t even look at her as you greet him quietly, awkward and uneasy, his face so utterly pleased with whatever this display is supposed to show him. You fold one hand over his right wrist and pull close as he laughs at your antics - you don’t act like this normally, do you? 

Finally, as he excuses you to disappear behind him, whispering something to you that she’d consider intimate if she hadn’t seen the raw, unembellished fear in your eyes, if she hadn’t known that the scar that adorns your face is years-old, it clicks.

This isn’t for her. It’s for you.

[jacespookiebear]

.ೃ࿐ 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡: 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 1

summary : you are the youngest daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Aemma Arryn. Outlived your mother and your older twin brother, Baelon, in childbirth. You were titled as (Y/n) “The Undying” Targaryen. 

pairing : jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!reader

warnings : incest, sexual content, tension, age gap (reader is about 3-4 years older), jace is about a year older in this fic, misogyny, self-harm, violence, angst, teen pregnancy, birth, events do take place in hotd, meraxes is alive and thriving with vhagar :D

Masterlist

The dreary atmosphere in the chambers that were occupied by Queen Aemma’s birthing was soon vanished and was replaced by sudden cries that did not belong to the Prince Baelon but a Princess.

“Your grace, it appears she had carried another babe. It is a girl,” the maester carefully wrapped the babe in a cloth before bringing her to King Viserys, “a very healthy one, in fact, what will she be named?” Viserys couldn’t believe his eyes as the babe kept wailing for her mother but in an instant, he held the babe with much affection and love while he cried.

On that day, the realm has lost their Queen and Prince but has gained another Princess, named (Y/n) “The Undying” Targaryen.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Gently pressing your hands onto the old dragon, Meraxes, who you bonded with for years now. You began caressing her white scales as she leans into your touch—wanting to keep being the eye of your attention before you pulled away and started heading your way back to the castle in your personal carriage

“Meraxes seems to be growing even more each year, my Princess. Might be even larger than the Black Dread soon enough.” Lysanna, your Lady-in-Waiting, nervously utter as you laughed. You have been forcing her to feed Meraxes for weeks now—you never seen the young girl sweat so much while handing your dragon food.

You handed your gloves to Lysanna for safekeeping and she pocketed them in her coat. You both reached inside the castle. You had wanted to check up on your sister as she was to be expected in labor soon but first you headed to your father’s chambers to see how well he’s doing.

You opened the doors with Lysanna by your side, “Ah! My young girl…what brings you here, my sweet child?” your father, Viserys, lights up to see his daughter visiting.

Like always, he’s sitting by the windows and sculpting. The architecture has increased in size each year ever since you were just a babe. He would always lecture about his creation with you on his lap. Till this day, it still amazes you that he created this.

“I do not need a reason to see my father. I was on my way back from the dragon keep,” you sat in front of him, raising your hands to grab his in order to place a kiss on it, “Meraxes also wishes good fortune. She even cried out for my attentiveness today.”

To your words of Meraxes, Lysanna slightly giggles.

“Of course,” he brings his attention back to his sculpting, “you remind that dragon of Rhaenys Targaryen, the wife of Aegon the Conqueror. Whether you like to believe it or not.”

It is true. You have been often compared to the late Queen Rhaenys Targaryen, you both shared similarities. Perhaps that is the main reason why Meraxes chose you to be her new dragon rider.

“Have you considered the Queen’s offer?”

You turned your head back to your father—who looked rather serious. You could only gulp and rub your hands anxiously, “about…the betrothal to Aegon..? I can’t say I had put much thought to it.”

The atmosphere in the room changed quickly, you felt. You didn’t want to spend your precious time with your father talking about betrothals. You wished to be free from marriage and children as much as you can.

“The Princess is right, my King,” Lysanna spoke up, there was no evidence of nervousness in her voice, “she has been under much stress due to Princess Rhaenyra’s upcoming labors..”

The thought of marrying your young brother scared you tremendously, knowing how he treats the handmaidens—including you, Helaena, and even Lysanna. You did not wish to be betrothed just yet, especially to a man like your brother.

You cleared your throat and sighed, “If you do not wish to be betrothed, my sweet girl then I understand,” your father promises as you looked up with eyes that were prickled with small tears, “I will give you all the time in the world.”

“Thank you, my King.”

Although there was a slight crack in your tone, you certainly appreciated your father’s patience and understanding. You seemed to feel guilt for wanting to put off opportunity of marriage for as long as you can but you are certain you won’t have much time before you are forced to be betrothed.

With your thoughts disappearing, Viserys only looked at you with a soft smile and placed a kiss on your cheek. You got up from your seat and headed out with Lysanna.

After leaving his chambers, you walked all over the castle to find Rhaenyra’s chambers, you pass by lords and ladies who would bow out of curtesy. It was clear they all know you had just visited the King. As you place your hand over Lysanna’s in an affectionate way,

“Thank you for stepping in. I could not last another second talking about marriage, especially with father.”

Lysanna looked over to you—she was obviously feeling upset for you. She had voiced her concerns many times about how she did not want you to be married off to Aegon. No—you deserve better than that.

“If I could, I would do anything for you to not be wedded off to that boy,” she said with ease, paying no mind to the people around you both, “I would rather have you be betrothed to my brother just so we could be sisters and both be ladies of Winterfell.”

At the thought of living out the rest of your days in Winterfell, you could only laugh. Maybe your life would’ve been more easier and happier if you were to be living in the North. Lysanna had told you many stories about Winterfell, it only left you wanting to visit the cold Castle even more. It even meant you could always be with Lysanna and see the snow everyday—you always wanted to see the snow.

As the doors that belonged to Rhaenyra’s chambers opened, you were attacked by the limbs of the young princes and their clinginess towards you and Lysanna. They quickly wrapped themselves around you both.

“Auntie! Have you just came back from riding Meraxes?! I saw you both flying in the sky! I was waving too,” Luke exclaimed. With swiftness, he was already up in Lysanna’s arms. You and Lysanna only giggled at the young boy and his eagerness.

You gave his forehead a big kiss before walking over to the couches that were placed in the middle of the room to sit. “Indeed, my dear nephew. I even had Lysanna to feed Meraxes today,” Luke gasped at the statement, had he only been begging to touch the Silver Queen for weeks now. He feels betrayed that you let Lysanna feed him. “do not fret. You can mount her…if your mother only agrees.”

As you hear him whine at the agreement—knowing Rhaenyra would never let him or Jace near Meraxes until they were at least twenty, you see Jace only sit right next to you and place his head on your shoulders.

“Mother is starting her labors. She had just left and even wished to see you before you left the castle,” Jace muttered, though you could see how scared he is for his mother. Placing a short kiss on his head, “I shall stay and company you and your brother until she has come back.” You said as he smiles at your efforts.

Watching Lysanna and Luke play on the floor—both very indulged in the wooden figures that are scattered, you could hear your nephew shouting battle cries as Lysanna merely plays along. But still, you worry for your sister—you wished you came sooner and possibly be there for her during her labors.

Jace suddenly spoke up and forced your attention back onto him, “Aegon had said..that you were to be betrothed to him. Is it true, Princess?”

With the young boy’s confused look, you could only sit in silence and grimace at the fact that your brother had the audacity to spread such gossip to your innocent nephews. Your thoughts were soon to be interrupted by the Prince,

“Please don’t marry him!” he cried out, it brought Lysanna and Luke’s attention, wondering why is Jace getting so emotional. “He said that if you do then I won’t be able to see you again, you will be locked up in your shared chambers and occupied being swollen with children.”

How dare Aegon say such inappropriate things to him!? You would never let yourself be treated with such disrespect, especially by your own family.

Jace continues to plead, you quickly hold him in your arms as a way to calm him down. “What did I say about never believing a word Aegon says?” you smiled down at the boy, you had to put up a front in order to not let him see how hurt you were from those words. “He is only jesting and I promise you, I will not leave you. If he says another word about this then ignore it and don’t let him tease you, alright?”

As the boy nods his head, he spoke up once more, “If I could, I would ask to be betrothed to you, Targaryens do marry each other and that would mean I could be your sworn protector.” the words settled in and all you could do was smile and mess with his curls. You didn’t expect him to answer back but it left you feeling rather troubled.

After awhile of waiting, you felt yourself drift off on the couch but was quick awaken from the sound of the chamber doors opening—expecting it to be your sister but it was only the Commander of City Watch, you gave Ser Harwin a smile when he walked in.

“Princess,” he bowed his head before the boys made their to greet him. You nodded your head and out of respect, you fixed your position on the couch.

“Oh! How could we forget?!” Luke exclaimed before making his way to the counter that held a huge black pot, “Auntie! Ser Harwin had taken us to the dragonpit while you were away, we had collected an egg for the baby! Come Liz, you must see too!”

You wanted to see the color of the egg so badly so you quickly made your way towards the kids with Lysanna, watching Jace lift up the lid and it revealed the egg—it was certainly gorgeous, the whole egg was a dark colored that reminded you of the Black Dread’s scales. The egg must’ve been from one of the several clutches of eggs that Meraxes had laid during this month, she has been laying as much eggs as she can but it only made your father happier than ever.

In awe, you still kept your focus on the egg before Lysanna had nudged your shoulder. “Be careful, my Princess. You will burn yourself if you are too close.”

“We thought of a few names for the dragon! But of course that is up to the baby to decide.”

“Very well. Make sure the egg is placed in the cradle soon,” you voiced out and let Jace put the lid back on before watching them lead the commander onto the floor to play with the toys. They seemed to become even more happier now that Harwin Strong has come back but if they were happy then so are you. He acted more like a father to them and you weren’t the only one to have noticed, almost everyone in court seems to think so—especially the Queen. Unlike the other lords and ladies from court, you do not bother in such gossips about their parentage. They are still Targaryen, that is what matters.

“And, he sees a big scary dragon!” Jace exclaimed, playing with the toys, and you smiled at how invested he was in the game. The door suddenly opened and it revealed to be your older sister. Ser Harwin stood up as your sister and her husband walked in. You watched Jace and Luke quickly run to show mother the dragon egg. Rhaenyra’s hair was damp with sweat and messy, she looks completely worn out.

“Dear sister, I hope the labors went well. Let your mother rest, children.”

“Thank you, young sister. I must admit, it was rather more discomforting than the last.” She smiles, leaning into your touch and you can feel the sweat that was painted on her skin. It felt good to be by her side once again, even if it’s been a few hours that you both were separated.

“Mother..look,” Jace said as she moved to find a seat. Rhaenyra glanced at the dragon egg as she carefully sat down with Ser Harwin’s help. The Commander of the City’s Watch was always so kind to all of you. “We chose an egg for the baby.” Luke finished for Jace. In Laenor’s arms was the new child to your sister’s family. The thought of her having a big family warmed your heart—you felt the possibility that you were experiencing baby fever.

“Ahh…that looks like the perfect one.”

“It’s not everyday a dragon egg leaves the dragon pit, my Princess. I thought it was best to escort the lads.” Ser Harwin explained. Rhaenyra nodded, reassured that there was someone to watch over them, “Laenor and I thank you, Commander.” Jace closed the pot and you focused your eyes back on the newborn child.

“Another boy, I heard.” Ser Harwin softly said, and you watched as Rhaenyra smiled, confirming. As Laenor was coddling the babe, whispering sweet things. You heard him clearly, “You will make a fine knight,” he had said. The thought of the three boys becoming knights once they were more older was a fine one for sure.

“Do not worry, sister. You will soon have a girl, I’m sure of it.” Rhaenyra laughed at your comment, giving your hand a quick squeeze. She had always wanted a daughter and you knew this.

“Might I?” Ser Harwin asked, kindly.

With silence disappearing quickly, Rhaenyra uttered, ”Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey.”

The Velaryon didn’t argue. He simply gave the babe to Ser Harwin before he started to rock the babe gently. “Joffrey, is it?” he asked, Laenor nodded. The name left you a little baffled, it was an unusual name for a Velaryon nor Targaryen but you did not want to voice your opinion.

Rhaenyra cleared her throat and laid her eyes on Lysanna, “Lady Lysanna, I apologize on behalf of the rejection to your wish on riding back home to the North,” from what you heard, your lady-in-waiting had asked to attend back home once again to celebrate with her brother who become the next Warden of the North, “I am sure the Queen has her reasons but I will make sure to speak of it with council on the morrow.”

Lysanna gave your sister a faint smile and nodded her head. You knew she had just come back from the entombment of her father—Lord Rickon Stark, whom had passed away. She received word from her brother, Cregan, not too long that he wishes to see her again. You had no idea why Alicent would even reject the idea, considering they are distant relatives from her mother’s side.

“The Queen knows what is best for me..she had promised my mother that she would look after me during my time here in King’s Landing.”

Even if Lysanna says those words with a grin on her face, you can tell she was still upset. She had missed her family dearly and wishes to be back home permanently but you knew there was a slim chance that Alicent would allow that to happen.

“I assure you, you will ride back to Winterfell. I will talk to the King..his word is above the Queen’s.” You reassured the young lady, Lysanna was truly in debt to you and your sister.

“Father, may I hold Joffrey?”

Suddenly, you spot Luke clinging to the baby, trying to hold him before getting yanked away by Jace and his father. “No, no, no.” Laenor fiercely exclaimed, dragging them both out, “Off to the dragon pit, you two.”

“But I want to hold Joffrey!” Luke whined.

You let out a loud laugh and ushered Lysanna to follow them, “Please escort the princes to the dragon pit. I shall meet you three there, I must talk to my sister on an important matter.”

Lysanna quickly glanced over to Rhaenyra then back to you before nodded and left with the kids as Laenor closes the door behind him.

Once they left, you could only sigh in relief. You had longed to talk to Rhaenyra and she quickly noticed your sudden change in attitude after she had excused the Commander of City’s Watch, holding young Joffrey when he gave him to her before leaving, “What has been troubling you, young sister?”

You fiddled with your thumbs in response, not knowing how to speak about the topic of marriage, labors, and children.

“Father brought it up again.”

With that, Rhaenyra immediately knew. Of course she knew, she was the one who quickly stood to your defense when the Queen had first proposed the idea. She let it be known that she was your voice in court and always stated that you will wed under your own terms. Afterall, your ten-and-fifth nameday was coming up soon and you were at the age of being wedded off, Alicent made sure you had known that.

Rhaenyra snaked her unoccupied hand to hold yours, she wanted to comfort you. Truly, she loves you so much. You were the only thing she now has of the memory of your mother and it was quite known that Rhaenyra was protective of you.

“Listen to me, sister,” Rhaenyra whispered, softly, “you will have the choice to yourself, I will make sure of it. You can put off the decision for as long as you want, I was ten-and-seventh when I was betrothed.”

Her reassurance only helped little. You know she will do her best to keep you safe, she always showed this. But the Queen will always do everything in her power to have it her way. Ever since you were just a babe, she was so persistent to take care of you like you were one of her own children—even referred you as her “eldest daughter” way too many times in court and it had always left Rhaenyra with a sour feeling.

“A wise woman had once told me,” Rhaenyra lets out a sharp sigh before continuing, “that we both have royal wombs and you will lie in that bed soon enough, sweet sister. This discomfort is how we serve the realm and with that, I had now understood what she had said. But of course..merely hours later, that wise woman had died in childbed.”

You could only take a deep breath and breathe out slowly, you did not want to cry but your own body was betraying you.

“Was it mother who spoke those words?”

Rhaenyra only gave you a fainted smile before nodding, “She would’ve been so proud on what you had become, dear sister.” Those words completely broke you and you could no longer hide the warm tears streaming down your cheeks.

Truly, you missed your mother and years after years you had blamed yourself for the death of your twin brother and mother. As though you were named to be the Realm’s Beauty and Undying—you knew deep down the Realm had longed for your deceased brother, not you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Oh my gosh, it took me about a month to write this lol! I am honestly going by hotd’s plot and a few of my ideas for the story. I do not want to fully go by fire and blood because I want this story to be less angst hehe. My first time writing, so sorry if it sucks! I apologize 😭

[magiccath]

Hold Me Tight (Or Don't)

The Doctor x Reader (written with 10 in mind, but works for any Doctor if you squint)

Summary: In which you just need a little physical affection from your favorite Time Lord

A/N: yeah the title is a Fall Out Boy song, what about it?

By most standards, the Doctor was a fairly touchy individual. It wasn’t something he did consciously, or even a habit he was generally aware of. He wasn’t ever overwhelming about it; touches from the Doctor usually came in the most casual of manners. His hand tangling in yours, dragging you along as he sprinted away from (or more often, towards) danger. Or he’d gather you up in his arms, lifting your feet off the ground with pure enthusiasm as he murmured how incredibly brilliant you had been. 

As time went on, the touches became more frequent - his hand found its way into yours and his arms found their way around your middle more often. You’d never thought of yourself as particularly ‘touched starved’ before the Doctor, but you found that quickly changing. 

You started to crave his gentle touches in a way you never had before. It was like a bug bite - a tantalizing feeling deep inside of you that you longed to itch. Technically, you could, you were completely able to, but the outcome tended not to be advisable. While you knew you had an affliction for the alien’s touch, you didn’t have the faintest clue where he stood on the matter. If he knew just how much his minor affections meant to you, he might stop them altogether. You found that sometimes, it was better to have a little bit of something than not to have it at all. 

Subconsciously, you started to seek out his touch in the smallest of ways; a brush of your pinky against the back of his hand, a gentle tug on his coat sleeve, an adjustment of his constantly wayward tie. Sometimes, your hand almost clung to his, only reluctantly pulling away when his fingers untangled themselves from yours. You clung to his frame tighter, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in the crook of his neck when he hugged you, clinging to him like a lifeline. 

If he noticed, the Doctor chose not to comment on your affliction for his physical touch. Honestly, it made sense that the Doctor didn’t notice. He didn't notice a lot of things, especially for someone who claimed to notice all things. Sure, he knew the important stuff, but he wasn’t always the best with subtle emotions or social cues. Sometimes his obliviousness was borderline painful (and at the worst of times, dangerous), but other times it saved you from embarrassment. 

Regardless of the reasoning, you were glad that the Doctor remained oblivious to your longing touches. You didn’t know how he would react to it all. Even more, you didn’t know how to approach the subject at all. “Will you let me just hold onto you for 3-5 business days? For some reason, I feel the need to be constantly touching you. Please and thank you.” 

So, you stayed silent. You found yourself laying awake in bed at night, longing for the secure feeling of his hand in yours. You watched him work on the TARDIS console, constantly fighting the urge to walk over and hug his slender middle as tightly as you could manage. He handed you things and the momentary brush of his fingers made you want to cry with complete and utter need. 

The thought of him wormed its way inside of your brain, nestling deep inside until it was borderline impossible to ignore. Your heart ached for him - for the gentle and loving way that he held your hand, for the caring brushes of his fingers against your cheeks, for the feel of his arms snaking around you, pulling you closer and closer to his body. You ached for him. 

Some days were worse than others - when you had a bad day the aching need burned inside of you, threatening to boil over. On those days, you sought comfort in any way you could, oftentimes hiding away in your bed, clinging to your pillow like a small child. In contrast, the good days were easy. Those days that you spent running around the cosmos with the Doctor, your hands firmly intertwined. At the end of those days, you fell asleep with a smile on your face, the phantom feeling of his hand in yours etched into your memory. 

-

The Doctor knew that you considered him oblivious. Most times, he wouldn’t even bother to argue with you. It wasn’t that he was oblivious per se, but rather that he was selective in his attention. He cared very little for pears or people who talked tantalizingly slow, but he was rapt when it came to puzzles and you. 

You were his favorite companion, of course he paid attention to you. He knew that you bounced your leg when you were anxious, he knew exactly how you took your tea, your favorite kind of biscuit, and the name of your first pet. Most notably, he was starting to notice a shift in your behavior when it came to him. 

Whenever he touched you, you seemed to tense against him before relaxing and practically melting into his touch. Your fingers would twitch when he held your hand, or your arms shook when he hugged you. The first few times it happened he attributed it to other things - nerves, too much caffeine, hunger, etc. As it continued to happen, the Doctor started to worry. 

Maybe you were touch adverse and he was just now realizing. He mentally kicked himself for being so stupid and oblivious. He wasn’t oblivious when it came to you, he wasn’t supposed to be. You were one of the few things in the universe that could hold his attention for ridiculously extended periods of time. 

As he worked on the TARDIS machinery he felt your eyes on him, the weight of your gaze boring down on him. A sudden dread filled him, the fear of you being cross with him enough to send him crawling into a deep, dark cave. With a frustrated groan, he tossed the tool he had been using to the side. He brushed his hands against his trousers and stood up, crawling out of the hole in the grating he had been down in. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asked curtly, deciding it was best to not beat around the bush. 

Your eyes widened quickly in response, shocked by the sudden question as well as the content of the question. “No?”

“You’d tell me if you were, right? We’re best mates you’re supposed to tell me when you’re cross.” 

“I’m not cross,” you retort, your brow furrowed. You wondered where the Doctor got such an idea. He was known to misread social cues, but he had gotten pretty good at reading yours. “You’d know if I was cross,” you added.

“If you don’t like physical touch you could have just told me,” he grumbled quietly, his tone reminiscent of a sulking toddler. He was hurt and almost offended that you hadn’t just told him. You could tell him anything, surely you knew that?

“Who told you that?” Your frown deepened. The Doctor was very good at being wrong, a lot better than he would ever admit to. Still, this was a new kind of off-base, even for him. 

The Doctor tilted his head to the side slightly, “You’ve been acting weird about it lately.” 

“No, I haven’t,” you say, almost too quickly. 

“You-” he struggled to find the exact word, his big Time Lord brain whirling away. “You twitch when I touch you,” he tried, but it still didn’t seem to express his thought process. “It’s more than that, it’s like you tense for a split second when I touch you.”

“Do I?” 

The Doctor nodded, “It’s like my touch burns you, but you’re too nice to tell me.” 

“I’m not too nice to not tell you anything. I will proudly tell you that your hair makes you look like a cockatoo on drugs.”

The Doctor practically pouted, his hand subconsciously flying into his unruly hair, “It does not- That- that’s not the point,” he frowns. 

“I’m not mad about the touch, Doctor. I’d have no problem telling you if I was.” At least that was true. The whole situation would be a great deal easier if you were severely averse to his touch. He wouldn’t think twice if you told him you didn’t like to be touched, so why did it feel like such a big deal the other way around? 

“But you’re mad?” 

“I’m not mad,” you sigh. Now it was your turn to grapple for words. Why did it have to be so hard to explain emotions? 

“It’s not that I don’t like your touch. Really quite the opposite,” you started rambling, looking more at the floor than the Doctor himself. “It’s not that I want you to touch me less, it’s that I want you to touch me more.” 

He raised an eyebrow, slightly stunned by the confession. 

“Not like that!” you say quickly, realizing how it sounded. It wasn’t like that, not at all. 

“I wasn’t even thinking about it like that,” he frowned, finding your comment defensive. 

“I just mean-” you groan, hiding your face in your hands, “I find myself wanting more hugs, more hand-holding, stuff like that.” 

“Why didn’t you just ask?” 

“It seemed weird,” you murmur, still not looking up from your hiding spot. 

“It’s perfectly normal to crave affection,” the Doctor shrugged, clinical as ever. No matter what you said, he always found a way to make it sound ‘perfectly normal’. Somewhere, someplace, sometime, it most likely was.

“It’s not something that I experienced before,” you admit, finally looking up from your hands. You still don’t meet his eyes, your gaze finding it more comfortable to look at your trainers. “I didn’t need it like I do now, it didn’t eat at me.” 

“You should have told me sooner,” he sighed, his voice closer to you now. Your eyes flitted upwards, meeting his. “I don’t like seeing you in pain, you know?” he said, resting his hands on your arms. His thumbs rubbed soft circles against your skin, the gesture so painfully caring it made you want to cry. 

“I didn’t know how,” you admit, finally looking into his eyes. They were always so soft like his default setting was puppy dog. It was hard not to get lost in those endless pools of chocolate brown. 

The Doctor pulled you into his arms, holding you close to his chest. You could hear the steady sound of his hearts beating, the twin organs just barely out of sync with each other. The four-beat rhythm reverberated through your head, the sound oddly calming and familiar to you. 

You gave up on acting strong, pretending that this wasn’t exactly what you needed. Instead, you just melted into his touch, wrapping your arms around his waist in return. Your fingers tangled in the fabric of his suit jacket, clutching onto the garment like your life depended on it. 

The familiar smell of the Doctor flooded your senses. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what the smell was, but it was trademark Doctor to you. Not quite a sandalwood musk, maybe an alien version of it? A strange mix of cinnamon, cloves, and vanilla - a combination that strangely did not coincide to create the smell of a Snickerdoodle. Sometimes he smelled like fresh linen after he did his laundry or switched out his suit. It didn’t matter what the exact scent notes were, you could recognize his smell anywhere. 

You held on a little tighter to his suit, pressing your face further into his chest. The Doctor grunted slightly in surprise as you squeezed him, making you ease up a little bit on your grip. His hands run up and down your spine, rubbing soft and gentle circles. 

It was a bit of an awkward position, the two of you in a tangled embrace on the floor. Your back was starting to hurt, but you didn’t dare move. What if this was your only chance to hold onto him like this?

“Do you wanna get off the floor?” the Doctor murmured, his hand still rubbing up and down your back in a comforting rhythm. 

“Yeah,” you whisper back but remain entirely stationary on the floor. You felt glued to him, unable to move even if you wanted to. 

“You’re gonna have to let go of me for that,” he chuckled, also making no moves to let go of you. When you also showed no signs of moving, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He started to let go of you, moving to get up from the floor. In protest, your arms tightened around him. 

“If you want to move off of the hard metal floor, you’re going to have to let go of me,” he whispered, stroking the back of your head reassuringly. “I promise we can go back to this, I’d just prefer somewhere more comfortable.” 

Reluctantly, you complied, untangling your arms from around his middle. The Doctor got up first, extending a hand down to help you up from the floor as well. Even after he pulled you upright, he didn’t let go of your hand, a small gesture that you were immensely grateful for. 

Silently, he led you down the hall and into the library. The room was a vast rotunda with seemingly endless shelves of books spanning multiple floors upwards. Gentle light came from vintage lamps and cream-colored candles that never seemed to burn out. Several worn-out pieces of furniture were littered around the room, many of which you had fallen asleep in at one time or another. 

The Doctor selected the largest seat in the room, a plush L-shaped couch with a garish but faded floral pattern. Unceremoniously he flopped into the corner, opening your arms in invitation for you to join him. 

Without hesitation, you practically fell into his arms. You curled up against him, resting your head back against his chest. In turn, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you against his frame. 

“This better?” he asked, brushing your hair away from your face, his fingers tickling your cheek. You nodded in response, nuzzling yourself further into him. Your face found its way into the crook of his neck, your nose slotting perfectly against the curvature of his shoulder. The Doctor sighed in contentment and rested his cheek on top of your head. 

You felt like nothing more than a puddle in his arms, finally able to melt against him like you had wanted for so many months. Now that you were snuggled against him, you weren’t sure you would ever be able to let go. 

As if reading your thoughts, he broke the silence, “We can stay here for as long as you need.” 

“Thank you,” you exhaled quietly, your heart fluttering at his compassion. 

The two of you stayed like that for the rest of the day, snuggled up in the TARDIS library together. The Doctor made a conscious effort to make this a regular thing, especially on days when you weren’t feeling your best. All you had to do was say the word and he would drop everything to comfort you. After all, you were his favorite companion. 

[stevie-petey]

episode two: the weirdo on maple street

Trying to ease the awkwardness, you hold up a poster and offer it to them, but Steve snatches it from your grasp. “Henderson, didn’t know you were also a little know-it-all. Why don’t you share your review sheet with the rest of us?” He says, casting a teasing look your way. It isn’t until he inspects the piece of paper that he finally notices that it’s a missing poster for a child, not a review sheet. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.” You snatch the poster back from him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

summary: you use your limited psych knowledge to help a bald girl, you force jonathan to accept $20 and he's later an ass to you, steve doesn't know what a "missing" poster looks like, and it's really hard being a single mother to now four kids.

rating: general, but there's cursing as usual and steve being... well, steve - but hes still season 1 steve so give him some time

warnings: cursing, fem!reader, use of y/n, and there's more angst in this chapter with some fighting between reader and jonathan, so fair warning.

words: 10.1k (the longest thing ive ever written)

before you swing in: i'm almost done with chapter 4, so here's a sweet treat as i cram for exams lmao. some housekeeping: should i do a tag list ? i got a few questions about it, so pls let me know soldiers. also, i feel the need to clarify that i adore nancy but for plot reasons - reader and her don't really get along (but they def will later, trust me). season 1 nancy and steve are just so silly. anyways, i hope y'all enjoy this loooong chapter. the rest definitely aren't as lengthy due to plot, but wow. i amazed myself. carry on !

-

Your jeans drip onto the Wheeler’s carpet, and you’ve definitely left a wet imprint on the couch cushion beneath you. The other boys are dripping as well, but all their attention is on the girl in front of them. 

After finding her in the woods, your motherly instincts kicked in, immediately removing your coat to place on her and gently ushering her to your bike and demanding that the boys go back to Mike’s. Your mom is home, so your house was out of the question, and it’s always been easy sneaking into the Wheeler’s, anyways. 

Once you all had made it back, you guided the girl onto the couch and sat next to her. You refuse to let her go too far from you, having no idea where she came from or why, but regardless you know she’s too young for any of it to have been good. 

Which leads you to now: wearily watching the boys stare at the girl as if she’s some science experiment, asking her a million questions a second.

Bless them and their little prepubescent minds. 

Lucas reaches out to touch her, and before you can nudge him away, Mike slaps at his hand. “Stop it! You’re freaking her out!”

“She’s freaking me out!” Lucas retaliates, which honestly? That’s fair. The girl hasn’t said anything yet, even after your multiple attempts to get her to do so. No matter how much you try, you can’t coax a response out of her. 

“I bet she’s deaf.” Your brother offers, suddenly clapping his hands to scare her, making both you and her flinch. “Not deaf…”

You roll your eyes at him. “Guys, she’s probably just really scared right now. We should give her some space,” you look at both Lucas and Dustin, “and time,” now you look at Mike. The three boys deflate a bit. 

“She’s probably cold,” Mike says after a moment of silence, and you nod at his suggestion. Seeing your agreement, he walks over to a basket of clothes and takes out some pajamas.

While Mike is away, thunder rumbles and the girl jumps, unconsciously getting closer to you. You wrap an arm around her reassuringly, making note that she doesn’t like loud noises. If anything, she’s showing more and more signs of trauma response, which makes you uneasy. You remember Hopper saying something about Will being in danger. What are the odds that this little girl was running from something as well?

“Here, these are clean.” Mike’s return breaks you from your thoughts, and you take the clothes from him and stand up. You thank him, then offer your hand to the girl. She looks at you uncertainly. 

“It’s okay,” you reassure her. “Let’s go get you dressed in some warm clothes. I’m right here, sweetheart.” 

“She’s super nice.” Dustin says, trying to help.

Lucas adds, “Yeah, you can trust her.” 

“She’s alright.” Is all Mike offers.

You give them all an appreciative smile, even if Mike is being a bit of an ass, and then you feel a small, cold hand wrap around yours. The girl stands up, looking around shyly, and you lead her to the bathroom. When you go to close the door, she stops you.

Mike has followed, seeing the interaction. “You don’t want it closed?”

Her voice is quiet, solemn. “No,”

You and Mike look at each other, and he voices what you’re thinking. “So you can speak.”

He looks excited about this new information, and you shove his head out of the doorway. She needs to get dressed. “We’ll leave the door cracked, okay?”

She nods at you, and you stand guard outside the door. It’s not that you don’t trust the boys, but Mike has only known her for ten minutes and he’s already been nicer to her than you’ve ever seen him with anyone else. The only other person he’s this soft spoken to is Will, so you’re protective of her. 

You can hear the boys discussing tonight’s events from the living area while the girl gets dressed. They sound scared, and a part of you can’t blame them. While you’re fairly certain that the girl isn’t dangerous, it’s still a creepy situation. Once again, Hopper’s new theory surrounding Will floats through your mind. This all can’t be some coincidence. 

Sighing, you approach the boys and catch a bit of the conversation. 

“Our houses become Alcatraz.” You hear Lucas saying, and you figure they’ve finally pieced together that there’s no way any of you can tell anyone about the girl. None of you were supposed to be out tonight. As much as you know you should tell an adult, you also need to be able to help Jonathan with finding Will. If your mom locks the house down, you’re doomed. 

“Lucas is right,” the boys turn to you. “We can’t go to anyone about this just yet, but I also don’t think it’s a good idea to hide her. She’s been through something terrible, it’s obvious. Tonight, I say she gets some rest. We can figure out what to do later.” 

Mike nods, for once agreeing wholeheartedly with you. “She’ll sleep here tonight-”

Dustin’s eyes widen in horror, “You’re letting a girl-”

You clamp your hand over his mouth, motioning for Mike to continue.

“Thanks, Y/N. In the morning, she sneaks around my house, goes to the front door and rings my doorbell. My mom will answer and know exactly what to do. She’ll send her back to Pennhurst,”

They think she’s from Pennhurst? You think, but don’t verbalize it.

“Or wherever she comes from. We’ll be totally in the clear! And tomorrow night, we go back out, and this time we find Will.”

You gotta hand it to Mike Wheeler, he may be a pain in the ass, but he’s a smart pain in the ass. The plan is pretty sound, so long as he follows through with it. However, it’s him following through with it that leaves you a bit unsure. 

He looks at you for approval, and you hesitantly nod. “It’s a pretty good plan, Wheeler. So long as you stick to it.” 

Lucas and Dustin nod along with you, there’s an unspoken sense of doubt that Mike will actually be able to turn the girl over to his mom. Then she walks out, dressed now in some of Nancy’s old clothes. She draws into herself when you all turn to her, shy. You walk over and offer your hand again, which she accepts. 

“Mike, go find her something to sleep on. Dustin, we gotta go soon before mom notices we’re gone.”

Both boys comply, with Mike searching for a sleeping bag and Dustin packing up his stuff. You crouch down next to the girl, so that you’re face to face, and give her a warm smile. “It was lovely meeting you. My name is Y/N, I hope Mike over there doesn’t give you a hard time tonight.” 

Mike flips you off, having heard you. “If he’s annoying,” you lean in close to her now, whispering in her ear. “You have my permission to pinch him.”

The girl giggles, finally relaxing a bit, and you warm with pride. She’ll be okay, she seems like a very resilient girl and you’ll oddly miss her. 

The two other boys are waiting for you upstairs. You all wish Mrs. Wheeler a good night and head out. Thankfully the rain has now stopped, so the bike ride home isn’t bad. You stop at Lucas’ turn to make sure he gets home safely before finally arriving at your place. As Dustin begins pedaling into your driveway, you don’t follow. 

“I’m going to go see Jonathan, he didn’t answer my calls earlier and I just…”

Dustin waves at you, not even bothering to turn around. “Yeah yeah, go see your boyfriend. If mom asks, you’re asleep.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend-”

“Are you seriously going to argue with me after I offered to cover for you?”

Your brother gives you a pointed look, and you know he’s right. “Touche.” 

Dustin goes to leave, but you quickly grab at his jacket. “Before I forget, swear to me that you’ll keep me updated if anything weird happens, okay?”

He nods at you, knowing better than to argue, and gives you a mock salute as he heads inside. 

The living room light is on when you arrive at the Byers home, despite the late hour, but you aren’t surprised. You knock on the door and wait. When no one comes, you knock again, a bit louder this time. After another few moments, the door swings open. 

Jonathan has a finger over his lips in a shushing manner, motioning to Joyce who is passed out on the couch. You nod, letting him know you understand. The two of you go to his room and when he closes the door, you finally get a good look at him. He looks worse than he did earlier, the bags under his eyes have somehow gotten darker. His hair is a mess, his eyes bloodshot. 

“You’re soaked.” Jonathan says. 

“Yeah,” he doesn’t want to talk about it yet, so you play along. “Got caught in the rain. Are some of my spare clothes still in your bottom drawer?”

He nods at you, going over and grabbing a t-shirt and pajama pants for you. You accept them gratefully and excuse yourself to the bathroom to change. Your bones are cold, the rain seemingly having penetrated the layers of your skin. In the mirror you see that your own eyes are bloodshot; you don’t look much better than Jonathan, really.

When you return Jonathan is sitting on his bed, so you join him. It’s silent between you, all you can hear is his breathing. You stare straight ahead, so does he, and you wait. You’ve only seen Jonathan like this a handful of times, where the stress and anxiety becomes too much for him. He shuts down, draws into himself, and all you can do is wait for him to return to you; he always does. 

“Mom got a call tonight.” Jonathan’s voice is hoarse, and he looks frail. You wonder if he ever did end up making the spaghetti you prepared for him.

“Who was it?”

He swallows heavily, taking a moment to respond. “She said it was Will.”

“Will?” You look at him now, searching for any signs on his face, his voice lacks emotion. By the way he stares blankly ahead, as if he’s not really present with you right now, you know that it hadn’t been Will on the other end. 

“She started freaking out, going ballistic,” his voice cracks a bit, so you take a chance and reach for his hand. He lets you take it, giving you a squeeze, before continuing. “She was screaming, begging whoever it was to give Will back.” 

Jonathan pauses again. You don’t say anything, because no words will help. He’s never been the type for comforting words, anyways. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “It wasn’t him. Lightning struck and our phone got charred. It wasn’t Will.”

Now it’s your turn to squeeze Jonathan’s hand. He doesn’t deserve any of this. None of the Byers do. Out of the entire town, they’re the family who deserves the most that life can give. Will, too good. Jonathan, too selfless. Joyce, too loving. They’re the best damn people you know. 

“I tried calming her down, but she was hysterical. She’s only asleep right now because she worked herself up too much and passed out. I’m worried she-'' Jonathan shakes his head, as if ashamed by his own words. “I’m worried she’s going crazy, Y/N.”

He’s quiet again, but you can tell he’s about to break. His knee is now bouncing up and down and his breathing has become slightly ragged. Everything from today has been building up, it was only a matter of time before he snapped. You’re also worried about Joyce, a part of you skeptical to believe her, but the little girl you found tonight in the rain? Something was definitely weird about Will’s disappearance, but you’re hesitant to tell Jonathan just yet. For all you know, she could’ve simply been a girl who got lost and will be returned to her family tomorrow. 

You don’t want to worry Jonathan any more than you need to.

“I should’ve been there for him. I shouldn’t have taken that shift.” He gasps out, and like a dam the tears begin to fall. You’re quick to pull him into a hug and he crumbles into you. His body shakes with violent sobs and he clutches at you as if afraid you’ll leave.

“You can’t blame yourself.” You whisper, stroking a hand through his hair. He cries even harder, the force of it almost enough to knock you over, so you situate yourself so that you’re fully on the bed, laying against his pillows, with Jonathan crying into your chest beside you. 

“He’s g-gone.”

“We’ll find him, I promise.” Your own tears threaten to come out, but you force them down. You have to be here for him, he needs you. The only other time Jonathan has so openly cried was when Lonnie left years ago. He’s been holding everything in since then, all those years of looking after his family, taking care of his brother, getting harassed by assholes like Tommy Hagan. 

Neither of you say anything else, and you know that Jonathan needs to let it all out. You soothe him as best as you can, running a hand through his hair, stroking his back, reassuring him over and over again that none of this is his fault until your own voice becomes hoarse. You don’t know how long you stay like this, but sometime during the night Jonathan finally falls asleep, and you follow shortly after him. 

— 

Sunlight streams through Jonathan’s spare bed sheet that he’s pinned over his window, serving as a makeshift curtain, waking you up. You stretch, careful not to wake the boy beside you, and crawl out of the bed. You’re antsy, already knowing that today will be another long day. After grabbing some clothes from your designated drawer and getting dressed, you head into the kitchen and start making a quick breakfast. Just as you’re finishing up, Jonathan comes out of his room, dressed and ready for the day.

Neither of you say anything about the night prior, instead silently working around each other in the kitchen with years of practiced ease. He hands you the salt shaker right when you need it, you grab the pieces of toast that he popped into the toaster, the two of you never once get in each other’s way. You get deja vu, remembering all the times you’ve slept over with Dustin, you and Jonathan making the boys breakfast while they slept in. 

The only indication that last night really happened is a forehead kiss from Jonathan, his lips soft against your head. Out of the two of you, you’re definitely the touchy one, so it’s always a nice surprise when he initiates the touch, and his forehead kisses were a welcome rarity. 

When the plates have been made, Joyce gets up from the couch and stumbles over to the table. You quickly help her sit down, and for the first time since Will’s disappearance you’re able to really look at her. She looks like Jonathan, only worse. The bags under her eyes are darker, her hair is more matted, and you believe she’s still wearing the same shirt you saw her in the night that Will went missing. 

“All right, mom. Breakfast is ready.” Jonathan tries to place her plate on the table, but Joyce stops him, worried about the poster of Will. 

Jonathan gives you a look and you run over to the table, grabbing the poster so that he can set the plate down. 

Joyce gives you a tired smile, “Thank you, Y/N, but I can’t eat.”

“I just need you to eat, mom.” 

“Jonathan’s right, Mrs. Byers. You need to eat, we gotta keep your strength up.” You feel like you’re talking to a child, but in a way, you suppose you are. 

The woman lights a cigarette instead, and faintly you wonder how many she’s had within the last 48 hours; you’ll need to wash your clothes when you get home. She begins to ask Jonathan to go to Xerox to make as many copies of Will’s poster as possible. You sit down in front of her, silently eating, knowing there’s no place for you in this conversation. 

It’s not that the Byers are ashamed that they have little money, but you know it’s rude to listen in. They make do with what they have, and Jonathan has never felt embarrassed with you knowing it. 

“I don’t want you to go alone,” Joyce says, causing you to speak up. 

“I’ll go with him and help hang them up, it’s no problem.” 

Jonathan turns to you. “You have that chem test, remember? I’m not letting you miss that.” 

“Shit…” you bury your face into your hands. You completely forgot about that after finding the little girl last night and dealing with Jonathan. You’ve heard about how impossible the chem exams were, and science has never been your best subject. That was Dustin’s thing, your thing was more humanities. 

“You’re the smartest person I know, you’ll ace the exam,” Jonathan reassures you before turning to his mom. “And I’ll handle the posters, it’s okay.” 

Joyce has been lost in thought during your conversation with her son, only beginning to speak again when she’s asked how many copies will be efficient. Once she starts speaking again, it’s almost like she’s physically unable to stop. She begins to ramble, finally exposing the crumbling woman that you’ve only heard about, now understanding Jonathan’s fears for her. 

“Mom-”

“If we… ten cents-”

“Mom!” Jonathan raises his voice a bit, now grabbing at his mother’s hand. “You can’t get like this, okay?”

The look on Joyce’s face kills you. She looks so lost, ashamed of her behavior, and you cast your head down; this is a private matter. Joyce profusely apologizes to him and all Jonathan can do is gently reassure her that it’s okay. All of this is okay. 

Their tender moment is interrupted by knocking on the front door, revealing Hopper on the other side. His presence makes you uneasy, so you stay in the kitchen and begin to clean up with Jonathan while Joyce attacks him with questions. 

“A little bit of trust here, alright? We’ve been searching all night.” You hear the cop say. Your hand clenches the sponge, rubbing a bit harder at the plate you’re cleaning. If they’ve been searching all night, why are they here now?

“Went all the way to Cartersville.” Ever since Will disappeared, you’ve been building a wall of hope within you that he’ll be found safe and sound. However, with every passing day, with every new situation that occurs, you can feel a piece of the wall collapse. You can feel it now; the search party went all the way to Cartersville.

“And?” Joyce asks. 

“Nothing.” The cry that Joyce lets out causes you to drop the plate you’ve been cleaning, shattering on the floor. You curse, immediately bending down to pick up the pieces. Luckily it didn’t shatter into a million bits, but you still feel horrible for breaking one of their dishes. 

Jonathan bends down as well to help, and the commotion catches Hopper’s attention. He sees you scrambling to clean up the mess and sighs with annoyance. “Does she live here or something?” 

You and Jonathan look at each other, a slight smile on your faces, and only respond to Hopper with a synchronized shrug. You basically do live at the Byers’ at this point, you have been for years now. It was the same for Jonathan: if you weren’t at his house, he was at yours. 

Joyce wipes some of her tears away. “Y/N is family, she’s here to help.” 

Hopper ignores this, instead bringing up the phone call from the night before. Joyce leads him over to the phone, and you join them once you’ve collected the remaining pieces of broken glass. When you see the phone, you can’t help but gasp. Jonathan’s words from last night are accurate, the phone is charred. 

“Storm barbecued this pretty good.” Hopper says.

Joyce waves her arms out, disbelieving. “The storm? You’re saying that that’s not… weird?”

“No, it’s weird.” Hopper begins, but you cut him off. 

“It’s really weird.”

He glares at you. You mumble a quick sorry and back away a bit while Jonathan asks if the call can be traced. Hopper focuses back on the situation at hand, informing him that it isn’t possible and then questions if Joyce even heard Will in the first place. The question makes you cringe, knowing it’ll only make Joyce more agitated and hurt.

“Flo said you just heard some breathing.” 

It’s the way he phrases the question, the way he emphasizes the word “just”, that bothers you. This woman has just lost her kid, what kind of mother wouldn’t know her own child’s breathing?

“Even if it was ‘just’ some breathing, I’d know it was my brother. Will is her son, she’d know better than anyone.” You find yourself saying. The words weren’t meant to leave your mouth, but the appreciative look Joyce casts your way outweighs the fear from Hopper’s glare. 

“It was him. It was Will, and he was scared. Then something-”

“It was probably just a prank call,” Hopper tries to reason with her, causing you to roll your eyes at him. You respect the guy, you do, but could he at least attempt to listen to Joyce?

You excuse yourself before you say anything else, heading back into the kitchen to collect the two posters you and Jonathan made. While the others talk, you grab his things and pack his bag for him. You know he’ll probably skip school today to get the copies done in time, maybe keep an eye on his mom, so you make a mental note to inform him later that you’ll help with putting the fliers up the second you’re done with the exam. He needs someone there for him. 

When you’ve grabbed the last of Jonathan’s things, Lonnie’s name is mentioned. You freeze, standing right outside the hall from them, only a wall between you. If Lonnie is somehow involved in this, you’ll kill him yourself. He was always cruel to Will, even when you were around to witness it. You hate him more than anything in this damn world. 

“It’s been long enough, I’m having him checked out.” Hopper declares, storming out of the house. 

You count to three in your head, and the second you get to three, Jonathan is following after Hopper. You knew he would, hating his father the most out of everyone who has had the displeasure of meeting him. You follow behind him, heading outside to talk to the Chief. 

“Hey, Hopper. Let me go.” 

Hopper takes a drag from his cigarette, facing the two of you. “I’m sorry?”

“To Lonnie’s,” Jonathan says, looking at you for backup.

You do your best to try. “If Will’s there, that means he probably ran away. Cops will scare the poor boy, he’ll think he’s in trouble.”

“And he’ll hide. He’s good at hiding.” Jonathan finishes for you. 

Hopper stares at you both, inhaling more smoke from his cigarette and blowing it in your direction with a curious look in his eyes. “You two are sickening to be near, you know that?”

You and Jonathan share an annoyed look. A kid is missing, and you still have to clarify that you aren’t together? “It’s not like that,” Jonathan says.

“Sure, you know cops are good at detecting lies,” Hopper approaches him now, grabbing his shoulders. For a brief second you’re afraid he’ll hurt him. “And we’re also good at finding, okay? Stay here with your mom. She needs you.” 

Hopper punches at Jonathan’s shoulder before facing you. “And you,” you brace for whatever he’s about to say, knowing you probably aren’t his favorite person at the moment. He points at Jonathan, “He needs you.”

His words hang in the air several minutes after he’s gone. You glance at Jonathan, but he doesn’t meet your eye and instead he goes back inside. You sigh, following after him because it’s what you do. Hopper’s right, he needs you. 

Jonathan’s in the living room, speaking softly to his mom when you enter. You don’t disturb them but rather snatch Jonathan’s keys from the counter and wait for him by the door. Like Joyce said, Xerox opens in about thirty minutes and you have a chem exam to take. If you leave now, you’ll be able to make the copies with him and be back in time before school.

The ride to Xerox is tense, you know Jonathan is upset that he’s been sidelined by Hopper. You also know that he’s torn between wanting to help his mom and staying out of his house as much as possible. If it weren’t for your god damn chem test you’d offer to skip and hide out at your place, but you can’t. Jonathan wouldn’t let you risk your future for him (even though you would, in a heartbeat, a million times over). 

The man at Xerox gives Jonathan a look of pity, clearly recognizing Will’s picture on the poster. It’s your favorite photo of him, smiling with all his teeth and happy as can be. From what you’ve heard, the whole town has been conducting search parties for him. Jonathan ignores the look and asks for the 200 copies to be made. 

It’s just you and him in the store as you wait for the prints to be done. The guy said it’d be about a ten minute wait so you wander around the store. Jonathan clearly is in a no talking mood, so you occupy yourself with whatever you find. You wish you’d brought your backpack to Jonathan’s last night so you could at least study a bit while waiting, but you didn’t. It’d be a miracle if you pass this exam. 

Jonathan wanders around as well, so you give a quick look around and find the employee. He’s standing over the printer when you approach. “I’d like to pay for the copies, please.”

“You can pay after they’re done-”

“No, I can’t let him see,” you point over to Jonathan, who is now looking at some stationary. “Please, just let me pay now so he can yell at me later.” 

The guy gives you a shrug, clearly not getting paid enough to care. “Okay, it’ll be $20. Just leave the money on the counter over there, the prints should be done soon.” 

You nod and do as you’re told, leaving the $20 bill on the counter while Jonathan isn’t looking. He can kill you later, right now you want to make up for not being able to help with hanging them up. There’s literally hundreds to get through, he can’t do that all alone. 

When the posters are done and Jonathan collects them, you wish the worker a good day and then wrap your arms around him and use all your strength to drag your friend into the car. He doesn't fight back at first, too confused by your actions, and you’re almost out the door before he sees the man pocket the money and wave at you. The dots connect in his head and Jonathan begins to fight against you. 

“Y/N, let me pay-”

“Nope. Not happening!”

“We both know I’m stronger-”

“Debatable, honestly, seeing as how we’re almost to your car.”

“Let go!” He tugs harshly as his arm, which you’ve got a secure hold on, causing you to stumble a bit. 

You plant your feet more firmly against the ground and use all your weight to pull the boy forward. You’re a few feet away from the car, just one more solid pull should do the trick. “Stop fighting this, Byers. I’ve already paid-”

“Which you shouldn’t have!”

“Keep fighting and drop all the posters, I dare you.”

Jonathan looks down at the posters in his spare hand, realizing that you’re right. If he doesn’t give in soon, they’ll topple over. He lets out an agitated groan, throwing his head back, and then marches over to the car to unlock it and fling himself into the driver’s seat. “Just get in.” 

You do a small victory dance and hop in the car.

“I hate you.” 

“You love me.” 

He hesitates only for a moment. “God, I hate that I do.” 

You smile, buckling your seatbelt. Jonathan pulls out of the parking lot and begins the drive to school. He’s less tense this time, at least. The small little wrestling match between the two of you seemingly did some good, then. 

When you pull up to school, you once again apologize to Jonathan for being unable to help. He waves you off, understanding. 

“It’s okay, I promise. I can’t have you failing out of high school because of me.”

You roll your eyes. “One test won’t make me become a high school dropout, Jonathan.”

He ruffles your hair, which you slap him for. “You can join me after, okay? Good luck, bug.” 

“Fine, but I’m taking some posters with me so I can hang up on my way to my locker.” 

“Deal.”

You run to your locker, flinging it open and letting out a sigh of relief when you spot your chem cards. Honestly, you really should’ve prepared better for your little sleepover at the Byers. You glance at the watch on your wrist, noting that you have roughly fifteen minutes to memorize all the elements in the periodic table as well as some chemistry definitions. 

Just peachy. 

You tie your hair up so you can focus better and grab the note cards. If you review the cards as you walk to class, you can save at least three minutes of studying time. You tuck the few remaining posters of Will under your arm and begin to head to your class, getting absorbed in all the elements and words. As you’re skimming a card about protein being K, you run into Nancy and Barb, who also seem to have the same idea as you.

“Oh, hey Y/N.” Nancy greets you, Barb waving to you as well. 

They’re being nice, so you try to make conversation. “Studying for Kaminsky’s test?”

They nod at you and Nancy sighs, “Yeah, his exams are the worst.”

You laugh a bit, for once on the same page as her. “I know. I spent last night at Jonathan’s, I completely forgot about the test until this morning. I’m screwed.”

Barb raises her eyebrows at you while Nancy suddenly looks sad. “Oh, I’m sorry about Will. I know you and him are close.” 

“Yeah, it must be hard taking care of Jonathan right now.” Barb voices. 

You give them both an awkward smile. “Thanks, I guess? It’s just, there’s still hope, so…” 

The three of you stand there as your voice trails off. It’s painfully awkward. While you’ve known Nancy since you were 12, and at some point you even called her a close friend of yours, the second you entered high school she became distant. You never blamed her for it, people simply grow up and grow apart. Now you only ever interact with her if it concerns the boys. 

Trying to ease the awkwardness, you hold up a poster and offer it to them, but Steve snatches it from your grasp.

“Henderson, didn’t know you were also a little know-it-all. Why don’t you share your cheat sheet with the rest of us?” He says, casting a teasing look your way. It isn’t until he inspects the piece of paper that he finally notices that it’s a missing poster for a child, not a review sheet. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”

You snatch the poster back from him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

His friends laugh, but Steve has a bit of heart to look guilty, so you count that as something. His shame doesn’t last long though and the goofy and sweet boy who made sure you were okay after almost hitting you with his car is gone. 

Steve plays off the situation as if it were nothing. “Let me make it up to you, Henderson. I know you’re probably stressed out of your mind dealing with boyfriend troubles because of Bill-”

“His name is Will,” you grit out, remembering now why you dislike Steve so much. Everything was about impressing his friends, and while you can sympathize with him, it doesn’t give him an excuse to be an asshole. 

“Right, Will. Anyways, I was just about to inform Nance over here that my dad has left town on a conference and my mom’s gone with him, ‘cause, ya know, she doesn’t trust him.” 

“Good call,” Tommy says, and you glare at him. 

Steve carries on. “So, are you guys in?”

“In for what?” Nancy asks. 

“No parents, a big house?” Carol says, as if Nancy is a giant idiot.

You feel bad for her being treated so poorly by her boyfriend’s friends, so you lean in and whisper, “A party, Nancy.” Then you look at Steve. “And no, I’ll pass.” 

Steve pouts. “Can’t leave loverboy alone for a couple hours?”

You scoff, shoving the poster against his chest, using more force than probably necessary, but the satisfying grunt he lets out pleases you. “If I didn’t know you I’d say you sound jealous. Unfortunately, I do know you, and that’s exactly why I’m not interested.”

“Meow,” says Carol as she and Tommy laugh. 

You ignore her and push past the group to get to class. You’ve wasted enough time, you have to study. Steve lets you, hurt by your words, but tries to play it off, instead focusing his attention on Jonathan up ahead hanging up some posters. You both see him at the same time and as you start to approach him, you hear Steve and his group mock him. 

“God, that’s depressing.” Steve says, and you’ve never wanted to hit a man more than you do right now. 

You glance at Nancy, trying to convey your disappointment in her. She’s a nice girl, she shouldn’t be with an idiot like Harrington. Who the hell makes fun of a guy with a missing brother? Nancy doesn’t meet your eye, which pleases you. She should feel guilty. 

As you near Jonathan, Nancy calls after you to wait up. You listen, mostly because you’re surprised she even followed, and together you walk up to him. “Hey, bee. I thought you’d be long gone by now.” 

Jonathan looks up at your voice, surprised when he sees Nancy next to you. He gives you a look that you conclude is a what is she doing here? look and you can only shrug as if to say I have no clue how I ended up in this situation. 

Nancy doesn’t see this exchange. “Hey,”

“Hey,” Jonathan responds, still confused. 

Nancy looks at you uncertainly, but you refuse to leave. Screw your exam, if she even considers voicing her boyfriend’s opinions to Jonathan then you’ll personally see that she fails alongside you. “I just… I wanted to say, you know… I’m sorry, about everything.” 

Oh, she’s being nice. You’re still unimpressed, but Jonathan motions to you to stop staring her down, so you reluctantly listen. 

“Everyone’s thinking about you.”

You all turn towards Steve and his group, who are clearly listening in, and you snort at her words. “Right, obviously.” 

“Y/N.” Jonathan warns. 

“Sorry.” 

“It sucks.” Nancy continues, and you have to give her some credit. You’re being a blatant bitch, but she’s still trying. You feel a bit bad now, which honestly makes you dislike her a bit more. Damn morals. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, he’s a smart kid.” 

The bell rings, ending Nancy’s little monologue. “I have to go, chemistry test. Y/N, want to walk together?” 

She really makes it impossible to be a bitch to her. “Sure, just give me a second.”

You lean close to Jonathan and lower your voice. “Good luck with your dad, bee.” 

“How did you know I’d go-”

“Because of course you would. Now go, give him hell for me, will ya?”

Jonathan nods, relieved you aren’t pushing the topic. You know that Lonnie is a sore topic for him, for the entire Byers family, really. You only knew Lonnie for a year or so before Joyce left him, but you’ll never forget his spiteful words and the bruises that Jonathan tried to hide from you. He needs to do this alone, father and son. 

You see Nancy watching, and just to spite her you kiss Jonathan’s cheek, relishing in the fact that she looks away, and you wish him luck once again before following her to class. 

The test isn’t as bad as you’d feared, and the rest of the day goes by with relative ease. You don’t see much of Steve and his group and you’re thankful for that. Nancy also keeps her distance, no longer attempting to be all buddy buddy with you. A part of you feels bad about that, because honestly the thought of someone thinking you hate them makes you feel physically ill, but as long as Nancy is with someone like Steve, there’s not much you can do about that. 

After school you stop by all of Jonathan’s classes and collect the work he’s missed over the last few days; he has enough to worry about, so you figured you could help do some assignments for him. It’s nothing unusual, truth to be told. There was a time you were out for two weeks straight due to the flu one year and Jonathan did every one of your assignments, so it’s about time you returned the favor. 

Once you have what you need, you hang up the remaining flyers in your bag and begin your journey to work. You’ve used up all of your sick days helping the Byers, and while Mrs. Waters has insisted on letting you have more time off, you figured the distraction would be good for you. Jonathan will want some space after confronting his dad, and as much as you hated Lonnie, something told you he had nothing to do with Will. 

Just when your shift is almost done, your coworker, this young kid named Alex who you’re honestly surprised can legally work, informs you that your mom is on the phone and wants to speak with you. You stack the remaining books in your hands and thank him, walking over to pick up the call.

“Hey, mom. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, sweetie! I was just calling to tell ya that Dusty is at the Wheeler’s tonight for dinner, so my plan for ribs won’t work without him. I was wondering if darling Johnny could feed you tonight? I know the two of you have that little sneaky food game.” 

Your posture, once slumped over and uninterested, now straightens out. Why the hell is Dustin having dinner at the Wheeler’s? They never do that. “Uh, sure mom that won’t be an issue.”

Your mom lets out a sigh of relief. “Bless that Jonathan! I’ve always liked him…”

Your mom may be the biggest Jonathan supporter you’ve ever met. “Yeah, he’s your favorite. I know,” you shift a bit to catch Alex’s attention, mouthing to him that you need to leave work early. “Hey, did Dustin by chance say how long he’ll be at the Wheeler’s? I can swing by and pick him up after my shift.” 

“Oh, I think he’s staying the night there. He mentioned something about Mike not finishing his part of their little science project?”

They’re calling the little girl a science project now? Boys are so typical. “Oh, I see. Well, I gotta get back to work, mom. I’ll be home late tonight.”

Your mom wishes you goodbye and warns you not to be out too late. You hum, already trying to figure out the quickest route to the Wheeler’s house. You can’t say you’re surprised that Mike didn’t follow the plan, but you also can’t say you were prepared for this either. 

Alex comes back with your boss and you quickly make up a lie about not feeling well. Mrs. Waters gives you a pitying look and tells you to go. You’re incredibly grateful for her, she’s like a grandmother to you and has always been so kind. 

You quickly bike to Mike’s house, going over a grand speech in your head for the boys. Logistically speaking, you’re not sure if they can even harbor the little girl in his basement. Would it be kidnapping? Could kids even kidnap other kids? You aren’t sure and you definitely aren’t willing to find out. 

You arrive at the house just as Nancy and Barb are pulling out of the driveway, presumably to Steve’s grand house party. They wave at you awkwardly and you don’t have it in you to wave back. You park your bike next to their doorstep and knock on the door. 

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Mrs. Wheeler asks after opening the door. 

“Oh, I was just wondering if I could hang out with the boys tonight? Jonathan’s busy and I promised Dustin I’d help with their campaign.”

Mrs. Wheeler cocks her head at you. “But I thought there was a special assembly at the school for Will? Nancy and Barb just left for it.” 

You feel your blood boil a bit. There was no assembly for Will at your school, and it was really damn low of Nancy to use his disappearance as a cover story for her stupid party. She’s known Will since he was practically a baby. You have no idea how someone could be so unaffected by a missing child, let alone one who has been at your house every damn weekend for years now. 

“Oh, that!” You force yourself to remain calm; there isn’t time to snitch on Nancy, Mrs. Wheeler would only have more questions for you. “Yeah, I’m, uh, skipping it. Jonathan doesn’t want to go, so after he’s back from his errands I’m heading over to his place to, you know, comfort him?” 

The woman stares at you for a second, trying to determine if there are any lies to your words. You’ve never been the best liar, but being the oldest Henderson child has unfortunately prepared you for being quick on your feet when needed. 

“Well, come on then. They boys just went downstairs, and if you can please remind them to bring the plate of food back up here I’d really appreciate it.”

You thank Mrs. Wheeler and let yourself in. Her words have all but solidified your suspicions: Mike kept the girl. 

When you descend the basement steps, it’s almost comical how the kids scramble to hide the girl like little cockroaches. They run around and Dustin screams something about covering her before the poor girl is being manhandled into a sheet as Mike screams at Lucas and Dustin to calm down. 

“Guys! It’s just me! Jesus!” You shout, shoving past Mike to rush over to the girl and free her from the sheets. She looks more frightened than usual, but at least she’s alive. 

“God, why am I always the one you push?”

You shush Mike, smoothing back the girl’s hair and offering her a reassuring smile. “Remember me, sweetheart?”

The girl nods and softly says, “Y/N.”

“Very good. I’m going to scream at my brother real quick, so why don’t you cover your ears for me so you don’t get too frightened?” 

“Wait, what-”

The minute her ears are covered, you turn to Dustin and begin screaming. “Are you brain dead and not understand the words ‘tell me if anything weird happens’ or do you simply lack the appropriate empathy needed for a concerned sister?”

Dustin ducks his head in shame. “Y/N, look-”

“No! I’m all for helping you guys with your adventures and whatever, but Will went missing and then she appears and Mike,” you turn to him and he hides behind a frightened Lucas. “You said you’d stick to your plan. Now tell me, did you?”

Mike shakes his head, his eyes wide. Dustin looks no better as he cowers behind the others. Lucas simply shrugs, knowing that this would happen. You never, ever, yell at the boys; the few times you have in the past, all hell had broken loose. 

“Y/N-”

“Zip it, Henderson. I’m so pissed off at you right now and if you want to make it to thirteen I suggest you keep quiet.” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, why don’t you guys catch me up on what you’ve so sweetly kept hidden from me.” It’s worded as a question, but the boys know better than to deny you. 

You sit on the ground so that you’re next to the girl and then motion for the three boys in front of you to start speaking. They look at Mike, giving him a nudge, and he hesitantly steps forward to begin speaking. “Her name is El.”

The girl, El, looks up at you and smiles. You return the smile and knock your shoulder against hers in a playful manner. “Nice to meet you, can I ask what El is short for?”

“Eleven,” she says, and you want to question the name further but the look on Mike’s face stops you. Now is not the time, you guess. 

“El, she’s… different.” Mike continues, looking around nervously. He’s acting as if someone could break in any second and snipe you guys, and a part of you doesn’t doubt it can happen. “She has these powers, like, mind control powers.”

You snort, unable to stop yourself. El looks at you, looking unoffended, seemingly expecting this reaction. However, Mike groans at you. “Y/N, this is serious. She-she knows about Will.”

At this, your smile fades and you feel an overwhelming sense of hope take over you. You find your arms wrapping around El before you can control yourself and you give her a tight hug. She stiffens in your arms and you immediately pull away. “I’m sorry, I just… sorry.”

She laughs a bit, softly saying that it’s okay. 

“Do you really know Will? Where he is?” You ask, almost too scared to say the words out loud. If she’s telling the truth… you shake your head in an attempt to dispel any false hope. You don’t know this girl, she could be lying. 

Before El can say anything else, Mike speaks for her. “She does, but there’s bad men out there who want to hurt her. I think they’re after Will, too.” 

You freeze. “Bad men?”

“Yes, this is why we didn’t want to tell you!”

“I wanted to tell her,” Lucas says, which causes Mike to glare at him.

You wave your arms at the two boys, breaking up their fight. “Mike, what do you mean by bad men? Honey,” you look at El, “did someone hurt you? Are you in danger? Should I call the police?”

“No!” All three boys shout at once. 

You look at them, at the genuine fear in their eyes, and sigh, “Okay, if you can give me a good reason not to call the cops, I won’t.”

“Did you not hear the part about El having powers?” Dustin asks. 

“Gee, Dustin. You’re right! It’s like her having powers is totally believable and reassuring to the situation at hand!”

“I can show you,” El speaks up. 

You all face her now. “You can?” 

She nods at you, getting up and grabbing your backpack that you threw on the ground when you walked in. She rustles through it while you and the boys look at one another. After a few seconds, El grabs one of your comic books and places it on the table. She looks at you and tilts her head, indicating for you to sit down next to her; you do as you’re told.

El straightens out your comic and then closes her eyes, going completely still. The air around you shifts and you can practically feel the static electricity encasing you; the hair on your arms stand up. The pages of the comic begin to flick up, fluttering as if someone is thumbing through them in rapid succession. You watch as the Spidey panels flash before your eyes, the pages flying faster and faster until it becomes almost frightening to be near. Then, once it gets to its last page, the comic flies up into the air and hovers for a few seconds, right in front of your face. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, your eyes wide. 

Just as quickly as it began, the comic drops back onto the table. You look up at El and see that her nose is now bleeding, which rips you back to reality. The chair scrapes against the ground as you get up to help her, dabbing at the blood with a tissue that had been laying on the table. 

“Do you believe us now?” Mike asks, a smug look on his face. 

You gently wipe away the remaining blood from El’s face, looking her in the eye and directing your words to her. “I’m listening, sweetheart. What can you do to help us find Will?” 

El smiles, pleased to have earned your trust, and you get the feeling that this little girl is the most powerful thing in all of Hawkins, maybe even the world. At her request, Mike places his DnD board on the table and arranges the pieces for El to use. She sits down and closes her eyes once more.

Lucas gives you a doubtful look. “What’s the weirdo doing?”

You flick his head, not enjoying the name calling. Honestly, you thought you raised these boys better than that. 

El seems to accomplish whatever she was doing and picks up the wizard piece, murmuring, “Will.” 

You feel your heart stop. Will always insisted on being the wizard whenever they played the game. He was Will the Wise, forever and always. El couldn’t have simply guessed that, and you know it’s her-

“Superpowers,” Dustin finishes your thought for you. The two of you exchange a glance and you notice the slight glee in his eyes. Under different circumstances, you’d also find this all pretty cool. 

Mike sits next to El and begins to ask some questions about where she last saw Will. She gives him a look that you can’t quite decipher before swiping her arm across the table and spilling the pieces onto the floor. She then flips the board over, having it now face upside down, and places Will’s piece back down. 

You knit your brows together, trying to follow along. El’s movements are methodical and carefully planned, being unable to find the right words due to her poor speech, and you try to piece together the information you’ve been given. 

“I don’t understand,” Mike says, being extra gentle with El. You’ve never seen him so soft spoken before and you’re grateful at least one of the boys doesn’t view her as some monster. Which reminds you that you need to have a conversation with Dustin about respecting women, but for now you’ll hold off.

“Hiding.” says El. 

He’s good at hiding, Jonathan’s words echo in your head. 

“Will is hiding?” 

El nods, now looking more nervous. You can tell that Mike is getting closer to information that she doesn’t want him near, which finally causes you to ask the question that’s been heavily on your mind. “From the bad men?”

Now El gives a slight shake of the head, and Mike presses on. “Then from who?”

Without saying anything, El places a second piece onto the board right in front of Will’s. It’s a piece you’re unfamiliar with, with two snake-like heads that loom over the small wizard piece. Whatever it is, you know it isn’t good judging the way Mike, Dustin, and Lucas look at each other in fear.

You turn to Dustin and whisper, “What’s that piece?”

Your brother puts his hands behind his head and sighs deeply, a new resigned look on his face. He looks as if he’s just aged thirty years, which you find a bit dramatic. “It’s the Demogorgon.”

“The Demo-what?” The name sounds familiar, but you can’t remember anything about it.

Mike looks at you and for once his voice holds no annoyance when he says, “There’s a lot we still have to catch you up on.”

– 

Your head is spinning as you bike to Jonathan’s with all the new information you’ve just received. Demogorgons, magical vortexes, kids with damn superpowers. It’s all a lot for you to take in, and while you fully believe that El is something entirely different from a normal little girl, how can you be sure that it’s connected to Will? While his disappearance still confuses you, it’s illogical to jump to supernatural conclusions. 

Dustin had begged you to let him spend the night at Mikes in order to keep talking to El, and you only agreed because you figured you’d be at Jonathan’s again tonight anyways. He’s been MIA all day and you’re worried as usual, but you made him and Mike swear to you that they’d stay put in the house. At least this way they’re in one place, so if they screw around they’ll be easier to find. 

When you arrive at the Byers home you notice that Jonathan’s car isn’t in the driveway, which only confuses you further. Where the hell is he? You gave him all day to deal with Lonnie and cool off, trusting that he wouldn’t do anything stupid for twelve hours, and yet… 

You fear he’s done something stupid. 

You don’t have time to think too much about Jonathan’s absence because a frantic Joyce runs out the door screaming. She runs straight past you and into her car, and the house begins to light up like a christmas tree. You can hear The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go, a song that Will once had on repeat for three weeks straight, and you can feel the same static electricity in the air that you felt when El used her powers in front of you. 

Joyce suddenly gets out of the car and spots you, pointing towards her house. “You see that too?”

You swallow. “Yeah,”

She nods, as if your confirmation is all she needs to determine her sanity, and then marches inside. You stand in the yard, motionless. You’re terrified, and after learning about El tonight, you don’t have it in you to discover any other supernatural beings in Hawkins at the moment. Sighing, you follow after the woman because Jonathan isn’t home and someone needs to talk her down from whatever panic attack the flashing lights have inevitably caused. 

“Mrs. Byers-” 

“Y/N, you can’t tell me there isn’t something,” Joyce waves her hands in front of her face, almost grasping at the air, “weird about all of this. That was Will’s song, the lights were flashing in Will’s room, something came out of Will’s wall-”

“Something came out of his wall?”

“Yes! I’m not… I promise I’m not crazy, okay? You saw it, please tell me you saw it.”

You bite your lip, now thinking about El. You swore to Mike you wouldn’t tell anyone about her, and honestly you’re not sure that you should tell Joyce about her right now. You’re still unsure if El is being honest with you, and you can’t just give the woman false hope for her son. It’d kill you if you were wrong about El. But seeing the lights, hearing the music, the thing in the wall… There’s something that she’s not telling you. 

“Mrs. Byers… I’m not quite sure what I saw, but we just had a bad storm and it could be faulty wiring.” 

Joyce slumps her shoulders, frustrated that you aren’t conspiring with her. You just… you can’t. Not yet. Not before you figure out what the hell El is doing in Hawkins. You refuse to worsen Joyce’s already chronic anxiety and paranoia; Jonathan would never forgive you if you fed into her delusions, but it kills you to lie to her. 

“Look, I do think that something is weird about this entire situation, “ Joyce’s face lights up, but you’re quick to add, “however, there’s no proof. You, I mean-Mrs. Byers, you’ve seen things in the past. You’re stressed, and anxious, and all the other synonyms.” 

The woman lets a few tears drop from her eyes, now embarrassed. “Maybe you’re right. I-I’m sorry, honey. I just-”

You grab her hand. “I know,”

Her smile is brittle, a ghost of the once beautiful smile she’d give you, and your heart breaks for her. 

After your conversation, Joyce excuses herself to her room. She looks even more exhausted than before, so you leave her alone and hole yourself up in Jonthan’s room. 

You glance at your watch and note the late hour; you’re starting to worry now. Jonathan didn’t mention anything besides Lonnie and the posters, so you don’t know what else he could be doing so late. He wouldn’t go searching for Will without you. 

You wake up to Jonathan returning an hour or so later, apparently having fallen asleep while waiting for him. 

“Y/N?” His voice is gruff and surprised. 

You groan and rub your eyes. “Turn the light off, bee.”

He doesn’t. “What are you doing here?”

The tone of his voice wakes you up a bit, making you sit up and look at him more clearly. His shoulders are tense, his eyes are hiding something, and his overall demeanor is hard to read. “I had something to tell you, but is everything okay?”

“You couldn't have waited until tomorrow? Y/N, this is my house, just… just get out.”

“I’m sorry?” You’re confused by his behavior, now starting to become a bit defensive and hurt by his dismissal. 

“You can’t just let yourself in whenever you please.” Jonathan puts his camera on his desk, still refusing to meet your eyes.

“Jonathan, we literally have always let ourselves into each other’s houses whenever we please.” 

He rolls his eyes at you and rips off his jacket, throwing it at you. “Get out!”

You catch the jacket before it hits you in the face. “What the hell, Jonathan!” 

“Listen, I get that you think you’re a part of the family, but you’re not. You’ve been here for days now, it’s getting old.” 

His words cut through you and leave vicious wounds against your skin. He doesn’t mean that, he can’t mean that. You and him were family. He’s never, ever insinuated anything less. He wouldn’t dare. Your Jonathan would never act like this to you, and the only time he’s ever been this cruel to you was when he accidentally dropped Lonnie’s last beer in the fridge and was too embarrassed and ashamed to ask for help; he’d shown up with bruises later that night.

Then it hits you. He did something, something that makes him feel guilty; he keeps glancing at his camera. You soften your voice, “Bee, what did you do?”

He whips around, now yelling. “Nothing! Just get the hell out of my house! It’s getting pathetic!” 

You swallow back the angry tears that build in your throat. Fine. Whatever. Let him be a raging bitch after everything you’ve done for him these last few days. 

“Fine, I will.” Grabbing your backpack you snatch the assignments you were supposed to give Jonathan and slam them against his chest. “Here’s all your fucking assignments, by the way.” 

He seems to come back to himself, blinking away the anger and shame. “Bug…”

“You don’t get to call me that.” And with that, you don’t spare Jonathan another glance. 

– 

When you get home, the house is eerily quiet. Dustin is at Mike’s and your mom leaves you a note saying that she’s spending the night at your aunt’s. Great. Looks like it’s just you and Mews tonight then. 

After everything that’s happened tonight, you never found time to eat dinner, and your stomach is loudly growling. You drop your stuff in your room and then reheat some leftovers, feeling like a pathetic child. You know that Jonathan didn’t mean what he said, but the words had come too easily to him to have just been a way to dodge his guilt. There had been some truth to them. Maybe you were pathetic for always fretting over him.

Dinner is quiet tonight. 

You wait for the phone to ring, for Jonathan to call you and apologize, but the call never comes. 

You’ve never felt so alone before.

-

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist, just let me know :)

[maeby-cursed]

vampire!satoru who’s not used to being in the shadows. 

he gets turned very young and lives through every stage he could possibly live through; denial, starvation, a deep self loathing and a bitter feeling of acceptance. he was never too concerned about harming others but he was also not used to having his liberties curtailed.

vampire!satoru who begins to hunt others.

he needs the blood, quite literally, to survive. he’s also gotten even more vain in this new skin, this odd state of life between what was and death. he hasn’t found any others like him yet so he has no guidance, he hunts men and women alike and tries to figure out what he likes. he can’t help but admire himself though; this new glow of his skin, his elongated canines… he enjoys the blood dripping down his face, the only drop of color against the white of his hair, skin and eyes. 

vampire!satoru who gives up on morals entirely. 

he finds new victims easily and feeds on them, enjoying himself like narcissus in the lake. he buys a mansion by stealing money from every prey and works out a system to enjoy his life to the fullest even if he cannot see the sun ever again. he tricks and manipulates women and lies and slaughters men by the thousands. he feels numb with every drop of blood.

he never once kills a child.

vampire!satoru who meets you.

it’s a cold january night and a blizzard has struck the town he resides in at the moment. he could very well go out if he felt inclined to but he’s not forgotten his lazy ways, he doesn’t feel like chasing some poor victim in the middle of a snow storm just to get a drop of cold blood. he’s not that desperate. 

he spends his night reading, studying, turning the tv on and off and contemplating himself on every surface he can see himself reflected upon. 

he’s in the middle of admiring his eyes on a silver spoon when someone knocks on his door. he’s so startled he drops the utensil, and now he’s annoyed. no one startles the satoru gojo.

vampire!satoru who opens the door and sees your face for the first time.

you’re wrapped in a thick coat, hair floating around your visage due to the wind. he’s struck for a moment with a memory he can’t recall; a warm smile and a mane of black hair. 

“who the hell are you?” he asks. 

vampire!satoru who for an unknown reason decides to listen to you.

you explain how you were about to catch a flight when the storm hit, how you don’t know the town very well and cannot find your way to a hotel. a shy smile makes your cheeks soft when you timidly ask if you could stay for a night. 

vampire!satoru who is a predator, vampire!satoru who is an animal, vampire!satoru who is not human, not your friend, not kind, not good.

vampire!satoru who for a second feels greedy.

you trust him. you trust this creature in front of you who is very obviously not like you, who has the coldest eyes you’ve ever met and the longest canines you’ve ever seen. your instincts know – they must.

and yet… he can see it in your eyes, the kindness hidden behind the pupils that tell him you always expect people to be good, even when you shouldn’t.

vampire!satoru who feels thirsty for something that isn’t blood for the first time in a hundred years.

vampire!satoru who can’t remember who he was all those years ago.

he can’t remember the faces of those he used to love, can’t remember how he looked like or what he thought of the world. who was a human in a world of humans and now feels like a child who’s been told he has to hurt others to survive. 

he can’t remember what he’s done since he was turned, can’t remember the number of victims or what they looked like. who was reborn alone and has lived alone and will exist forever alone.

vampire!satoru who really truly doesn’t want this to be his existence. 

vampire!satoru who answers your question with an “okay” and lets you in.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Presents (part two)

Part 1

Summary: Y/n has found her mate, and she will not tolerate any untoward behaviour towards him. Especially from her family.

And she will show them exactly what will happen if her mate does not get the respect he deserves from them.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: *dreamy sigh*

enjoy! ❣️

•○🌑○•

It was one of the family dinner nights, so that meant everyone was going to be present in the river house.

It also meant Y/n was on edge.

She was no child who didn't understand when someone disliked a person, and she was also very good at reading people, so that meant she understood very perfectly that her family was not very fond of her mate.

For whatever reasons she could not understand.

It was also the first time she would be meeting her family after almost two months of the mating frenzy having Lucien and Y/n locked away in the cabin Y/n owned in the in the Illyrian steppes.

He had her busy for two. Fucking. Months.

Y/n was not complaining.

Not when she found herself being wrapped up in his warm body afterwards, soothing all the pleasant aches in her body. And simply just watching him lie next to her, knowing he was hers and completely hers, watching peace settle into the harsh lines of his cruel face...

Yeah, she definitely was not complaining.

The voice she had come to love since the moment she met him called out her name, and she rushed downstairs to meet him in the foyer.

There he stood, facing the doorway and fixing the cuffs of his dark blue shirt which clung to him in the most delicious ways possible, the stark wite pants she had picked out for him accentuating his thighs and ass. His fiery hair hung around his shoulders, a small bun on the back of his head, the thin braids Y/n had insisted on making hanging between the loose strands... he looked mouth watering, to say the least.

He turned to her as soon as she stepped closer to him, and smiled.

Every thought flew out of Y/n's head as she watched his forearms flex while he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, the chunky bracelet Y/n had asked him to wear sitting snugly on his wrist, shining in the dim lighting.

"Y/n?"

Y/n blinked, her eyes moving slowly to meet his. "Hmm?"

A small grin spread on his face, and he leaned forward to tap her nose. "I asked if you were ready."

"Oh? Oh yeah, I am ready."

His grin widened, ad he leaned forward to place a soft kiss to her lips. "Then we better get going before we decide it's not worth socialising."

"What makes you think I am not already thinking about that?"

Lucien threw his head back as laughter poured out of his pretty lips, and Y/n held herself back from acting on the urge to taste his laughter.

He had been laughing a lot these days, and a warmth spread through Y/n everytime she heard the beautiful sound.

As soon as Y/n went to retrieve her shoes, Lucien grabbed them, then crouched in front of her.

"Let me." He gently grasped one of her ankles in his hands, slipping on her heels.

"Lucien, you don't need to do that-" She whispered, pink tinting her cheeks.

"But I want to."

Once he was done, he stood, dusting of his pants, He extended his elbow, inclining his head towards the door, his eyes shining. Y/n grabbed onto him as the two of them winnowed from the snowy mountains to the pathway leading to the river house.

"After you, my lady." He opened the door for her, waiting until she had entered the warm space before following.

Feyre and Nyx came into view as soon as Y/n and Lucien had hung their coats on the rack.

"Y/n! It's been so long! I hope you had a fun time." Feyre wiggled her brows, and Y/n rolled her eyes, picking up a giggling Nyx and walking into the sitting room where everyone was sat.

Cassian stood, a wide grin on his face, as he made his way towards Y/n.

"Where have you been? Rhysand wouldn't tell us other than you being on a mission." Cassian glared accusingly at Y/n's brother, but then he froze. His eyes widened, then flew to Lucien, who stood just behind Y/n.

His mouth opened a couple of times, eyes moving rapidly between Y/n and Lucien, before he gagged a little.

"I hope you don't start fucking on every surface in this house. It is not appropriate."

Y/n raised her brows. "You would know a lot about appropriate behaviour, right?"

Cassian grinned, pulling her in for a hug, and Y/n could feel Lucien suppressing the urge to growl in possessiveness. "Congratulations, you two."

Then, to Y/n's surprise, after Cassian let go of her, he pulled Lucien in for an embrace too. By the look on Lucien's face, he hadn't expected it either, though he appreciated it.

That was when Y/n noticed the stillness in the air in the room, and she glanced around to find Mor, Amren and Azriel in various states of shock, with Feyre smiling at Cassian and his antics in teasing Lucien, Rhys staring into the fire place, his hand wrapped around his glass of wine.

•○●⛦●○•

"You seem a little shocked." Y/n mumbled, accepting the glass Feyre passed to her after everyone had settled down on the dining table. The spread of food on the table surprisingly only consisting of all of Y/n's favourites.

"No one told us about you- and him." Mor returned, colour climbing up her cheeks in embarrassment.

Y/n rose a questioning brow at Rhysand, who splayed his palms in the air. "I thought you might want to tell them yourself. I didn't realise you would be away for almost two months."

The last part was mumbled, and it brought out a blush on Y/n's face thinking about exactly what happened in that time.

"So... you are mates?" Mor questioned, and Y/n could tell she was uncomfortable.

Y/n grinned proudly, nudging a smiling Lucien's shoulder with hers. "Yeah. We are."

"Congratulations." Mor mumbled, her eyes trained on her food.

"Pity." Amren said, emotionless.

The whole room fell silent, the air becoming heavy and strained.

Y/n's blood boiled, her fingers tightening on her fork as she stilled. Lucien had stiffened too, though he did not look up from his food. Y/n glanced at him, finding him chewing tightly as he blew out a breath.

And then Y/n let her eyes flit to Amren, who didn't bother to even pretend like she had said something wrong. She took a deep drink from her goblet, her eyes never leaving the contents of her goblet or food.

Y/n set down her fork, leaning back in her seat. She stared at Amren, taking in all the features the petite female had as she imagine how fun it would be to gouge out her eyes with her bare hands, how fun it would be to peel the skin off the ancient being's bones.

Rhys whispered her name, trying to get her attention. Y/n could see in her peripherals that Lucien was straightening too, his eyes now trained on Y/n. His hand came to rest on her thigh.

"Y/n." He mumbled, and Y/n could feel him opening up a window in his mental shields to get her to talk to him.

Y/n was also aware of how Azriel and Cassian went stiff, their shoulders bunching up as if ready to spring up any moment to restrain anyone who might jump up to attack.

"What did you say, Amren?" Y/n's voice was deceptively calm and soft, as if she wasn't planning on torturing the living daylights out of Amren, her ancient powers be damned.

"Y/n." Rhysand spoke more insistently, his panic beginning to come off of him in waves.

Amren met Y/n's eyes then, her eyebrows rising. "I said pity. It would have been better to be without a mate than have a coward and backstabber for one. Amarantha should have pulled out his heart instead of his eye."

She said it so nonchalantly, as if talking about the weather and not a literal being. As if she knew she was right. As if what she was saying couldn't have hurt anyone.

Y/n could not stop her power from escaping the leash she kept on them.

She did not even try to control them, anyway.

Her mind opened up, the power she contained in herself reaching out to caress the massive fortress Amren had around her mind.

Amren jerked, her eyes widening just a fraction when Y/n brought down a battering ram on the walls.

It took a lot of effort to reach Amren's brain, but Y/n didn't mind, not as panic flared in Amren's ancient gray eyes when Y/n didn't stop, the walls around her mind crumbling until there was nothing but dust left, even as Y/n was left panting from the amount of force it took to do that.

Y/n purred in satisfaction in Amren's brain, stalking around her consciousness for a moment before Y/n sunk her claws into her.

What the hell are you doing, girl? Stop!

Amren's panicked voice filled Y/n's head as her surroundings faded, and she focused solely on controlling this powerful being.

Apologise to him, Amren, and maybe I will consider letting you go without much harm.

No! Amren spat, though her fear rose like a tide.

Y/n smiled, a fire lighting in her veins.

Then say goodbye to you sanity, Amren.

Y/n reached into Amren's mind, dragging up the memories that were buried the deepest, and without looking at them herself, she projected it directly into Amren's brain, making her believe she was reliving the horrors.

Amren began screaming, clutching her head as she stood, the chair screeching loudly before it fell with a crash, and everyone around the table stood, not knowing what to do.

Please stop! Stop! I will beg for his forgiveness. Please, just stop!

Y/n let the memory go, though her talons stayed embedded in Amren's mind.

Amren panted, her eyes flitting up to meet Lucien's, who stared back, wide eyed.

"Sorry." She gritted out, clutching the table with her hands.

Y/n clucked her tongue mentally.

Sorry for what, Amren? I know you can do better. Come on, don't be a brat.

Y/n spoke softly, caressing Amren's mind with a soft touch, as if talking to a kid.

"I am sorry, Lucien." Amren glared at Y/n when she retracted her claws just the tiniest bit. "Please forgive me. I should not have said that."

Satisfied, Y/n pulled away her talons, meeting the wide eyes of Mor and Azriel, letting a bit of her powers show in her gaze before settling back into her chair as if nothing happened and picking up her fork.

Lucien leaned in after he had sat back down, his breath curling around Y/n's ear as he whispered, his mouth close to her. "That's my lady."

A blush spread across her face, and she met his eyes for a moment as he leaned back, turning to his food.

"You know, this chicken is really good." Y/n mumbled-if only to pretend like she was not holding herself back from jumping her mate's bones- genuinely impressed as everyone began settling down. Except for Amren, who stormed out of the room, but not before Y/n spied a hint of fear in her eyes.

Y/n sighed. She would have to apologize to Amren later when everyone had gone to sleep.

Y/n didn't hate Amren, at least not yet. But if Y/n had not done what she did, everyone would have continued walking all over her mate. It was a necessarry evil, and Y/n was all too happy to do it if it meant everyone treated her mate with even a fraction of what he deserved.

Not that she was planning to stay long enough for them to get a hold of themselves.

It was a few moments before the tension in the room began lessening, and Y/n continued eating.

It took even longer for everyone to start talking again.

And when they did, Y/n felt Lucien opening his mind once again, and this time she slipped in.

Yes?

She could feel his pride, though his face was expressionless as he chewed and listened to the debate Rhys and Cassian were engaging in.

You want to go home?

Y/n grinned, knowing her answer but still deciding to tease him a little. Will there be dessert?

If you want there to be. A small smirk made its way onto his face.

Hmm. I guess we could go...

He shook his head slightly, shifting in his chair.

That was when Y/n realised that he was masking his scent, because what she saw under the table... everyone would have been aware of his little situation by now.

Y/n's mouth dried, and she swallowed. "Um... We both are a little tired, so we will be taking our leave now."

Cassian's brows rose. "One would assume you are going home to get tired."

Lucien laughed softly, his eyes crinkling as Y/n rolled her eyes.

"Bye, Nyxie." Y/n waved at the little boy, who babbled at her.

Y/n stood, grinning when Lucien glanced at her helplessly.

I can't stand like this!

She laughed, grabbing his hand and winnowing away, the last sight she saw being a giggling Cassian and Rhys, shaking his head with a smile.

The moment Y/n and Lucien materialized in the foyer of the hidden away mountain home, his lips were on hers, his hands gripping onto any part of her he could reach.

Y/n kissed him back without any hesitation, laughing a little at his desperation. He nipped at her lower lip in retribution, and Y/n pulled away, grinning up at him, though it took a great effort to do that.

He wrapped his arms around her, resting his forehead on hers. Y/n's arms hung loosely around his shoulders, playing with his hair.

It took a moment for the both of them to catch their breath, but when they did, Lucien stole the breath away from Y/n again when he opened his eyes.

Swimming in his eyes was so much love... Y/n could have never fathomed someone ever looking at her with such emotion.

He smiled softly. "Thank you-"

"Don't." Y/n mumbled, caressing his jaw. "Don't thank me for that. For anything."

His eyes shone, and Y/n knew the silver lining his eyes was not because of his sadness.

He was happy, and he practically glowed with it.

"I love you. So much. I can't even imagine how I ever lived without you before."

Y/n laughed, tears springing to her own eyes. "Stop, you are going to make me cry."

"I will wipe the tears for you then, but I will never stop telling you how much I love you."

Y/n brushed her nose against his before she buried her face in his neck, gigging.

"I love you. And I would level the whole of Prythian if it meant no one would ever disrespect you ever again."

"I'm sure that won't happen again." He said dryly.

Her cheeks were hurting from how hard she was smiling, but Y/n did not care.

"So, where were we?"

•○🌑○•

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392

Lucien taglist: @kennedy-brooke @hnyclover @minnieoo @mirandasidefics @sidrapotter

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader

summary: You, both a member of David's group and one of his former victims, are already contemplating escape when Ellie arrives at the resort. Seeking Ellie, you decide to take advantage of the unexpected opportunity to run off with her. But before you can find Ellie, you cross paths with Joel instead.

word count: 0.5k

full fic warnings (not within the preview): age gap, virgin!reader, mentions of past grooming attempt, mentions of cannibalism, past rape attempt, PTSD, blood, canon typical violence, no smut for now

a/n: alright so i'm a bit too excited for this one so i decided to post a lil preview so i can calm down dfvbfd this story is going to be a heavy one, as you can tell by the warnings, but I'm excited nonthless. I've been thinking about it day and night and been really enjoying writing it so I hope you guys enjoy the little sneak peak. (this is unedited so sorry for any mistakes)

The wind blew cold. You, a girl who had lost everything, knelt on the ice. Your family had been long gone. Your hope dwindling, hanging only by a simple thread. You didn't know how long you'd been crying. Your hands, young yet covered in the warmth of blood. The scent of pine reached your nose, and you sniffed involuntarily, just like you had done before you lost everything. Before the world ended. You heard the sound of men approaching you, and you wished they would just kill you. Sixteen and already you wished for the sweet mercy of death.

“Now what do we have here?” A man spoke, his tone humorful. Melodic. Your mind and body already slipping and reaching towards the warmth of it. “You poor young thing. Where’s your family, girl?”

When you finally looked up from your hands you saw a man on a horse. Typical for this day and age. Four others hovered near him. All of them looked weathered and older than you. Your eyes moved back to the one that seemed in charge. He had strawberry blond hair and a thin beard of the same color. His eyes narrowed slightly, popping under the blue cold sky and the frozen lake. You didn’t know what to say. How to answer this man who was an obvious threat. 

He hopped off the horse, you attempted to move away but your legs were frozen in place, your heart beating loudly against your ribcage. He knelt next to you. Observing. You swallowed, fear coating your tongue with the taste of bile. His eyes softened when he took in the sight of you. Bruised and wounded. Your eyes squeezed shut as he reached out and pushed a loose strand of hair back only for the wind to bring it back. 

“No need to be afraid, child. We’re a peaceful group and there are more like us, if you want to join.” 

“J–Join?” your teeth chattered, your lips hurting as you spoke. There was a bit of light filling the cracks of the iron cage of your heart. Hope. You realized it to be. Hope to find someone to help you. To look after you in this infected world. He must’ve seen it in your expression because his soft smile grew, eyes glimmering with mirth. 

“So afraid,” he hummed. “But we’ll change that. You’ve been brought here for a reason. And I think I know what your purpose is in our small group.” 

He swiftly stood, leaving you dumbfounded and still upon the freezing ice. Your mouth gaped, your body buzzing with a newfound need to stay alive. 

“What’s your name?” you asked. He threw an old coat over your shoulders. Not his own. But one he had extra on his horse. Probably taken from someone else who was more unfortunate than you. 

“David,” he answered gently, as if he were scared you’d run away. Before you could reach out, he grabbed your hand and lifted you. You nearly fell, only prevented thanks to the strong arm that wrapped around your waist. He was warm. Much warmer than you expected. “Lovely to have you with us.” 

The men near him didn’t seem to share the same sentiment but you smiled all the same. 

You didn't want to think for a while. Maybe not even think for a millennia. If possible.

10 YEARS LATER

Whispers of death surround you. The words of the names that have fallen circling you and squeezing your heart tight. Suffocated. That’s how you feel. Helpless. Trapped. Consumed. Faint murmurs fill the hall room. The cold that seeps through the wood, the same wood that was intended for summer and not winter, worries everyone. Including you. But at the same time, you think this is what you all deserve. An icy grave. Freezing to death and surrendering to the cold. 

You were never meant to feel warmth. You know that better now. 

[lght-roastcoffee]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Scared ⋆ ˚｡⋆

prompt: "I'm in love with you, and that scares me."┆Tuna-Tober ⊹ Day 8

pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

wordcount: 692

warnings: slight language, mentions of past injuries, angst with a happy ending

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢-𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

I can’t stop thinking about him.

Him and his bright green eyes. His freckle-dusted cheeks. The leather jacket he always wears. It’s probably so warm. He’s so kind to those he saves. He may not show it often, keeping his emotions behind a well guarded wall, but I see it every time. 

Dean Winchester is a beaten and bruised man with the heart of a hero. I understand why he can’t let anyone in. I understand the past burdens placed on his shoulders and the horrors he’s had to witness. But why does he have to be so mean?

“It’s like every time I turn my back you’re there needing saving.” Dean lifts the glass of whiskey in his hands to his plush lips and takes a sip. “Just for one night, that’s all I asked. But you can’t stay out of danger.”

“Dean, it’s not like I wanted to be attacked.” I huff, crossing my arms, leaning my back against the Roadhouse bar next to him. 

“Well, it sure seems like it sometimes,” he says, taking another swig. 

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “What are you trying to say, Dean?”

“I’m saying I’m tired of always saving your ass when I should be busy ganking the monsters.”

I huff again, pushing myself away from the bar. “Am I that useless to you?”

He sighs, looking down at the glass now resting on the bar and closes his eyes. “I’m just saying you’re getting reckless, Y/N. I’m not always gonna be there to save you when things go sideways.”

“But you don’t want me around.” I face Dean, anger and frustration slowly rising in me. “I’m just another burden to you right?”

Dean lifts his head, looking to the ceiling, before facing me, slight frustration coating his expression. “Stop putting words in my mouth, Y/N. That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“But that is what you meant,” I say, voice raising slightly in anger. “I get it, Dean, really. You’re tired of saving me. You’re tired of babysitting the child you see me as. If I’m such a burden, maybe I should just leave then.”

I start walking towards the doors of the Roadhouse, but a hand at my wrist stops me in my tracks. Dean spins me back to face him, eyebrows scrunched together and frustration shining in his eyes. “Damn it, Y/N! Just let me talk!”

Thank whoever is listening that it’s empty right now. “No, Dean, I think you’ve said all you’ve been wanting to say.”

He lets go of my wrist and runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further than it was. “I… I’m in love with you!” I freeze, his words running through my head as I process them. “And that scares me, okay? I-I don’t want to be the reason you die or see you die. I can’t handle that.”

The frustration slowly leaves my body as it relaxes seeing the man I’ve been crushing on in such a vulnerable state.

“Dean,” I whisper, closing the space between us. I rest a hand on his shoulder, making him look at me. “I love you, too.”

He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into him as I wrap mine over his shoulders. He buries his head in my shoulder and just holds me like that. I squeeze him just as hard in return, enjoying the comfort he brings. After a while, he pulls back slightly and cups my face in one of his rough hands. I stare wide eyed into his emerald ones shining in gratitude and love. Tired of waiting any longer, I pull him down and press my lips to his softly. Dean sighs into the kiss, lips moving against my own as he deepens it slightly.

Someone behind me clears their throat, causing us to separate in surprise. We both turn our heads towards the door to see Sam standing there. “Did I miss something?”

I laugh as Dean chuckles into my shoulder, placing a kiss there. Dean pulls away smiling as he looks me in the eyes again. 

“Just walk away, Sammy.”

[yuoimia]

DAY 1: FIRST FALL OF SNOW ❅⋆⍋

summary: activities you do in the snow

characters: albedo, childe, diluc, wriothesley.

notes: wc: 260-300 per character, roughly 1.1k total, gn! reader, fluff, mentions of reader being lost in the snow in childe’s, petnames, the madness begins.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ dreamy december event masterlist

albedo - how to build a snowman

All year round, Dragonspine is inundated with thick layers of gleaming snow.

Twinkling in weak sunlight, an ethereal sight both close-up and afar.

However, there was always something particularly striking about waking up to a fresh new coat of snow. Impeccably perfect, its raw beauty enthrals you each time. It was a privilege, you knew. Not just anyone could climb such an intimidating mountain, and the only reason you got to experience such phenomenons, the one who introduced you to this very mountain—was someone you’d never imagined to meet. Much less be more than acquaintances, a renowned genius, who currently stood completely blank in the suggestion of building snowmen.

"So, ah… I just add another pile on top?”

For the hundredth time this morning, you shake your head with an expression of amusement. “No,” you mutter, rolling the pile next to him into the shape of a sphere before placing it before him. “You need to make it into a ball shape, then place it on top. That will be its middle.” You point accordingly, an encouraging smile plastered on your face.

Albedo still doesn’t get it.

Instead, he watches silently as you enjoy yourself constructing a snowman. How interesting, creating little figures out of snow. He watches from afar as you unravel your own woollen scarf and wrap it around its uneven neck. He watches as you judge a variety of sticks to pick the most suitable to be its arms.

Albedo watches as you stand proudly beside it, a dazzling smile etching your face as he too, unravels his woollen scarf and gives it to you.

childe - snowball fights

You catch your breath behind a large cedar tree.

Was it a surprise? Surely not. Challenging Childe in any form of fight was the equivalence of battling in an arena, playful or not.

It also didn’t help that you were winning. For now, at least.

A strong gust of frosty wind brings a blizzard of newly formed snowflakes, collecting delicately on your hair and clothing. The fierce howls mask up any forms of sound, and the gradually falling snow covers up any traces of footprints.

Moreover, the temperature was severely dropping by the minute.

Perfect weather, you curse internally.

Your hands swiftly grab handfuls of the snow all around you, leaving a deep indentation in the shape of a ring all around you. Painfully obvious evidence that you were here, but at this point in time, you were more than ready to surrender. Between the choice of victory or frostbite, you’d willingly lose.

Cradling a dozen snowballs, your eyes are alert and searching as you attempt to outline any signs of a human. It’s hopeless; the wind is intensifying, swirling the frost like a snowglobe.

An anguished sigh escapes as you look down at the heavy layers of snow. Perhaps it was time to resort to something more desper-

Smack.

Something cold lands on the side of your face before falling to bits next to your feet. Another flies right past you.

You’re supposed to be mad; you’re supposed to shout and blame him for putting you in such a perilous and stupid situation, but you don’t.

As he catches you in an embrace, a contrast to everything you felt mere seconds ago, so frantic and tight, you realise how scared he was—scared enough to be rendered completely and irrevocably silent.

diluc - snow? my eyes are on you.

How long has it been?

How long have you been gazing, lost in your thoughts, through the window of your shared bedroom?

It’s quiet, but a comforting sort of quiet. The sort of quiet that you could appreciate for years and years and enjoy as if it were freshly discovered. Perhaps it was because of Diluc and the reserved and reclusive ambience he always carried. Whatever it was, you understood why he sought it so much.

Kaeya told you to expect snow tonight.

You love snow.

As soon as Diluc stepped one foot into the entrance of Dawn Winery, you had notified him most excitedly, “It’s going to snow tonight!”

You made sure not to mention that it was Kaeya who told you, though.

Being the gentleman he was, Diluc reciprocated your happiness most thoughtfully. Across the candlit dinner table, you swapped memories and dreams, all down until the last few tired murmurs sealed with a tender goodnight kiss planted on your forehead. A fond, “Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” as he drifted off to sleep.

Time steamed on; it must’ve been hours, according to the grandfather clock in the farthest corner of the bedroom, yet never once did your eyes stray from the window. You had long abandoned your previous sleeping position and now cozily huddled your legs, although still buried comfortably within the blankets.

Diluc seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

For a while, you observed in slight awe, the little rises in his chest as he inhaled, the serene expression decorating his face. It felt so intimate, so softly vulnerable—simply two people treasuring a moment in their lives so unknowingly—is what made it magnificent.

The first glimmers of snow lightly shimmered through the night sky as a familiarly snug hand pulled you beneath the covers.

wriothesley - ice skating

The many fountains in Fontaine had been frozen from the frigid weather, transforming the statues to behold graceful arches that glinted divinely in the feeble sunlight. Bound to be presented gloriously on the front page of the Steambird for the next three months or so.

Additionally, smaller bodies of water had completely transformed into ice, making it a perfect opportunity for extravagant winter activities. After all, Fontaine was never short of its flamboyance and charming flair when it came to anything of that sort.

That was the reason Wriothesley had spontaneously suggested going for a skate on the ice.

You had promptly declined at first, leaning over his desk, brushing the idea off with a brisk excuse of, “I can’t skate.”

Wriothesley had looked up from his stacks of documents, followed by a falsely exasperated roll of eyes, saying, “That’s what you said about dancing.”

"I'm not a very good dancer, you know that.”

“But I successfully taught you, didn’t I?" he confidently answered, standing from the overflowing desk.

You made a non-committal noise, shaking your head as Wriothesley chucked and wrapped an arm around you. “C’mon, let’s give it a try, all right, darling?”

This is precisely how you landed yourself in such a predicament.

The skates were easy enough to get on, but the process of skating, like you anticipated, was no easy skill.

Wriothesley, being the superb lover he is, let’s out a muffled snort as he watches you topple over for what could’ve only been the hundredth time that evening.

“Instead of laughing, you could actually help me like you promised, you know.”

With one last terribly hidden chortle, Wriothesley seizes your hands and gently guides your movements alongside his, careful and patient, as you both skate until the winter sunlight ebbs over the horizon.

[cherryberry-sugarandspice]

Could I request some hcs with Atsv Miguel x Milf Reader? Instead of (Dilf) him with Gabriella like the fic on ao3 what about a mommy or spider woman mommy reader with his child?

ugh ima go crazy with this one yall *barking* like miguel enjoys a domestic life

Miguel O'Hara x Milf!Reader Headcanons

Miguel is definitely overprotective of you during your pregnancy. He always calls or texts to check in on you and the baby, attends every ultrasound and asks a CRAZY amount of questions, and if you're about to run out of prenatal vitamins, he goes to the store to buy you two extra bottles.

He attends to every need. If you call him while he's patrolling the city for a hot dog or a cheeseburger with a jar of mayo, you bet your ass he's buying what you're craving.

He adores your round belly. Hands have to be constantly on it. Whether the two of you lay in bed or out in public, his hands are always on your belly.

By your side the entire time during your labor. Massages your aching hips as you go through contractions and supports you as the two of you walk around the hallways. He wipes away your tears and tells you how good you're doing. He holds your hand as you push, smiling once he hears the cries of his newborn baby.

A little girl, because come on, he's a girl dad.

Miguel first makes sure both his girls are good before going to get your burgers, because during your 47 hour labor (yeah it was long) you were only allowed ice chips and you were STARVING. So he got you two burgers and a large fry, because his wife just went through hours of grueling labor and needs to fill that belly up.

Loves your body before the birth and loves it after. Your belly is wrinkly and covered in stretch marks, love handles pudging out and thighs big. He noticed once the two of you got home that you were having a hard time with yourself, and listed off a number of reasons why he adores your body, which actually took thirty minutes and if you hadn't stopped him he would've kept going

Miguel is appreciative of you. Nine months of growing his baby inside of you and going through a long labor, making him a father. He loves you for your time and sacrifice and always make sure you know it. Whether its buying you flowers every two weeks or kissing you all over, telling you how much he loves you

He'll get up in the middle of the night whenever the baby cried or allowed you to sleep in. He does skin to skin contact with the baby, sitting in bed with the baby resting on his chest while checking updates on the multiverse on his watch.

The baby will make noises of distress and he'll smile, turning off his watch and holding his little girl in his hands. "What, mamas? What is it? Are you hungry? Or were you having a bad dream?" He'll rock her a bit before she settles down, and place a kiss on top of her head, breathing in that new born scent. "I'll always keep you safe, mija. You and mama are my world. I promise you, that with me, you will never have to worry."

Once the six weeks of healing are up, the two of you do wait an additional few weeks before having sex. Miguel didn't want to risk hurting you or getting pregnant again, considering you just had a baby. So when the baby was old enough to stay at your parents house for a night, the two of you threw yourselves at each other like wild animals.

Miguel went crazy with his mouth on your cunt, pushing your legs down to your chest, tongue swirling all over your wet folds before slithering into your hole. He focuses on your pleasure first before his own, because after all, you were the one who sacrificed your body. He was just the guy who nutted in you.

Loves wrapping his lips around your aching breasts and drink your milk, rubbing his condom covered cock against your pussy before sliding himself in, you digging your nails into his back as pleasure consumes your body.

"Yeah, that feel good?" he'll groan into your ear, his lips coated in golden nectar. He grinds his hips slowly into you, making sure not to hurt you. Until you begged him to move faster does he fuck into you, his arms on either side of your head, moaning into your ear.

After sex, he'll clean you up, dress the both of you in his t-shirts (his shirt fits on him snug but it's like a night gown on you). Miguel will hug you close, kissing your neck, saying, "You've made my life 100 times better, you know that, right?"

Miguel loves the little family he has and will anything to keep his family safe.